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wreckmetoji · 1 year

Text

An Audience

A fic in which Wolfwood is still bad at feelings but at least he dicks you down good

↳ Nicholas D. Wolfwood/Reader

content warning. gender-neutral pronouns, afab reader, mild overstimulation, unprotected sex, profanity, shameless smut, fluff, slight angst, don’t worry baby boy vash will get his turn eventually

I recommend reading Stargazing and Cigarettes for a bit of context, however it isn’t completely necessary

minors DNI

6.8k words

Love wasn't in your cards. That was something you had to wake up and realize, seeing the empty space in your sleeping bag that seemed twice as big now, despite being made for only one person. You weren't surprised, you couldn't be, you knew Nicholas D. Wolfwood well enough despite him only being in your life for the span of a couple weeks. He seemed... Non-committal, avoidant, and definitely bad at expressing feelings, let alone understanding them. Still, though, the short lived pang in your chest made you visibly wince. Either that, or the sun peering over the dunes, momentarily blinding you. It seemed you were the first to wake up, thank the gods for that, because you wouldn't know how to explain your brief moment of melancholy to the honest, good-hearted people around you. They would all be waking up shortly, so you were quick to recoup. Rubbing your eyes, slapping your cheeks, and standing from your sleeping bag, you vowed to carry on bravely. It was a moment of passion, you were both looking for a lifeline. At least, that's what you told yourself. You had been silently pining over Wolfwood for nearly the entire time he had been traveling with you, but it was time to shove those feelings deep, deep down, bottle them up and put them on the shelf of regrets and things left unsaid. You would have time to reminisce over it later down the line in your life. Poorly rolling up your crumpled sleeping bag, making sure to smack the sand out of the creases in the process lest you want it in every single crevice next time you find yourself stranded. That action must have roused Vash from his sleep, as you could hear a small groan from beside you. It made you smile, shaking your head. For someone constantly on the run, he seemed so carefree sometimes. That was just so undeniably Vash, though. "Good morning," Vash rasped, both hands coming up to rub his eyes, before placing his glasses on his face. "Mornin'," You returned, clipping the straps over your sleeping bag to hold it in place. "Did you sleep alright? I thought I heard you up pretty late, and now you're the first up." You weren't sure why you didn't expect Vash to be perceptive, considering it's in his passive nature to worry about and care for the people around him. The slightly bitter purse of your lips seemed to give you away, and he obviously took the hint not to pursue how you were feeling any further. "Well, once we get to the next town over, we'll get a motel or something and you can nap. Don't worry about coming to get the car with us." A poignant smile graced your lips, more than likely noticed by Vash. "Thank you." It didn't need to be said, but you wanted to voice your appreciation to him whenever you could. You noticed in your travels together he didn't get that a lot, being that his reputation as The Human Typhoon preceded him. You'd been witness to some of the horrible things that followed Vash and his attempts at helping the general populous, and at first it terrified you, but after watching him dust himself off and get back up every single time, you came to admire him more than anything. Vash stood, kicking some sand over the makeshift fire pit that was most definitely already completely out, not that there was anything anywhere around you to catch fire anyways. "Looks like Meryl and Roberto are up," You stated, thumb pointing to the open passenger door of the vehicle several feet away. Meryl was already hopped out, and Roberto sat up groggily in the back seat. No Wolfwood, you took note after a glance around the area. "Great! We can head off right away... then..." Vash trailed off, glancing around the area. Seems as though he had the same realization you did. "Do you know–" "Let's get going." Both you and Vash whipped around, seeing Wolfwood walking over and down the nearest sand dune, his cross slung over his back in the usual fashion. You tried to make eye contact, but it seems he wasn't interested in catching your gaze, let alone acknowledging you at all. Maybe letting everything roll off your back would be harder than you anticipated. "Ahh, it's already so hot... I thought waking up early we would be able to beat some of the heat," You heard Meryl groan, earning a chuckle from both you and Vash. "How far is the next town?" "Uhm, twelve or so miles?" Vash seemed unsure, running his intricate cybernetic hand through his fluffy hair. So it could take you up to four hours to get there? By the time everyone had come to the consensus that it was time to leave right now immediately, Wolfwood was already a good several yards ahead, obviously having no intention of slowing his pace. The trek there was awful. You were tired, hungry, covered in grime and sweat, and Christ almighty, you could absolutely crush a glass of water. It didn't even have to be cold, you'd take lukewarm. You and Vash walked side by side, occasionally joined by Meryl and Roberto for a chat. At some point during your venture, Wolfwood had ended up behind everyone, probably something to do with his inability to trust anyone and everyone around him, or maybe you were just being bitter. "Wahhh, I'm so tired," You whined, wiping the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand. You intentionally made it seem exaggerated, hoping covering it up as fun and games make the shake of your legs less obvious as you walked up another mountain of sand beside Vash. "How much longer until we're there?" "We should be– should– oh, we're here!" Vash exclaimed after you had reached the top of the dune. You felt like you could cry tears of joy if your body had any moisture left in it at all, so instead you settled and a pathetic little cheer, your knees wobbling and threatening to give out. Your blond companion seemed to notice this, his metal arm coming down to your waist. He didn't touch you, simply hovering just in case you were to collapse. It wouldn't be the first time he's had to keep you from falling. Wolfwood walked in front of the two of you, bumping Vash in the shoulder with his cross as he passed. He stumbled, arm catching around your waist, nearly causing both of you to tumble down the hill. His sour mood made you scowl after you and Vash had gotten your bearings, in which you got a very frantic apology despite nothing being his fault. Wolfwood was simply acting like a petulant child throwing a tantrum. The group of you got to town, branching off in your respectful directions. You and Meryl made a beeline to the nearest and only motel in this tiny backwash town, deciding it would save on money if everyone paired up into their respective rooms. You and Meryl would share, as would Wolfwood and Roberto, leaving Vash his own room. You mutually decided he deserved privacy, considering he was the one that got everyone here in the first place. (You also decidedly left out the fact you were in this predicament because of him as well, since he was on car-charging duty.) Despite the slightly murky water and shitty soap that made your skin too dry, you accepted the cramped motel shower with open arms– after you had gotten a good late lunch in you– the lukewarm water sending goosebumps up your body. It might as well have been ice cold, considering you were in the direct sun and ridiculous heat for the first four, nearly five hours of your day. Your only respite in the sweltering heat was when Vash used his body to block the rays from hitting you first thing, but once the sun was high in the sky he could do nothing to save you. Fresh out of the shower, you sighed at your bag thrown on the bed. Your day clothes were hanging to dry, so really that only left you to putter about in your sleepwear. Not that this was an issue, considering you planned staying in this dingy motel room for the next twelve plus hours. You slipped your sleep shorts on, tugging the ratty worn t-shirt over your head soon after, flopping onto the bed with a huff. Meryl had gone out, most likely to the nearest market to stock up on supplies while Roberto, Vash, and Wolfwood fetched the car with a fully charged portable battery in hand. It wouldn't hurt to take a nap, you thought, considering how little you managed to sleep last night. You kicked your foot pathetically, cheeks flushing at the recollection of how warm his embrace was. Doesn't matter if he's just gonna be a dick to me after.

With a heavy, exasperated sigh, you pulled the blanket and sheet back from the bed, only flipping the thinner of the two on top of your body. He didn't explicitly tell you that you'd get to talk about it, he just made a noise and you had made an assumption. You really don't know what you were expecting of him, you didn't know why it bothered you so much. It was fine, everything would be fine, you just had to get over yourself and everything could go back to normal. It wasn't like he was treating you any different, he was probably just grumpy because he had to walk twelve miles on what felt like the hottest day of the goddamn year. Everything was going to be fine. You just needed a nap. You awoke with a slight start, eyes adjusting to the dark of the room. Meryl laid beside you, her back rising and falling at a steady pace. It was obvious she'd been asleep for a while with how disheveled the blankets were around her, and the slight tousle of her hair. Fuck, you hadn't meant to sleep this long, you didn't even hear her come into the room. You stretched your legs, swinging them over the side of the bed, and sliding your shoes on. You hoped the motel lobby was still open at the very least, and also hoped they sold snacks and drinks. As quietly as you could, you opened the squeaky motel door, sliding out, and shutting it behind you. Luck really was not on your side today, was all you could think as you came face to face with the closed blinds in the windows of the motel lobby. The open sign was flipped, all the lights were off, and not a soul adorned the streets. Considering how high the moons were in the sky, you could only assume it was pretty late. Well fuck. Heaving another sigh, you dejectedly turned heel, heading back to your shared room. What you didn't expect was bumping into another person on your way there. Wolfwood stood outside his- Vash's room? It was fine, everything was fine You tried to get away without saying anything, but having to walk past him in silence seemed to be mission impossible, especially considering the circumstances. "Why are you standing outside Vash's room?" You asked, hand coming up to the door handle of your shared space. He reached into his pocket, pulling out the numbered key ring and spinning it around his finger. "Traded," He mused, fingers tapping the cigarette he held in his hands, "Why, disappointed?" It was intentional, you knew he was trying to get under your skin, that's what he did, and as much as you wanted to say you wouldn't fall for it, you absolutely did. "No, I was just curious. I already told you, it's not like that." Wolfwood hummed in response, low and void of melody or emotion, almost like he was mocking you. "Right, and I'm Mother Mary." "Listen," You hissed, removing your hand from the door knob and taking a quick two strides over to him, "I'm okay with pretending like nothing happened last night, that's fine, but that doesn't give you an excuse to be shitty to me. If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine too, but don't be a dick." This seemed to irk him, the scrunch of his nose surprising you. "Who said I didn't want to talk about it?" God, you wanted to rip your hair out. Or his. It was fifty-fifty. "You're the one that ignored me all day," You whisper yelled, pointedly shoving a finger into his chest, "You're the one that wanted to act like nothing happened, you're the one that was nowhere to be seen first thing in the morning!" "Oh, I didn't realize you wanted an audience for it. If that's the case, why don't we wake everyone up and call them out here?" You raised your hands, dragging the heels of your palms down your face in frustration. "I can't win with you, Wolfwood. You're impossible. I'm going to bed." As you turned on your heel, you felt his hand close around your wrist. It was warm, electrifying. "You said you wanted to talk about it. Let's talk about it." A response you didn't think you'd ever hear from Nicholas D. Wolfwood. You sighed, nodding slowly, but when you turned to him he was releasing his grip on you and headed to the door of his room. "Not out here," He muttered, stamping out his cigarette while opening the door for you. Stepping inside, you saw his cross leaning up against the wall in the corner, but other than that nothing else was out of place. His room looked entirely clean, no belongings strewn about, the covers on bed were still fitted and tucked. Did he ever sleep? You kicked your shoes off and heard the door click closed behind you, making you vaguely aware that you were completely alone with Wolfwood once again. Through the thin walls, you could hear snoring, and you weren't passively aware of everyone's sleeping patterns enough to tell if it was Vash or Roberto, or both. You nervously wiped your palms against your sleep shorts, bravely turning around to look up at Wolfwood. His arms were crossed over his chest, standing tall in front of you. The longer you stood in silence, the more desperate you became for any kind of saviour. "Okay, I guess I'll go first," You whispered, stepping back and taking a seat on the edge of the untouched bed, "I... expected things to be like this. I was happy about what happened last night, but I mean... you don't exactly seem the type to want that kind of thing, y'know?" Silence. "It was nice indulging, lying to myself, telling myself that's really what you wanted as well," You picked at the skin on your fingers, acutely aware of Wolfwood stepping away from the door and closer to you, "That you wanted me. That it wasn't just... I dunno, us being caught up in the moment?" You were embarrassing yourself. What were you saying? He was going to laugh at you and call you an idiot, traveling with everyone just got that much more awkward. A small part of you wondered if you should just pack up your stuff and disappear into the night. The likelihood of you making it even a week with no food, no weapons, no money was absolutely slim, but it was a risk you were willing to take. You would leave a note for Vash, he would understand– "You done?" Blinking dumbly, you finally glanced up. He was much closer than you had anticipated, or even noticed, the proximity making you swallow the lump in your throat. Not trusting your voice, you simply nodded, a shaky exhale pushing past your lips when he began to lean down. "Good." His breath fanned over your face when he grabbed your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to tilt your head back and crane your neck up. It seemed so easy for him, the way he pressed his lips against yours, the way his hand trailed feather light touches up your jaw, fingers moving back to tangle in the hairs at the nape of your neck and tug oh so gently. And as you were, right here, right now, you didn't want anything else. It's like he knew exactly what strings to pluck to make your heart sing, knew what to touch and where to have you wanting more and more of him. Or maybe you just felt that way about him all on your own. You parted, but not for long, only pulling back long enough for him to start leaning you back, one of his knees on the bed as he knelt over you. He had a hand on either side of you, bracketing you in, much like he had done last night but this was just so different. There was no confusion, astonishment, or impulse. This was planned, this was calculated and it was desperate. His lips were desperate to feel you, his tongue was desperate to taste you. It was suffocating, having him lean into you, press his chest to yours, coax your mouth open with his tongue. It was dizzying, and instead of allowing yourself to dive headfirst into the glue trap that was Wolfwood's affections, you pulled back. "Wait, Wolfwo–" "Nicholas," He breathed into your neck, licking at your pulse point once before biting down. You whined, feeling his canines press harshly into your skin. "I told you to call me Nicholas." Hands planted on his chest, giving a gentle push, but his lips and teeth and tongue made quick work of your neck. "W–Wait, please–" You insisted, giving a gentle push on his chest, "I don't–" Wolfwood pulled back, only far enough for him to look up at you out of the corner of his eye. His body was rigid again, unsure, muscles tense. He panted, breathing uneven and hurried, but ultimately nodded, huffing out, "I'm sorry, I thought– this seemed like this is where things were going." His body pulled back first, his leg sliding down the edge of the bed when he pushed back to stand. This time you were the one to grab him, your fingers closing in on the lapel of his blazer. You were both ruddy cheeked, eyes half lidded as you stared at each other. You took a second to compose yourself, voice small and breathless. "I want you, but–" He pushed forwards again, knee back on the bed. You choked on your words, keeping your hand on his blazer, "But, I feel like we didn't really talk about things." It was a wonder to see Wolfwood at a loss for words. Still, he pushed forward, much slower this time. He leaned into you, closer, hovering mere inches above your lips. "'m not exactly a man of many words, but," He placed a slow kiss on your lips, hands palming at your waist, "I'd like to show you how I feel." All the air was punched out of your lungs, jaw hanging slack in awe at his forwardness. Part of you wondered how honest he was being with you, but there was a glimmer of something in his eyes that had you falling back into his glue trap. A nod was all it took before Wolfwood was dipping leaning you back down, kissing you so deep it made the room spin. Your eyes slid shut, every nerve ending electrifying when he would touch you, kiss you. His hands felt like molten fire against your skin when he grabbed at your inner thighs, parting them so he could comfortably slide in between. His touch moved down, around, holding under your knee as he wrapped your one leg around his waist. It was slow, but deliberate, the slide of his palm back up your leg, thigh, before settling on the meat of your hip. His other hand was just barely hovering beside your neck, fingers brushing back and forth along your jaw. Something you could say you never expected of Wolfwood was the tenderness of fleeting touches. When he pulled back from your mouth, you gasped, the string of spit connecting you snapping and soaking into the fabric of your night shirt, some of it dribbling down your chin. Despite not even being touched by him yet, you could feel how dizzy and– most likely– thoroughly fucked you looked. "Fuck," Was all he growled, both hands under your ass to hike you further up the bed to make room for him. The rusty springs creaked in retaliation, the flimsy headboard gently tapping against the wall at the motion. Impossibly warm hands scooped your other leg to wrap around his waist. His hips pressed down into you, pinning you to the bed, the seam of his zipper rubbing up into your clothed mound. You squeaked, hands coming up to his hair when he ran his tongue down the shell of your ear. He kissed, licked, bit every piece of skin he could reach, and all you could do was whine and sigh and take his affections. Hot palms ran up your sides, taking your shirt along with them as he hiked it higher and higher, eventually getting to the peak of your chest. He stopped, peering up at you inquisitively, as if you would say anything except please rip my clothes off. Another nod from you, another smirk from him, and your shirt was quickly pulled up and over your head, leaving you half exposed and on display for him. You had half a mind to hide behind your arms– how long had it even been?– but he seemed to predict your train of thought and beat you to the punch. Lips descended, trailing down to the concave of your chest, kissing your solar plexus. His tongue laved across your skin, circling a pert bud, before his mouth latched down and made quick work at diminishing your leftover self conscious thoughts. You were so caught up in trying not to make too much noise, you hadn't noticed the hand that came down between the apex of your thighs to swipe a thumb up the line of your clothed pussy. It made you gasp out a moan, hands flying up to slap over your mouth just a moment too late. He chuckled, seeming amused by your outburst, the vibrations making you shudder. "You can relax," Wolfwood breathed into your skin, fingers replacing his mouth, "I won't bite unless you ask me to." "You ah–already did!" A grin, cocky and wide and toothy and just so undeniably Wolfwood, was all you got in return. You didn't have any time to chastise him, considering he was pushing one leg of your sleep shorts open with his index and middle finger. Descending back down to your mouth, he smirked, running his thumb up and down the line of your aching core, his voice a low growl. "No underwear?" Tiny and meek, the little rebuttal of how these were your pajamas, of course you weren't going to wear unnecessary layers to bed died in your throat when the same fingers that coaxed open your shorts were spinning slow circles against your clit. The sound you made was airy, desperate, surprised at his forwardness and expertise with his hands He kissed you once, twice, licking into your mouth and pressing his tongue up against yours as his fingers worked you up. They dipped down, trailing through your slick, then came back up with more fervor, tight circles winding you just a bit tighter. You moaned into his mouth, absolutely certain with how fucking wet you were already, you were going to ruin these sleep shorts. There was no time to voice how tight the coil was twisting in your stomach, Wolfwood having pulled away much too fast for your liking right as you were starting to hump into his hand. He laughed down at you, sitting up and stripping your shorts from your body. "Don't look so disappointed," He mocked, shrugging the shoulders of his blazer off, "I'll give you better than that." You squealed when he grabbed your ankles and yanked you back to the edge of the bed, pushing up on your forearms to ask him exactly what he planned on doing with half of you hanging off the bed like that, but the sight of him dropping to his knees on the floor answered your question. You think, possibly in that moment, that was the first genuine and honest reaction Wolfwood had to something that wasn't annoyance. He looked like a man depraved, starved, his hungry gaze watching your face as his mouth and tongue worked up your inner thighs. He looked debauched, hair messy, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and while usually his shirt was unbuttoned up top, it trailed much further down, exposing the dark patch of hair disappearing into his tented pants. Good God. "Ain't no God here," Wolfwood verbalized, flattening his tongue and licking up your pussy, "Just me." Heavy against the bed, you fell back, the creaks and groans of the frame and mattress reminding you that you'd have to be much more quiet if you didn't want to alert your friends sleeping just on the other side. Easy enough was a farfetched thought as Wolfwood licked up the expanse of you again, arms looping under and around your legs, fingers digging into your inner thighs. He brought two fingers down, circling your clit as he tongued around your pulsing entrance, having you squeezing around nothing. "W–Wol– ah! " You squeaked when he slapped your clit, "Nick! " The depraved groan he breathed into your pussy made your stomach do flips, bringing one hand down to his hair and the other up to your mouth, biting down on the meat underneath your pinky. He was relentless, completely devoid of rhyme or reason but absolutely he knew what he was doing would drive you up the wall. His fingers and mouth changed places, the slow stretch of two fingers sliding into your dripping pussy making you keen for him. The curl of his fingers, the way he pushed and pulled just right made you see stars but it just wasn't enough. "Nick– f–fuck, please," Your begs and pleas dripped from your mouth like honey, sweet and syrupy and tantalizing. "Please, more, pleasepleaseplease–" It would be a lie to say you didn't know what your begging and pleading did to Wolfwood, it would be a lie to say you didn't see him rocking his hips up into nothing when you peered down at him devouring you whole. It would also be a lie to say that isn't exactly what you wanted, to push him to his breaking point so he would absolutely wreck you, because it was obvious he was going to take his time in teasing and toying with you. His fingers moved faster, managing to stroke a particularly spongy spot inside of you that made your back arch and your hips jump, and the fucked out noise you moaned into your hand was downright sinful. That seemed to be the desired effect, because Wolfwood was abusing that spot like a man on a mission, his tongue working in time with your clit to send you hurdling over the edge at break–neck speed. The hand you were holding to your mouth shot down, both hands gripping his hair as you rocked your hips up into his mouth and hands. It hit you like a truck, temporarily blinding you. Your hands clenched in his hair, looking for any kind of purchase to help ground you from your earth-shattering orgasm, his free hand coming up to press down into your pelvis, preventing you from squirming and bucking up too much. You whined, gasped, moaned, and pleaded too much, please stop stop too much before his mouth was pulling off of you, fingers slowing to a stop inside you. Your entire body went limp, eyes wide as you stared up at the dingy motel ceiling. You didn't know how you were ever supposed to be satisfied with your own fingers again, let alone another person. A distant chuckle snapped you back, your eyes trailing down to see Wolfwood now shirtless, working at the belt and button of his pants. "Y'look fucked," He mused, pushing his pants and underwear down at the same time, "Hope you didn't think I was done with you yet." It was a visceral effort to not stare at his cock as it bounced between his legs when he stood up straight. He was thick, and definitely longer than anything you had taken until now. You didn't have much time to gawk, considering he was hooking his arms under your legs and tossing you to lay on the bed properly without a seconds notice. He crawled up and between your thighs, coaxing your knees to hook around his hips and circle his waist while he sat back on his haunches. His thumb pressed against the base of his cock, hips slowly moving back and forth as he dragged through your slick and his spit. He hissed, his tip catching on your hole just briefly, before he went back to teasing up and down. Your drawn out whine made him grin wolfishly, but he didn't say anything. You knew he wanted you to beg. "Please, Nick," You whined, fingers gripping the crumpled sheets below you, "Please fuck me, I need you." "Fuck, you look good like this," Wolfwood sucked a breath through his teeth, thumb angling himself down to catch on your entrance once again. "So pretty, begging like a whore." The praise and degradation made you wail, as did the slow slide of every ridge and vein of his cock as he slid himself in you to the hilt. You were surrounded by him, drowning in him, every scent and sight and touch was nothing but Wolfwood and you would gladly die like this. He leaned down on his forearms, one hand coming to the center of your lower back and angling your hips up so he could drive even deeper and you swear you saw God. He started slow, only pulling out an inch and pushing back in, his lips on your neck, jaw, temple, as he slowly worked you through any potential discomfort. "F–Fucking– feels like you're in my throat," You sighed, hands coming up to claw at his shoulders. He chuckled, biting down on your pulse points. "So deep, so big. Please move, I need–" As soon as your plea graced your lips, he had pulled his cock out to the tip, then slammed back in with fervor. You cried out, only vaguely aware of the headboard slamming into the wall with equal force. You couldn't see straight, let alone think straight, with the brute force behind his thrusts. He was still taking his time devouring you, savoring you, his pace slow but deep and hard. You could swear you felt his cock tip reach your guts with every thrust, his name a mantra on your lips and your fingers scribing his shoulders and back. "So tight," Wolfwood huffed, hips bucking out of pace for a mere second, "Feels so fucking good." He was losing himself in you, emphasizing his words with harsh thrusts, his eyes rolling back into his head as he sped up. All you could do was hang onto him, desperately raising your hips in time with him in an attempt to get him further, closer deeper. He was intoxicating, the woodsy second-hand smoke emanating from him paired with his thick cock pushing you harder and harder into the bed making you drunk off of him. You couldn't string together a coherent sentence to tell him how fucking good he felt, only punched out moans and shrill cries of s'good, fuck me, harder, faster. He took them just as well, eventually folding you in on yourself. Your knees ended up over his shoulders, his arms outstretched and hands against the headboard as he fucked down into you with vicious ferocity. The constant bang of the bed frame against the wall getting faster, and you couldn't find it in yourself to be shameful if it ended up waking your companions, because you were lurching closer and closer to the edge you could taste it. "So good, you're so good, too good f'r me," Wolfwood panted in your ear, a hand coming down to grab your cheeks and crush his lips against yours in an agonizingly desperate kiss. It was deliciously wet, all tongue, spit dribbling down your chin. Another two, three, four thrusts, and you were whining into him, trying to voice I'm cumming, fuck fuck fuck I'm cumming, only to have it sinfully swallowed up in his gluttony for you and your desire. Your pussy squeezed him like a vice, trembling and quaking and milking him for everything he was worth. He pulled back panting, a sheen of sweat illuminated by the moons peering through the window. You barely got to say please cum inside by the time he was already pulling out, fisting his cock to completion. He groaned, spurts of his seed coating your pussy, stomach, and chest. "Fuck, f–hah, should've said something sooner," Wolfwood huffed, voice low and gravelly, "Would've filled you to the fuckin’ brim." You should've been ashamed that your pussy quivered at the thought. Both of you were panting, eyes half-mast, staring at each other with an equally amused and fucked-out expression. He was the first to crack, a chuckle leaving his lips as he unfolded you from your position underneath him. A swift smack to your ass made you squeak before your legs fell back to the bed, sprawling out like a starfish. He leaned over the bed, picking up an article of clothing and wiping you off with it. You quickly recognized it being the fabric of his button-up, your cheeks flushing at the thought of him walking around with everyone cum-stained tomorrow. Once you were sufficiently cleaned up, though still sticky with sweat, he tossed his shirt back to the floor and flopped down onto the bed beside you. The bed creaked and groaned under his weight, threatening to give out if there was even the slightest bit of extra exertion on it's frail frame. His arm snuck under your head, nudging you to lean into his side and cuddle up against him. Your arm slung over his torso, hand slowly sliding up and curling gently against his chest. His heart hammered in his chest, much faster than it should be by now, and when you looked up you were surprised to meet his eyes. It was quiet, and you simply watched as he processed his inner turmoil, waiting for him to come to a conclusion on what he wanted to say to you. Finally, he quietly muttered, "Will you stay with me tonight?" You beamed, watching his ears glow red at his request, simply settling for a nod. You rest your head against his chest again, slinging a leg over his thigh, eyes sliding shut for what you think was one of the best nights sleep you've had in years. The morning after, you woke to three loud consecutive knocks on the door. You groaned quietly, turning away from the noise. Four knocks now, this time harder, had you groaning just a little bit louder. You heard a sigh from beside you, then a gentle pap pap on your ass, before the weight on the bed shifted. Turning your head, you watched a still very naked Wolfwood march his way over to the door, the scratches running down his back and shoulders still angry, red and irritated. He cracked the door open, keeping the deadbolt fastened. "What?" He drawled, clearly unimpressed he was woken up from his slumber with you, "Someone better be dying." "Oh you're just as rude first thing in the morning, great," You heard Meryl, irritation dripping from her voice. She said your name briefly, trying to get another three words in before Wolfwood started closing the door. "Don't know, probably around somewhere. Be out in a bit." The sound of her cursing him from behind the door made you giggle, hands coming up to your mouth to muffle the sound. When he turned around, Wolfwood looked just as amused, plucking your clothes off the floor and tossing them to you. "That's not gonna buy you a lot of time," He chided, watching you slide your shirt over your head as he pulled his underwear and pants up his legs, "Better get going." "Yeah– I'll probably get an earful either way though," You laughed, walking over to your shoes as you put your shorts on. You were going to say something about have fun with your cum-shirt, but a hand grabbed at your hip and spun you around before you could slip your shoes on properly. You turned around, surprised by the soft kiss placed on your lips. "I don't want this to be a one time thing," Wolfwood looked away, his blazer slung over his shoulder, "If... I don't know if you–" "No, I'd like to do this again... and again and again." His ears and neck were red, making you laugh. You went to pull away, but his hand was steadfast on your hip, grip unwavering as he stared into you. You watched him inquisitively, blinking in confusion, what else needed to be said? "I did– do, I do want you, by the way." The way you looked at him must have been absolutely bewildered, incredulous, before you snorted, stifling a laugh in the back of your hand. "I think you showed me that much, Nick." He cleared his throat, taking a step back and looking away, his face a deep crimson. "R–Right, yeah– I did." You unlocked the deadbolt, then the door, twisting the knob and opening it just a crack. Looking back at him over your shoulder, you grinned, giving a little wave. "I'll see you at breakfast?" "... Yeah, see you at breakfast." And with your final goodbyes, you shuffled off to your room discreetly, getting ready for the day. It was a race against time and you won, managing to get changed in record speed and go downstairs to find Meryl and Roberto sitting across from Vash in the small diner attached to your motel. You smiled, waving, and made up some piss poor excuse about trying to find some cheap clothing stores along the market strip. You sat beside Vash, who was uncharacteristically quiet, his cheeks and ears a dark red, as opposed to their usual pale pink glow. Maybe you interrupted a sore subject. Not even a minute behind you, Wolfwood came strolling through a door, a very obvious damp patch on the front of his shirt where he had selectively scrubbed his cum out. Vash scooted over, then you, allowing room for Wolfwood to squeeze in beside you at the end. Conversation picked up as food and coffee was served, but Vash continued to stay mostly quiet, only ever piping up when addressed or spoken to. At some point you got concerned, placing a gentle hand on his metallic arm. He jumped, looking down at you, then over your shoulder, as you muttered a quiet, "Hey, what's up? You've been really quiet today." Cerulean eyes glanced back down at you as he weakly and nervously chuckled, seeming to not completely want to divulge in what was bothering him so much. You pursed your lips, giving him a knowing look. "Ahaha, w–well, I mean... last night I heard–" Wolfwood's knee jumped, hitting under the table beside you and shaking all the cups, plates, and cutlery strewn across it. Coffee was spilled, forks were lost, and audible disappointment was voiced from more than one party. "What was that, Spikey?" Wolfwood muttered through his teeth. As messes were hurriedly wiped, Wolfwood leaned back in his seat, peering over your head and glaring at the blond sitting beside you. They held eye contact, and all you could do was nervously glance between them. ".... Y'know, I was probably just imagining things!" Vash exclaimed, running a hand through his fluffy hair. "Roberto snores pretty loud!" There was some back and forth between Meryl and Roberto that seemed mostly one sided, leaving you room to heave out a breath you didn't know you were holding in. God, how embarrassing would that have been?

A hand on your thigh grabbed your attention, eyes glancing up at a very nonchalant Wolfwood that was leaning down to whisper in your ear. "Guess you still got an audience."

#nicholas d. wolfwood x reader #nicholas d wolfwood x reader #nicholas d wolfwood x reader smut #nicholas d. wolfwood x reader smut #nicholas d. wolfwood #trigun x reader #trigun stampede x reader #trigun stampede smut

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cameronspecial · 6 months

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Hey! Your writing is a masterpiece can you please write one where reader is a kook (a good one who actually enjoys being a kook) but is dating JJ but he tries to change her and at some point they argue and he brings up Rafe(who is readers best friend) and tells her that Rafe is in love with her but reader is like “no he’s not” and then JJ asks her if she love Rafe and she’s like “of course he’s my best friend” and Jj is like “Let me ask you something else I love you do you love me?” And she just stands there and then happy ending with Rafe 🫶🏻

Who Do You Love?

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 0.6K

Masterlist

“JJ, what do you want me to do? Not go? I have to. It’s an event honouring my dad,” Y/N yells. JJ shakes his head, “Of course, I don’t want you to go. That shit is the Kookiest thing I’ve ever heard.” “I’m a Kook, JJ. What do you expect? You don’t have to go with me if you don’t want too,” she argues back. Her boyfriend lets out a low chuckle, “I expect you to spend time with me. I swear, you spend more time with Rafe than you do me.” “What are you talking about? I spend most of my nights with you. Rafe has nothing to do with this,” she replies. He steps closer to her, towering over her. “Rafe has everything to do with this. He’s in love with you.” It’s Y/N’s turn to laugh as her head moves from side to side, “That’s ridiculous. No, he isn’t.” “Yes, he is. But what I want to know, is if you love him?” JJ asks, looking up at her with tears in his eyes. Her eyes avoid his gaze, “Of course, I love him. JJ, he’s my best friend.”

JJ’s hand removes his hat and runs his fingers through his hair. He knows he shouldn’t ask this question. He knows he won’t like the answer he receives; however, he needs to know the answer. “So let me ask you something else. Do you love me? Because I love you and I’ve said it so many times, except you haven’t said it back. Maybe you just needed time, but maybe it was something else. Someone else.” She can only stare at him with her mouth open. Her brain is taking in all the information. The breeze coming in from the poorly insulated house causes goosebumps to run up her arm. JJ first said he loved her a few weeks ago and she wasn’t able to say it back. She knew that she felt it; she was just scared of saying it. Though JJ’s words make her rethink her previous beliefs. What if the true reason why she couldn’t say it was because her heart belonged to someone else?

———

Rafe opens the front door in his suit, ready to go for the charity event where Mr. Y/L/N is being honoured. His smile drops when he sees Y/N in her dress, tears streaming down her face. “Sweet girl, what happened?” he worries and pulls her into a hug. He doesn’t care that her mascara is going to stain his clothes. All he needs to do right now is to make sure Y/N is okay. She bruises her head into his chest, “JJ broke up with me.” The hand on her back tightens into a fist. “I’m going to kill him,” he threatens. Y/N places a hand on his chest to stop him, “No, don’t. It’s not his fault. It’s mine.” “Nothing is ever your fault,” he says against her ear. “You are perfect.” He pulls back from the hug to look into her eyes. “You do love me,” she mutters; nevertheless, he hears her. He takes a step back and awkwardly coughs. “You’re my best friend. It would be weird if I didn’t love you,” he covers up. Y/N shakes her head, “No, you love me.” She reiterates, emphasizing the word to distinguish the difference. Rafe doesn’t know what to say, he can’t deny her accusation. She can sense his worry and takes a step closer to him. She lets the tip of her fingers graze his. His heart flutters at the feeling and he hesitantly laces their fingers together.

When she squeezes his hand, he brings his lips closer to hers. They can feel each other's breaths on their faces. “D-do you love me too?” he stutters out. It’s the question he’s been wanting but has been afraid to ask. He thinks he might explode if she says no. “I love you too,” she breathes out. Rafe feels butterflies and he has to feel her lips on his. Their lips connect, making everything perfect in the world.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @nonbullshit-toleratingkindagirl

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areislol · 1 year

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helloo! just wanna say that your writing is so good! could i request neteyam(or the sully kids), lo'ak and tsu'tey with fem! reader who's on her period? how would they deal with the bleeding and react? thank you ૮ ˶´ ᵕˋ ˶ა

sully kids, tsu'tey x human! reader

ft— neteyam, lo’ak, kiri, tuk, tsu'tey warnings— mentions of blood, inappropriate language(sperm, etc.), might be ooc? can be seen as platonic/romantic for neteyam/lo'ak. tsu'tey and reader are dating/the female na’vi’s do not menstruate, fluff!! not proof read but i will later, hopefully. a/n— tysm anon! i've been thinking about the boys with reader who's on her period and then this request comes in, thank you!! also spider isn’t in here because.. no. i’m sorry to everybody who wanted him in here. anything with tsu’tey in it is in avatar 2, he’s still alive. unless you request or i write it during avatar 1. synopsis— when your period arrives, they are curious and scared about why you're bleeding from that area, you explain to them about the female anatomy.

"Wait... so you bleed from there every month?" they asked, you nod.

they stare at you in disbelief, mouth wide open and eyes bugged, you chuckle from their reaction, “so what do you have to do to stop the bleeding?”

you pull out a thick cloth from your satchel and fold it until it’s the right size. “this.” you say while holding it up

they exchange glances at the piece of cloth and you, when they don’t say anything and just continue to stare at the cloth and then at you, you sigh before speaking.

“i put it under where the blood comes from, and then i wash the cloth and reuse. if i can’t then i just get another cloth and then do the same thing, understand now?”

they squint their eyes, unsure of what to make of this, determined to make them understand you decide to teach them the (human) female anatomy.

sully kids x human! reader

Kiri, tuk and lo’ak were talking to each other, wondering what you were going to be teaching them, neteyam on the other hand, watched you as you walk around to find a stick to use, his eyebrows raises when he sees you running toward where the group was, a stick in your hand. Once you reach them you sit down beside kiri, using the stick, you start to draw a human body on the sand, a very poorly drawn human body, well at least what resembles a body anyway. Everybody leaned in closer to look at your drawing, “hm.. okay! so this is the part where the blood comes from,” you say, pointing to the lower part of the body in between the legs, “okay?”, they nod, kiri and neteyam look at you which prompts you to go on. ”So this area...”, pointing at the uterus, “is the uterus, correct?” you ask, when they nod you start to draw lines coming out of the uterus and out of the part(v). “This is the period.” you say, pointing at the lines. “So every month a female starts her period which should only last for a week, the uterus lining, which is like tissue from our uterus, shreds because the egg hasn’t been fertilized.” Upon hearing the last sentence everybody raised their eyebrows. ”What egg? do you have a egg in you?!” tuk questions, worry filled her voice, she almost faints. You found it hilarious that she thought that, then neteyam and lo’ak also asked if you had an egg in you and if you were okay, you could see the worry on their faces, shaking your head you giggled, lo’ak stared at you in disbelief, why were you laughing at this serious matter? ”No no, not a literal egg. it’s like a small little thing in our ovary, it’s one of the main things that you need to get pregnant. Once the.. sperm reaches the egg, the egg gets fertilized and you know, you get pregnant!”, once you were done talking you noticed how they all look dazed, their smiles faltering, like they didn’t understand, but you could understand. I mean, you were quite literally saying words that they didn’t understand. Sooner or later after you stopped talking, they started to ask you questions, what is “sperm”? why is the female body so “complicated”? and such. Kiri and tuk would grimace, scrunching their face, even sticking out their tongue in disgust whenever you answered their or the others questions. Lo’ak and neteyam were both slightly disgusted but interested. You then go on to explain how some girls experience cramps and mood swings when on their period. Neteyam expressions seem to soften after hearing the problems that you, girls, have to go through, while lo’ak expressions seem to harden, why did you, girls, have to go through that? Tuk shivers when she hears you talk more about periods. They all were interested in periods, all paying extreme attention to what you had to say. Kiri laid her hand on your thigh, giving you a sorrowful look. “I’m so sorry you have to deal with all of that... i’m so glad that we don’t have to go through that.” Tuk nodded, agreeing with kiri’s statement. You placed your hand over kiri’s, giving her a gentle smile you spoke, “it’s fine kiri, honestly, i’ve had it for a long time now, i’m used to it.” You pulled your hand back, kiri doing the same. After a few seconds lo’ak’s eye widens, he was crouching down, but after something had popped into his mind he moved closer to you, still crouching. “How can we help you?”, his voice was serious yet it also sounded like he was worried. ”Hm, well there’s nothing you can do really, but i guess for period cramps something warm? having an extra cloth on you and listening to someone rambling and comforting them when they’re having mood swings.” you answer, putting on your thinking face. While you’re still thinking for more things, you dont realize that all the sully children are taking in what you’re saying and remembering, so next time you have cramps or is leaking they have everything prepared. Every example you give they’re taking notes mentally, Lo’ak asks you more questions so that he can be FULLY prepared when you’re on your period, especially when you’re early. Neteyam, kiri and tuk are nodding at everything you say, remembering what you’re talking about. Once you’re done explaining you notice that they are all eager to go off somewhere. They all looked like they wanted to be somewhere, right now. When you all say your goodbye’s neteyam is off to his marui, grabbing some spare cloths. Lo’ak is off to grab everything to make the “heat pad”, cloths and something soft and some sewing materials. Kiri and tuk both run off to ronal, the tsahìk to ask for some pain killers. ”Pain killers? and for what?” ronal spoke, raising her eyebrows, eyeing the two young girls. Kiri and tuk exchange looks and giggle before answering ronal, “nothing!” Ronal contemplates whether or not to give the pain killers to kiri and tuk but in the end she gives in. They would all fight for your thanks' and fight to help you really, an example, you’re sitting on a rock, your legs swaying in the water, the sully children are playing in the water, chasing each other in the water when you feel a sudden pain in your abdomen. It was your cramps, again. Sighing you reach into your satchel, putting your hands in the pocket you feel for your pain killers but after trying to grab nothing you looked into your bag, a look of devastation feel on your face. Neteyam heard your groans and whimpering, just a few feet away from where he and his siblings were. His head popped up from the water, gasping for air once he got up, he turned around to see where you were, once you were in his sight his face dropped, you were tightly hugging your waist, your eyes were closed shut, you mouth agape, groaning. Wasting no time he quickly swims to where you sat and hopped on the rock, looking up you see neteyam standing next to you, his eyes said everything. ”Are you okay? do you need anything? period cramps?” with his question you nod eagerly. Neteyam hurriedly rummaged through his satchel when he saw shadows in the water approaching you two, neteyam closed his satchel, he fiercely stood right next to you, fists balled just in case ao’nung and his gang were going to cause trouble to you and him. Once neteyam seems the familiar faces rising up and popping up and gasping for air he eased, “What’s wrong neteyam? you just left us- oh, y/n? are you okay?!” kiri rushed to you, climbing on the rock and sitting beside you, placing her hands on your shoulder, looking at tuk she nodded and tuk swam closer to you and sat on the rock with you, but before tuk could open her satchel neteyam interrupted her, “what are you doing?” Tuk paused, looking up at her older brother her lips curved into a smile, “just giving y/n some pain killers, why?”, tuk saw how neteyam glared at her, playfully if you can even call it that. “Was going to give her some too..” he mumbled, gripping your stomach you looked at neteyam and gave him a faint smile, giving tuk one as well. Lo’ak and kiri then hopped on the rock and started to question if you were okay, when you told them that your stomach hurt they both opened their satchels, they were about to grab the pain killers when they stopped. Everybody looked at each other with confusion, kiri and lo’ak smiled in mischief, both grabbing the pain killers and offering it to you. Neteyam stood beside you, watching his brother and sister offer their pain killers to you, he wanted to give you the pain killers that he had, to you, but he didn’t want to cause a scene so he let his siblings to their thing. Tuk frowned but after you gestured her to come sit closer to you her smile appeared, although she was wet, she was warm, and that made your stomach pain fade away slowly. While that was happening kiri and lo’ak were both arguing, saying that you should take her pain killers because she’s a girl, lo’ak gives her a look of confusion and disbelief. Lo’ak then went on that you should take his because he got it recently while kiri’s was probably a century old, which was of course, false. Neteyam sat down beside you and put his arm around you and tuk, pulling you closer to his body, and again, he was wet but still warm, so with the warmth of two people, warmth on your shoulder and warmth on your stomach you sighed in relief, stopping the bickering between kiri and lo’ak. They saw you with a smile on your face, eyes closed, tuk laying on your thighs, hugging your stomach while neteyam held you close, his arms around your shoulders with a smug look on his face when he sees the look of devastation on his sibling face. ”Good luck next time” neteyam states, pulling you even more close to him even though you two were practically in each others bubble. Kiri looked defeated, lo’ak frowned before sighing, “I’ll need it..” and with that he sat beside tuk, kiri following him and sitting beside lo’ak. Neteyam, lo’ak and kiri looked beyond the horizon, Neteyam hugging you closely while tuk slept on your lap. “We should get home, dad won’t like it if we’re out any later.” kiri suggests, lo’ak and neteyam simultaneously look at her, “no, y/n and tuk is resting, later.” Kiri rolls her eyes and huffs, standing up and jumping into the water to see the fishes, again.

tsu’tey x human! reader “What do you mean you bleed from there? are you hurt? should i call the tsahìk?” tsu’tey asks, worry filled his voice, “what? no! im fine, it’s normal.” you answer, holding back your laughter, he sounded way too serious for something that was normal, well, for humans anyway. Tsu’tey raises his eyebrow at you, giving you a small nod even though he wasn’t completely sure if you were okay but he trusted you, also since you were a human so your anatomy is different to his kind. You and tsu’tey stop talking for a bit before he breaks the silence with a question, “how do you deal with all of that? the.. ‘period’?” he asks, inching closer to where you sat. The first thing you thought of was the cloth, which was the replacement of a pad, humming you open your satchel and pull out a cloth, you then fold it until it’s the right size and hand it to tsu’tey, he was watching you with confusion written all over his face when he saw you grab your cloth. Tsu’tey takes the cloth from your hands and observes it, it looks normal, nothing is different other than the fact that you folded it. He looked at you, cloth in hand and doesn’t say anything, meaning that he’s confused. “Uh- so basically we just put it under our part.. so stop the bleeding from going everywhere.” you blurt out, with your answer tsu’tey nods, understanding you but not fully. You know that he doesn’t know much about the female body so you decide to teach him, reaching into your satchel you pull out your notebook and a pencil, you set the notebook down and move (even) closer to tsu’tey, you start to draw a human body, or what resembles a human body. “Okay, so this is our part, it’s called a “vagina”, that’s the proper way to say it, another way to say it is “pussy” but that also means cat.” you say, then you tell him to repeat what you said and he does so. You then point to where the uterus is, “this is our uterus, where the baby grows, the reason why we bleed is because our “egg” isn’t fertilized, so our uterus lining shreds, so we bleed because we don’t get pregnant and it’s like “oh! no sperm? might as well shred”.” Once you finish talking you look at tsu’tey looks overwhelmed with the information you’ve given him, to you it’s not a lot, but to him it’s a lot. Once tsu’tey calms down a bit, his brows furrowed before asking you a “serious” question, “do you have an egg in you?” he asks in a grave tone. He sounded too serious that you burst out laughing, while you’re laughing hysetrically he’s giving you a confused look before pouting, why were you laughing at his question? Tsu’tey puts his hand on your shoulder and tells you to calm down, in an attempt to calm you down, and you do. Once your laughter dies down you had to wipe your tears away, “now answer my question, do you have an egg in you? why?” and again, he says it in a serious tone that it almost makes you laugh again. Using all your will power you stop yourself from laughing and answer his question, you shook your head and once you do his shoulders rest as if he has been carrying something heavy on his shoulder. “They’re small things in our ovaries, we call them eggs. Without it we wouldn’t have any children.” Once you finish your comment tsu’tey gives you a nod and pulls his hand back. After explaining some things, like how some girls experience cramps which is when the stomach hurts, mood swings, when their mood changes very quickly, tsu’tey then asks if there was any way to reduce the pain or help the women, you give him a tender smile and answer his questions. While answering his questions, he’s mentally taking notes since he knows that you’re on your period and is taking notes so the next time you’re late or early he’s prepared, oh you don’t have any spare cloths? fret not! inside my satchel i have some cloths just for you! your stomach hurts? here my love, a handmade heat pad (it’s a cloth that’s sewed with something soft inside of it and was left out in the sun for hours) just for you. You also explain how some girls leak, meaning that their “pad” or cloth, couldn’t hold the bleeding (most times it’s heavy bleeding) and leaked, or the size wasn’t right or the absorbancy was poor. Everything you say, tsu’tey is taking notes, and when you tell him how some men get mad at their girlfriends for leaking he gets mad, like how could you get mad for someone who can’t even control something? Tsu’tey scoffs, he assures you that if you ever leaked he’d never get mad at you and would help you clean up, get you a new cloth and underwear if you feel too disgusted to walk, or if you can you can go get it. Once you hear him say that you give him a hug and you made sure to hug him tightly, kissing his cheek, “best boyfrien- no, mate, ever!!” you squeal. Smiling, he hugs you back while running his fingers through your hair, When you pull back your hands are still around his neck, his eyes are staring deep into yours, his yellow eyes with a hue of green never failed to make you awe, “i can say the same to you my love.” he states before pulling you into a kiss. To say the least, he definitely praises and respects women even more now, since you women carry babies and deal with all this nonsense.

note: if you would like to be added to the avatar taglist pls just ask me!! dont be shy <3

taglist: @winnithepoohh @nerbyrobotics

liking + following + reblogs are very much appreciated!!

another note: im going on a cruise with my friends and family on jan 8th to jan 13th so i wont be writing for 5 days, literal hell. enjoy!! also i have others coming up to stay tuned bb.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!

#avatar x reader #neteyam x reader #lo'ak x reader #tsu'tey x reader #atwow #avatar the way of water #kiri #tuk

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johnwickb1tsch · 4 months

Text

The Girl Next Door ~ Part 1

A Constantine x Reader fic based on this imagine.

Summary: John Constantine has a crush on you. He wasn’t going to do anything about it though, until you strong arm him into coming over for dinner. Little do you know, this paints a target on your back for the local vampire coven… (I had to write something sweet for my mental health y'all 😆) Rating: Explicit, NSFW, but no dead doves...😮

You are the very archetype of The Girl Next Door. Well, literally. John Constantine lives in 202, and you in 204. You share a wall, and occasionally, he sort of smiles at you when you meet in the hall.

Like tonight, as your arms are full of groceries, returning home after work. You don’t know what he does exactly, but you assume it’s the same for him, though he is only clutching a brown bag that very poorly disguises a bottle of scotch.

“Hi, John,” you say brightly over a proud sprig of celery sticking out of your bag. It’s almost a running joke between the two of you, your sunny brightness aimed at him like a weapon.

There’s a long pause, like always, before he finally answers reluctantly in his deep monotone, “Hi, y/n. Bye, y/n.”

Before you can engage him any further he disappears into his apartment, closing the door hard behind him, the slam in the air like an exclamation point. You stare for a moment at the space where he’d just been, tall, handsome, his suit rumpled, that tie half undone around his neck. He looked like he’d had a rough day, whatever he does.

He dresses like a professional something, but imagining that man as a door to door salesman with his attitude is laughable, and so is the thought of him working amicably in an office setting.

You go inside and put away your groceries, then spread out what you need to make dinner. It’s Friday night, and you’ve had a long week too. You are making comfort food—it’s kind of a shame to eat it alone.

Half an hour later, while the sauce simmers, you find you just can’t stop thinking about that man next door. He seems lonely, every time you see him. There is something about him that just makes you want to wrap him up in a hug.

He’d probably push you off if you tried, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t need a hug.

The thing is…you have this thing. He pretends like you annoy him, but sometimes in the hall, or down in the lobby when you’re collecting your mail, you catch him looking at you when he thinks you’re not looking. And the look on his face is never exactly lecherous, like you’re used to with most men who eye-fuck you on the street. His look is more…just…lost, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

You’re sure he’ll say no, but your feet seem to carry you of their own accord, when you find yourself at his door, knocking loudly.

Some time passes and you hear him grumbling on the other side before he jerks open the portal just a crack. “Yeah?”

“I’m making my Nonna’s meatballs and marinara for dinner.”

“Good for you?”

“From scratch.”

“Sounds time consuming.”

“Want to join me?”

There is a very long pause, in which he just looks at you. You can tell he’s at least one drink in already; you smell the fumes on his breath. And maybe it’s stupid, and you’re asking for trouble you don’t need, but the thought that that will be this man’s only dinner squeezes your heart.

Finally, he answers with a question. “Why?”

“Why not?”

This, amusingly, seems to actually flummox him, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. In the end he narrows his eyes at you, (those lovely brown eyes, you can’t help but notice), like you’re trying to trick him into something truly heinous.

It’s…kind of funny, truth be told, and you can’t stop yourself from grinning. “Come on. I know you can smell it.” Your door is wide open.

“Maybe I don’t like Italian food.”

“Everyone likes Italian food.”

“Maybe you’re a terrible cook.”

“Only one way to find out.”

He actually growls a little, which for some reason gives you a thrill to the base of your spine.

You really need to get back to stir the sauce. You didn’t anticipate getting this far in the conversation (argument?) with him, honestly.

“Well, door’s open,” you tell him, turning to go. You throw one last little come-hither look over your shoulder, to find he is definitely staring at your ass. Or, glaring, more like.

Maybe you have a screw loose, but you find this adorable.

You go back to your sauce, and lose yourself in the preparation of the other ingredients, watching the pasta to make sure it doesn’t boil over, checking that the meatballs aren’t burning. (Your oven is a dinosaur from the 1970s, and sometimes the temp spikes for no reason).

You are about to drain the pasta, when you find a tall, rumpled man standing beside your rickety thrift store table, looking a bit confused as to how he’d ended up there. He looks so big in your shoebox of an apartment, and if you’re being honest, maybe there’s a little bit of lust tied up with your desire to mother this man.

You offer him a welcoming smile, and for a moment, you swear he looks like he’s drowning.

“Glad you could make it,” you say somewhat teasingly.

“Can I…help?” He says the last word like it’s a completely alien thing to him.

“I’ve pretty much got it under control…” you say, which is mostly true. You peruse the sparse offerings of your 3 slot wine rack, picking a $6 bottle of Chilean red blend. “Want to open this?” The face he makes looking down at the decidedly weaker-than-whiskey beverage is almost comical, but he takes the corkscrew from you as you transfer the meal to serving bowls and put glasses of water on the table.

He removes his suit jacket at the table, rolling his sleeves up over muscular forearms that are, if you’re being honest, totally distracting. After you sit down you fill your plates, and the first few minutes of the meal goes by in semi-awkward silence.

Surprisingly, it’s John who speaks first. “This is really good,” he admits begrudgingly, and you utterly fail to damper your I-told-you-so smile.

“Thanks.”

You make halting small talk. You get the feeling he doesn’t chat much with anyone, of his own free will. When you ask him how his week was, his simple answer is, “Hell.”

You have no idea he’s being literal.

You ask him what he does, and he tells you he’s a sort of private detective, and he can’t really talk about it. He asks what you do, more to get the conversation off of him than anything. You let it go, for now, telling him that you’re a receptionist at an office building for a mega corporation downtown.

“Fitting,” he grumbles, you think because of your innate cheerfulness.

You feel the urge to tell him that half the time it’s just a thing you wear like armor—but you don’t know each other that well yet.

As you loosen up a little with food and more wine, he slowly asks more questions about you, where you’re from, what do you do in your free time, and maybe it’s stupid, but you feel like he’s actually kind of interested in your answers.

You enlist him to help you with the dishes, and as you stand together at the sink you bump him playfully with your hip. He peers down at you, his dark hair in his eyes. He is so tall, and there is a hint of a smile on his lips now. For him, it’s like a full-on toothy grin, and it doesn’t fail to quicken your heart in your chest.

Constantine can’t help but feel…puzzled, by you. Yes, you’re his cute neighbor, who teasingly likes to hail him in the hallway. And maybe he does look forward to the way your eyes sparkle, when he begrudgingly acknowledges you before retreating to the safety of the quiet solitude of his apartment. But you are so…nice. He can just tell, and he has no idea what a girl like you might want with a degenerate demon hunter like him. There are enough assholes in L.A. who would be happy to take you out. Why would you waste your time chasing him down?

And there is that smaller nagging voice in the back of his head. You are damned, and you don’t deserve her.

Fuck if it doesn’t make him want to touch you even more.

Later, he will look back on this as a moment of weakness. You, looking up at him with your big eyes, like you're old friends. You made him feel, for a fleeting moment, like he wasn't some doomed asshole with nothing to live for. Like he was an actual person. A man who could matter, to someone. Maybe even to you.

When you splash him with a flick of dishwater after he insults your favorite TV show he narrows his eyes down at you, and you get the fluttery feeling that he might like to eat you a moment before he cups your cheek in his big hand and catches your lips in a kiss. It’s everything you’d hoped for, even if you never actually expected it to really happen. Maybe the wine helped? Or maybe…he likes you? Luckily you get over your surprise, standing on tiptoe to meet him, looping your arms around his neck.

You yip with surprise when suddenly he lifts you to sit on the sink, pulling you close as the kiss deepens. “Was getting a crick in my neck…”

Your answering laugh is shaky at best. “Sorry.”

“Is this why you invited me over?”

“Sort of?”

He lifts an eyebrow at that, waiting for further explanation. You reach up to toy with his collar, tracing the line of his loosened tie, totally distracted by the shape of his collarbone and what’s bared of his neck. This man has a jawline that looks like it was sculpted from stone. There’s no shortage of beautiful people in L.A., of course, but you’ve never met anyone quite like him. He doesn’t seem vain, an oddity in this town, but underneath his rumpled suit this man definitely has the physique of a movie star. You try not to dwell on how odd it is, that he would choose to spend his Friday night with you.

“I mean, I’m definitely not complaining,” you offer with a sly little smile.

However, his answering expression is nothing less than stern.

“I’m warning you now, sweetheart. I’m not boyfriend material, and I’m not going to be your project.”

Even if both of those things may have crossed your mind, your thoughts are too hazy with lust from his lips on yours. Maybe he’s a grouch…but he’s a great kisser.

“Okay.”

“Good.”

He kisses you again, and you melt even more under his exacting touch. Those mitts for hands make you feel small, and you arch against him as they travel the ladder of your ribcage to your spine.

The wine was good, but you know you are mostly drunk on him.

Then he is lifting you again, like you weigh nothing, carrying you to the couch. You settle down into the worn vintage cushions and make-out like teenagers, all lips and teeth and pawing hands.

You’re the one who actually initiates something further, pulling off your shirt, and John blinks as he takes in the swathes of your bare skin. He glares at your lacy bra like it owes him money, and you can’t help but laugh breathily. You haven’t felt thishappy in a long time, truth be told.

“Something funny?” he asks, nipping at your neck. With a flick of his fingers your bra falls away, and your breasts are in his hands, and you forget how to speak intelligibly. With his lips on your nipples you manage to loosen his tie without strangling him, unbuttoning his shirt with an increasing desperation. You sigh when at last the bare skin of your torsos is pressed together, his weight pressing you down into the couch.

It occurs to you, how small your couch is, and this man is definitely over six feet tall. “Would you prefer…the bed?” you ask between kisses.

“Up to you.”

You nod, but find you can’t really stop kissing him long enough to move. You can feel the impressive length of him through his pants and yours, aligned with your center and you dry grind, thinking even that is wonderful. He, however, lets out a frustrated growl, and pulls you to your feet again.

Dizzy with desire, you lead him by the hand to your bedroom, and you make it there eventually between kisses and shedding the rest of your clothing. His thick fingers between your legs are a marvel. “So fucking wet for me,” he groans, and it’s too embarrassing to admit, but sometimes after seeing him in the hallway you’ve fantasized about something like this going down, and it always leaves you soaked.

“I…like you,” you admit, moaning as a second finger finds its way inside you, his thumb circling your clit.

“I still don’t get that,” he admits, but kisses you hard before you really have a chance to answer. It would be a little too crazy, to tell him right now that you’ve always just felt pulled towards him, like the Universe was giving you a nudge any time you saw him. He’d laugh at you, or he’d leave, and either of those at this point would be unbearable.

You are close already under his masterful touch, and you whine even as you flex your hips, all your muscles tightening in anticipation.

“Don’t make me cum yet,” you beg. “I want you.”

He groans in response to that, desperately pawing through the pockets of his pants on the floor for a condom. You watch with stars in your eyes, propped on your elbows as he rips open the packet and rolls it on that impressive length, your lip between your teeth. You feel empty while looking at him like this, longing to be filled to the brim.

There is a moment of raw eye contact between you that sears your soul, as he pulls you to the edge of the bed with those large hands on your thighs. For a fleeting second he looks almost vulnerable. It’s there and gone like a ripple in a pool, then his thick tip is at your entrance, and he is slowly pushing himself inside you.

It’s better than you ever dreamed, and you arch against him, moaning as he works inside.

“Fuck you are tight,” he pants in your ear, your walls clenching around him, seeming to fight him even as they crave the relief of his big cock stretching you out. You breathe deeply, easing him in. When at last he bottoms out inside you, your head rocks back behind your shoulders, blissed out.

“God, you feel good.”

This man actually snorts at the comment, though his voice is pure gravel, rough with need. “He wouldn't appreciate you saying it about me.”

Your laugh is half moan.

“What, are you on a first name basis?”

“Yeah, sort of.”

You're not sure what to make of that, and you're too cock drunk to even begin to reason it out.

He can tell you're a nice girl. Or at least, that's his perception of you. So he doesn’t bend you at impossible angles or whisper filthy things in your ear. Really, there's no time for it. Just pure vanilla missionary in your sweet little snatch is more than enough to slake his need tonight. He fucks you on your back, his thumb on your clit as he glides in and out of your tight little pussy, your legs wrapped around his narrow hips.

Your pleasure builds in the cradle of your hips, wound so tight you feel like you'll either die, or fly. Usually...alright, it's never like this for you the first time with someone. There's always fumbling, and awkwardness, and half the time, if you're honest, a faked orgasm because you're too shy or too embarrassed to ask for what you really need from a new partner, afraid he’ll think you’re too much trouble.

Well, that is not what is happening tonight. Tonight, John is taking care of you, and you can hardly believe your luck.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?”

“Yeah.” Your reply is breathy, and you almost laugh just for the pure, unexpected joy you feel in that moment. “Oh, John...” Your ability to say real words escapes you as your body erupts with scintillating pleasure spreading through your loins. You actually scream, and the fierce clench of your cunt around him brings him too. He loses himself with a groan, his face buried in the curve of your shoulder as he shudders against you.

Afterwards, you are laying against his broad chest, his heartbeat a steady drum in your ear. You don't know it, but this is not something John Constantine usually does. Snuggling. But you are sweet and soft in his arms, and he can't quite bring himself to vacate the premises just yet. In fact, he's so comfortable that he dozes, and you follow close behind him.

In the middle of the night you wake to kisses on your neck and caresses down your curvy side. You sigh, arching into him. You feel his manhood at the seam of your buttocks, his thick head kissing your hole.

“Fuck. Sorry,” he whispers with a shuddering sigh, rolling over to reach for his pants again. How many condoms did he bring? The fact that he's not careless with you, even in the sleepy haze of the early morning second round, is incredibly endearing to you. How many times have you had to insist, and been made to feel like an uncool bitch for not wanting to risk pregnancy or disease in the heat of the moment?

Maybe it's utterly insane, but you're half in love already as he hauls you on top of him, his cock freshly capped with a new Trojan Magnum.

You are still drenched from earlier, and it's no problem to impale yourself upon him.

In the blue dark of early morning your eyes meet his, and again you sense that fleeting vulnerability before he distracts you with that clever fucking thumb finding your sensitive bud. He works you just right as you ride his beautiful dick with your back arched taut as a bow, his other hand toying with your nipple. It makes you cum in record time, so quickly it's almost embarrassing, though he doesn’t seem to mind. Within a minute he's followed along with you, his big hands digging into your hips hard enough to bruise as he reaches his own release. Your name on his lips raises gooseflesh all over your body, as though your lovemaking has invoked something powerful, something binding.

You collapse against his chest, and the both of you nearly fall asleep again, with him still inside you.

“Let me get this thing off,” he requests gently, and with a plaintive little groan you roll off of him, curling in at his side. He knots the condom before throwing it in the general direction of the bin. You are both too tired to care if it actually hit home.

Again, you snuggle close and the two of you doze tangled together until morning light streams through the window.

You wake to kisses on your forehead this time. It's a miracle you rouse. You're a heavy sleeper—and he worked you out.

“I have to go, honey.”

“Want breakfast?” you murmur, half asleep.

“Yeah, but I can’t. Rain check?”

“Okay.”

Through half lidded eyes you watch as he gets dressed, half way, at least. A good portion of his clothes are still strewn around the living room.

My god, what a beautiful specimen of manhood you bagged last night. Nonna would be proud. She was an appreciator of male beauty, and if you told her that her special recipe had gotten you the best sex of your life with the handsome boy next door she would have cackled with delight.

“See you soon?” you dare ask as he buttons his pants.

“Yeah,” he agrees, after a pause, bending down to kiss you one more time, with tongue this round.

“Careful mister, or you'll start round three.”

“Jesus, woman,” he teases with that heartbreaking almost-smile. “You've drained me dry.”

You look him over appraisingly.

“Doubt it.”

He huffs with laughter, shaking his head.

“Bye, y/n.”

You sigh.

“Bye, John.”

With a surprisingly heavy heart, you watch the best lay of your life slip out the door. You really hope you'll get to do this again, and not just go back to awkward acknowledgements in the hallway.

***

Maybe John Constantine had told you he’s not boyfriend material.

But earlier that day, while he was having a smoke out on the sidewalk, he found himself looking over at the wares of a flower vendor and wondering if you would like them. He didn’t buy any, of course.

He wasn’t a total sap.

But it’s possible as he scales the stairs to his apartment, there’s a lightness in his heart as he thinks of you, and the possibility of seeing you in the hallway.

That's when he finds your door ajar, and your apartment ransacked, and a note in red ink on the table addressed to him.

If you want to see your girlfriend alive again, come to this address.

It’s a place in L.A. that’s deep in vampire territory, and something black and heavy weighs like a stone in the pit of John’s stomach. He’d deported a few big players of the local coven not too long ago, and he’d figured the Master would want revenge, but this?

Fucking diabolical—and just their style.

Goddamn vampires.

Without a moment to lose, he goes to his apartment to get his kit, praying he’s not too late to save you.

#constantine 2005 #constantine #constantine x you #constantine x reader #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x you #john constantine #constantine x y/n #constantine fic #constantine imagine #constantine fanfic #the girl next door constantine x reader fic

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comphy-and-cozy · 5 months

Note

oh I have a marty thot for sure! I’ve been thinking about riding his thigh while he sits back and just watches, kinda unimpressed at the show and telling you “you can do better than that, can’t you?”

Earn It

Pairing: Matt Martin x sugar baby!reader (f)

Universe: sugar daddy Marty

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY). Sugar daddy/baby dynamic, lap dance, semi-public/risque sex, unprotected sex, hair pulling, choking, mild degradation, creampie, a little bit of cum play (lmao jfc).

Fridays are supposed to be celebratory; the end of the week, welcoming in a few days off to relax and reset. What they’re not supposed to be are stressful, non-stop, chaotic.

Yet here you are, already thinking about the large glass of wine you’re going to pour yourself when you get home; the only decision you’re planning to make for the rest of the night is red or white.

Setting your keys into the bowl on the table beside the door, you eye the pristine leather sneakers next to your shoe rack, but make no move to greet the person you already know is waiting on the couch. You knew you’d regret having the extra key made for him, that he’d show up unannounced like a poorly-timed pimple, but it’s not like you really could say no—not when you consider that he all but pays your rent.

When you round the corner, bag left on the quartz countertop (an upgrade he insisted on when you were signing your new lease), you finally offer him your attention.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he muses, glancing up from where he’s scrolling on his phone. You do your best to mask the shiver that runs down your spine when his eyes lock with yours. Based on the smirk that quirks up on his face, you’d wager a guess that you did a poor job of it.

“Hi, Matty,” you say. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You need a new dress for the charity gala,” he drawls.

“I do, do I?”

He ignores your attitude, standing up to walk over to the island and setting the invitation in front of you. You glance it over, admiring the thick, black cardstock and gold foil detailing the casino-themed event taking place at UBS Arena next month.

“Black tie attire,” you hum. “I don’t have anything that’s black-tie appropriate.”

“That’s why you need a new dress.”

“And that’s why you’re here right now, sitting on my couch after a day from hell, full of back-to-back meetings, am I correct?”

Matt smiles again. “Already have a bubble bath going for you, my little brat. I’ll be here tomorrow at 9 to pick you up.”

You feel a little guilty for the sass, smiling bashfully at him as he plants a sweet kiss on your cheekbone on his way to the door. “Lock up behind me, darlin’.”

Goddamn him. Always knowing exactly how to charm you to get you to bend to his every will—but not without giving him the kind of attitude that makes his dick hard. A fair tradeoff, in your opinion.

That’s why you work, why your dynamic makes your relationship feel so smooth and seamless and… perfect. Except the part where he’s paying you to fuck him.

Either way, it’s how you find yourself walking along Fifth Avenue, following Matt as he leads you into stores with price tags that intimidate you so much, your cheeks get hot. He lets you browse on your own, warming you up a bit, picking out a few items for work along with a new Yves Saint Laurent purse.

Purchase after purchase. Item after item. The ease with which Matt whipped out his thick, black credit card—you know, the heavy ones that just feel luxurious—almost physically pains you as you try to do the mental math of what he’d spent today.

Finally, you follow him to the dresswear section of Bergdorf Goodman’s, admiring the ease with which he carries the multiple bags in his large hands. You feel well and truly spoiled, thinking to yourself that the dark green lace set he purchased at Fleur du Mal will come in handy later when it comes time to show your gratitude.

“This dress,” he murmurs against your temple, pressing an affectionate kiss to your skin as the fitting room attendant readies a room for you. “I want everyone there to imagine fucking you out of it.”

At this point, you’re used to his blunt and sometimes crude nature, but that doesn’t stop your skin from heating at his crass words. You can’t deny the warmth that radiates between your legs, though, at the thought of him showing you off, claiming you as his, publicly. And, well, how are you supposed to say no to him buying you a dress that’s worth more than your groceries for the month?

The selection is enormous, and you find yourself overwhelmed by the options—lace, chiffon, silk, crepe—all of it doesn’t mean much to you, so you rely on your stylist to select a few options that complement your body type. Matt sits quietly in the corner of the fitting room, watching you try on dress after dress, making barely any comment other than an occasional hum.

When the stylist leaves you to contemplate your options, you glance over your reflection, at the Alex Perry gown that stares back at you. It’s the first dress that feels right, and you can’t help the feeling of excited anticipation that fills your chest when you think about wearing it beside Matt at the gala. Maybe he’d wear that delicious gray suit that you like, the one you almost stained permanently humping his thigh like a fucking dog in heat.

“Is this the one you want?”

You do a final spin in the mirror, checking the various angles and standing on your toes to imitate your height in heels. It’ll need to be altered a bit, but you’re pleased with the way it fits your body and, more importantly, the way it makes you feel luxurious. With your nod, Matt leans forward and glances at the price tag hanging out of the back. His eyes flick to yours in the mirror, and you stew in discomfort for the few seconds before he’s sitting back, apparently approving of the price.

A wide smile forms on your face, feeling a bit like a child on Christmas morning at your excitement. You like Matt for far more than his wallet, but you can’t deny that it feels nice to be spoiled by him, to feel lavished by his gifts and special treatment.

“Think it’s time for you to say thank you, don’t you?”

Matt’s low purr snaps you out of your thoughts, eyes focusing back on the navy silk material that’s hugging your body. The corset bodice keeps you tucked in, accentuating the curve of your breasts, fabric draped across your middle and fastened in place with a large, glittering piece. But the real attention-grabber is the slit on the left side that goes up to your hip, revealing almost your entire leg.

You cast a glance at him in the mirror, a flutter in your chest when you see the way his eyes rake in your reflection. He hums, and though he told you it was your decision, you’re pleased that he likes what he sees.

“Thank you, Matty,” you say, batting your eyelashes at him. You lean forward and press a kiss against his lips, warm and soft—the kind you could fall into with ease. He smiles, crooked and patronizing as he tsks.

“Oh, sweetheart, you know that isn’t good enough. Look at all these bags—all for you. I think I deserve more gratitude than that, hm?”

The hidden meaning of his velvet words are enough to make you shiver, your heart chilling as you realize what he wants. His eyes glitter as he watches you, sees the recognition on your face and the hitch in your throat.

Your voice is hoarse as you whisper, “Here?”

Matt blinks, lazily, with a raised eyebrow, like he’s challenging to you to deny him. Of course you can’t, and he knows it. He leans back on the bench, his back resting against the wall and his legs spread comfortably. It’s a silent invitation, one you can’t refuse, and you find yourself moving to sit in his lap with a shaky gulp.

His hands weave their way to your hips, warm through the material of your jeans. “Good girl.”

With just the right amount of pressure, he encourages you to move your waist, swaying your hips as your ass brushes against his groin. He’s half hard, the bulge firm against you as you set a rhythm, listening for any other customers entering the dressing rooms nearby. The classy elevator music hums softly through the speakers while the silk covering your ass glides against his slacks in a filthy narrative.

A low hum of approval sounds from Matt’s chest, eyes glued to the way you work your hips. It isn’t long before you’re glancing behind you, meeting his eyes as he regards you with his easy, lazy gaze. Beneath the firm press of your ass, you can feel him hardening as the tick of your heartbeat increases in your throat. His signature smirk slides its way onto his face, smug, soaking in the fact that he’s got you wrapped around his finger, willing to do practically anything he asks you.

It isn’t long before he’s stiff, solid beneath you, and you feel an involuntary throb at the size of him. Every moment, you remain vigilant, ears perked for voices—or worse, the sound of someone’s gasp. It reflects in your movements, not lackluster but certainly not to your usual level of enthusiasm. There’s something about him when he’s like this—cocky confidence rolling off of him in waves, his gaze heating your skin—that drives you desperately, deliciously wild, a feral urge in you snatching control of your conscience.

But not right now. And he knows it.

He hums, displeased, and you have a split moment to register his disappointment before he’s purring, “Sweetheart, I think you can do better than that, can’t you?”

The velvet of his voice strokes the flame inside you, sending a wave of warmth between your thighs. Another throb against the stiffness under your ass. His hands remain at his sides, not offering any assistance. You can practically feel his lazy gaze on your ass, waiting patiently for you to react.

He senses your hesitation, knows the reason you’re timid—waiting for the fitting room attendant to come back at any minute and discover the lewd situation unfolding. So he changes his approach, voice honeyed and silky smooth. “Look at that gorgeous dress. Y’look fucking stunning in it, baby. But you gotta earn it, darlin’.”

You meet his gaze in the reflection of the mirror, see the glitter in them that tells you he’s serious, accepting the small nod he gives you. Bracing your hands on his meaty thighs, you resume your movements, pressing yourself into his groin with more force.

Matt’s words echo in your head as you work him—and yourself—into a frenzy. Earn it. He didn’t specify what his… end goal was, but from the glint in his eye you think it’s safe to assume it’s more than just a clothed lap dance in the middle of the dressing room.

How you ended up half-naked, thong tugged to the side, hands bracing yourself against the wall of the fitting room, you’re not sure; all you really know is the feeling of Matt’s weight behind you, so tall his face is almost out of your view in the mirror’s reflection. He’s not looking at you, instead focused on tapping the head of his erection against your ass.

You bite your lip to stifle a whine, staring at him in the hopes he’ll offer you just a glance so you can beg him silently to please, put it in. Eventually, he does, sees the desperation pooling in your eyes and chuckles smugly, pleased at the rash desire he finds in them.

“Arch it for me, sweet girl.”

Obeying, you press your ass out toward him, thinking you’d break your back right here, right now, if it meant he’d provide you with some relief. His warm palm presses against your spine, encouraging you to go further, and he hums in approval at the view you present him: expensive dress bunched over the swell of your hips, ass out, pussy dripping, eyes wanton and pleading with him in the mirror.

“You want it?” he asks, his voice so low you strain to hear it.

You’re almost embarrassed at how fast you nod, not wanting to waste any time. He smirks again, and you know he’s biting back the urge to tease you, instead just offering, in all its simplicity: “Slut.”

There’s a brief moment where he allows his words to sink in, a flood of arousal seeping out of your bare, uncovered core, threatening to drip onto the faded wood flooring of the dressing room. You’re grateful that he didn’t make you beg—he usually does—but then he’s pressing into you without warning and a loud cry leaves your lips.

Your hand slaps over your mouth to muffle the sound, but he’s already gotten what he wants out of you, a more than obvious admission of the debauchery occurring just inside the fitting room. Instead, he focuses on the warm wetness enveloping his dick, watching the way your cunt sucks him in, greedy.

Despite his reckless attitude, he’s aware of the slap of his hips against your ass, and instead of jackhammering into you the way he wants to, he’s opted for hard, deep, slow thrusts; hard enough to have a soft, involuntary sigh every time he sheaths himself to the hilt inside of you. It’s the opposite of a quickie (even though that’s exactly what this is); instead, he’s diligent, indulging himself in the feeling of your tight walls throbbing around his length.

All things considered, you’re pleased with the minimal amount of noises sounding from your stall; though your body shivers when you hear the low groan rumble in his chest. With a glance in the mirror, you can see the way he’s watching himself pull out of your cunt, biting his lip at the sight.

Matt offers a light slap of his tip against your lips before he’s jutting his hips forward, subtly, to rub his length against your clit. The sensation makes you shiver, the slickness of his shaft sliding against the tender button, and you feel the shockwaves coursing through you at the movement.

With his free hand, he gathers your hair in his fist and yanks backward, arching your back until your head is resting against his chest. The sharp pain melds into pleasure, loving the way he knows exactly how to take control over your body to have you dizzy with lust. Hot breath fans over your ear, soft and subtle pants puffing air down your neck. “Fuck yourself on it, baby.”

His warm fingers press into your hips, urging you to move; you do, seeking out that delicious tingle when the fat tip of his cock brushes against your clit, running between your folds. You hear the pleased hum in your ear, quiet, and then the chuckle that follows when he slips into you, a loud gasp leaving your lips.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he murmurs with a low groan. “So fucking wet for me, just the way I like it.”

Matt urges you to keep going, biting back another moan at the feeling of him being buried inside you. Your hips roll him in and out of you, and Matt’s hand trails over your ribcage, groping your breast on its way up to finally land at your throat, fingers curling around the base and squeezing. “Makin’ too much noise. Someone’s gonna hear you, and then I won’t get to flood this pretty little cunt with cum, will I?”

Swallowing the urge to whine with need, you shake your head, trying to tell him with your eyes how badly you want that. His lips press softly against the place where your shoulder meets your neck, keeping eye contact with you through the mirror while he angles his hips in search of the spot that’s going to have you dribbling down your legs. He knows he’s reached it by the way your mouth falls open, your brows scrunching in pleasure when the nudge of him against your g-spot has your eyes fluttering shut.

He hums again, and you know he’s pleased—both with himself for reading your body like his favorite book, and with you for being obediently quiet. The hand around your neck tightens while the forceful punch of Matt’s hips grows more intentional, aiming for precision rather than speed.

The smirk in the mirror, flashed in your direction is enough to make you shiver in his arms. “You think you can stay quiet while you come for me? Hmm?”

You’re trapped—can’t nod, can’t speak, barely hanging onto your last shred of control before you’re succumbing to the release that rips through you. Your legs shake, lungs scrambling for breath as the wave crashes over you, hands clutching the wall in search of purchase. Tears prick at the rims of your eyes, blurring your vision.

Matty’s eyes glitter as he pulls out of you, grinning when he hears the slickness between your legs.

“Love it when she purrs for me.”

It’s only when you feel hot liquid oozing out of you that you realize he met his climax, too, burying the evidence deep within your core. Your shaky legs clench together in an effort to prevent his cum from seeping down your legs and onto the floor.

Matt’s hands linger on your sides to make sure you’re steady before he’s tugging your panties back in place and swooping the dress back over your hips. He hums at the creamy drips on the inside of your thighs, swiping up to collect it on his finger. You don’t even have to be told to open your mouth, eyes fluttering shut when he presses the salty mixture onto your tongue. He hums when your lips close around the digit, sucking it clean before he releases it with a pop.

His eyes are still dark when he presses the call button on the wall with a crooked grin, and when the attendant knocks gently on the door, he says simply, “We’ll take the dress.”

#matt martin fic #matt martin x reader #hockey fic #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #hockey smut

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tonicandjins · 1 year

Text

the room smells like absolute shit

CHARACTERS: haechan | lee donghyuck and reader

WORD COUNT: 2.8k

GENRE: harry potter au, slytherin!haechan, ravenclaw!reader

WARNINGS: none, just teenage fluff

amortentia (the room smells like absolute shit) is the second installment from 23 moments with donghyuck.

It’s no secret that the ongoing cat-and-mouse game between you and Slytherin House’s very own Lee Donghyuck remains unceasing from the day you and him were sorted five years ago to this day. Today’s no different than the others, except it’s the day before Slytherin House plays against Ravenclaw, your very own, and Lee Donghyuck seems like he’s decided to make your day extra horrible—he’s done it five times already, and it’s barely two in the afternoon.

one

The first one was during breakfast, and if you are being completely honest, you should’ve expected it. Lee Donghyuck likes torturing you when you’re on your period; you don’t even want to remember the full story of how the fuck he even knows what week of the month you get yours. (Long story short: Lee Donghyuck had to be there the first time you got your period in third year.) He claims that he knows your period is on as soon as you enter the Great Hall, because your hair is always uncombed on your first day and your eyebrows are always furrowed when you’re in pain. Donghyuck says if pain and aggravation had colors, you’d be burning in hues now.

“You’re easily the most predictable person I know,” he’d tease, mouth agape as he laughs at the way you would huff from the pranks he’d do just to make your day worse than it already is.

Today was no different. You hadn’t even seen him yet, but he’s made his presence known as soon as you sit and the loudest, most obnoxious sound of fart comes out. It’s Lee Donghyuck who laughs first, and you’re not really in the mood to say anything, hence you take the muggle-made fart cushion off from where you’re seated and throw it from where he’s sitting with his equally cunning friends. You wonder which of his friends brought it for him.

Yeji finds it hilarious. “He just wants to make you laugh,” she comments.

“More like want me to drop out and move across the world,” you grumble as you take a treacle tart and a piece of crumpets from the dishes. The pain stings as you try to sit comfortably. “Fuck this period. Why did none of our ancestors ever think of a stupid charm that could rid period cramps?”

Yuna sighs, agreeing. Yeji smiles even wider and hands you a vial filled with blue-ish liquid.

“What’s this?” you ask, taking it and observing how poorly it’s sealed. “Looks like something a first year would make.”

Yeji shrugs, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “It magically appeared on your seat. The same time that fart cushion popped up under your seat.”

You click your tongue, opening the vial and drinking it anyway. The ocean-colored liquid tastes like absolute crap, if you’re being honest, but its effects come as quickly as the potion runs down your throat. The cramping pain from your lower abdomen vanishes. Like magic.

two

Whining, Donghyuck follows you around after first period—all out, arms wrapped around one of yours as he drags his feet wherever yours take you.

“Donghyuck, my books are heavy enough, stop dragging me with your weight!” you shriek. “I’ll come! I’ll come! Just let me go!”

Donghyuck cheers, surprising you with a big, sloppy kiss on your left cheek, letting you go while you stand frozen in place. “I knew you could never resist me. I will see you at Quidditch then. And you will cheer for me! Fuck Houses! I’ll cheer for you in the Annual International Wizard Gardening Competition!”

He runs off and waves goodbye as he catches up with other players clad in their Quidditch capes and jerseys, blending in like he’s always been born to be in this scene.

You can’t remember a time that Lee Donghyuck isn’t talking about Quidditch. You’d met him in first year, when his voice squeaked higher than it does now, and the first thing he had asked Madam Hooch was when he could join the tryouts. Poor little Donghyuckie spent the entire period sulking and pouting when Madam Hooch confirmed that he should at least finish one year of flying lessons and ask her again next year. It was truly all Donghyuck had ever dreamed about. Hence, he had spent his entire first year in Hogwarts learning about the Quidditch and practicing flying more than anyone in the entire castle.

Come second year, Donghyuck auditions the first day of class after summer break. You remember how the entirety of the Hogwarts had cheered when he showed off his flying skills. It didn’t take long for the captain of Slytherin’s Quidditch team to pick him that day. He’d started as one of the keepers, showcasing his impressive ability to defend Slytherin’s hoops, and made his way up as the team’s Seeker, having been promoted this year, fifth year.

And today was his first big game as their house’s Seeker. It’s Slytherin versus Ravenclaw for the first round, and the entire castle is just shuddering in excitement. Lee Taeyong was Slytherin’s most well-known Seeker, the second youngest Seeker after Harry Potter himself, and the longest one for House Slytherin—from first year until he’d graduated last year. This year is exceptionally intriguing because no one’s won against Slytherin because of Lee Taeyong—at least for the rest of Hogwarts.

It’s different for you, though. It’s appealing in some sense, but stressful in a way.

Donghyuck must feel so much pressure now. You’ve unwillingly known him for years, and despite the never-ending games of teasing and pranks, you and him are everything but strangers. Hence, you conclude that it’s normal to feel this way.

“Quidditch players are so damn lucky,” Renjun, a friend from Hufflepuff, huffs from behind you. “They’re excused for classes when it’s Quidditch season. I wish Slug Club get some sort of perks, too.”

You giggle, hopping and wrapping an arm around the Hufflepuff’s shoulders. “We get the Christmas party every year.”

Renjun shakes you off of him. “Hey, I don’t want to get in trouble with the Slytherins.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Why would you get in trouble with the Slytherins? That’s such a stereotype, Renjun-ah! You’re the last person I thought would have some prejudice over houses!”

“That’s not what I mean, idiot,” he replies. “Words say one of the Slytherins has a thing or two for you. And I don’t want to be in their radar.”

You slap him on the arm. “Didn’t take you to be such a gossiper.”

“It’s not gossip if it’s true!” he defends, ruffling your hair. “Off to Transfiguration?”

You groan. “Yeah. Let’s go together?”

“Sure. Did you finish the assignment—”

“Hey, idiot!” Renjun is cut off by Donghyuck running back to you. “I just remembered I need you for a moment.”

Then he’s pulling you away from Renjun.

You arrive late for Transfiguration. Because Donghyuck wanted you to look at his uniform. Talk about being annoying.

three

Defense Against the Dark Arts is in third period, and Yeji hurts herself halfway through the hour. Yeji and Chenle were playing around and were practicing hex-deflection; the scenarios happened too fast that nobody caught on that Yeji’s been hurt until Chenle started screaming.

“She’ll be fine,” Madam Pompfrey assures as she covers the now sleeping Yeji with duvet. “I’ll have her stay here for the night, too. You can go back to class.”

You nod. DADA is over by now, anyway. “By the way, Madam Pompfrey,” you call out just before she closes the curtain separating Yeji’s bed from the others.

“Earlier today,” you start. “I had really bad cramps because of my period. I found a vial with a blue, green-ish kind of fluid and recklessly drank it. It really helped. Do you have any idea what that is?”

Madam Pompfrey’s eyes widen. “So, that was for you?”

“Huh?”

She smiles. “Donghyuck from Slytherin house has been experimenting on that potion with me for weeks now. He’s been studying in the library, looking for the best ingredients to help with women’s menstrual cramps without any side effects that could compromise the condition of the rest of your body. I heard he had a sister in third year, so I assumed it was for her.”

Your heart somersaults like never before. Madam Pompfrey smiles knowingly. “I guess it was for you,” she concludes.

You leave the hospital wing with your breath hitched, each step making your knees weaker by the second. Lee Donghyuck knows how to annoy you even when he’s on the other side of the damn castle.

four

Lee Donghyuck pulls you away from your friends when you’re on your way out from the Great Hall after lunch.

The door of Room of Requirement appears before you, and Donghyuck pulls you with him, dressed in his brand-new uniform, different from the one he wore earlier before he ran off to practice at the Quidditch Tower. You wonder how he even finds the time to annoy you when the tournament starts in about two hours.

When the door closes, you observe that the room’s transformed itself into a room the size of a greenhouse, filled with lavenders, jasmine, and chamomile. And you have the slightest idea why Donghyuck needs a room full of flowers at this point. You gently place your copy of Advanced Potion-Making on a table that holds countless of ceramic plants holding lavenders.

He starts walking back and forth, anxiety showing in his eyes and the corners of his lips. You can hear how heavily he’s breathing from where you stand.

“Anxious?” you ask. Donghyuck only nods, still walking back and forth. “Here. Come here.” He stops, turning so he could look at you. You step closer when he doesn’t move and take both his hands in yours.

“Breathe in,” you softly say. Donghyuck follows. You start counting to five. “Breathe out.”

You and him repeat and stay like that until you hear his breathing go back to its normal pace. He keeps his eyes on your shoes.

“You’re gonna be fine,” you murmur. Donghyuck closes his eyes. You reach up and cradle his face in your palms. “Where’s all that confidence now? Did you run out of it after drowning me with an incredibly unnecessary amount of confidence all these years? This is the time you need it the most.”

Donghyuck falls apart in your touch and opens his eyes, chuckling. “I knew I made the right decision to pull you here. My confidence came back just now. You’re my confidence. Because you suck and I’m the best.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you reply, rolling your eyes as you step back, the space between you and him reclaiming its presence. “That, you are.”

He smiles. “You don’t suck that much. Just a little. Sometimes.”

“You, too,” you agree. “You’re going to kill it. I’ll cheer on you even if it means everyone in Ravenclaw House hates me.”

“No one could ever hate you,” he says like it’s a fact.

You smirk. “You do, though.”

“I’ve never said I hate you,” he bites back. “In five years that we’ve been unwillingly revolving around each other’s gravity, I’ve never said I hate you.”

You nod. “I know.” You reach up to gently pat his cheeks once again. “People will know you as Lee Donghyuck today, not Lee Taeyong’s replacement. I know that is exactly what’s been going around in that head of yours. They’re gonna remember you today when you show them No Hands and woo the crowd with Sloth Grip Roll. And you’re gonna win it out there.”

Donghyuck’s eyes follow your lips as you speak. He stares at it longer than he should, and you stare at his, like a magnet pulling you in. His honey-colored skin and tantalizing brown eyes look beautiful under the sunlight peeking from the windows of the room, and from where you stand, you see how much he'd grown. Part of you wonders if he feels the same, seeing you in this light and being taken aback to five years ago, the very first day you'd met in the train to Hogwarts. You mull over the possibility of knowing him beyond what the walls of this castle could show you, knowing him beyond teasing remarks and harmless pranks, knowing him beyond all these years of push-and-pull, knowing him beyond sneaking glances at his lips.

But you’re not about to kiss him in the Room of Requirement. Not when all your feelings are all over the place, scattered and lost. Not when you aren’t sure if he even feels the same kind of rush when you’re around.

It doesn't help that this, whatever this means, has been going on for years. You and Donghyuck are growing up together, and though you and him keep saying you're unwillingly spending your teenage years together, you can't help but think, if given the choice in a few years, would you finally, willingly spend your twenties together?

You're nearing the end of your teenage years together, involuntarily and as borderline friends. Does Donghyuck ever think of you in ways you—admittedly—daydream about him sometimes? Does he think of you when he drinks chamomile tea the way you remember him when you get a taste of butterbeer? Does he also wonder what you do in the summer and think of calling you, only to back out right before pressing call because his heart is thump, thump, thumping like fucking crazy just by the thought of hearing your voice?

Does Donghyuck feel the way your knees are weak now?

Your heart pounds, so loud that you can hear it beating right in your eardrums.

So, you flee, telling him you’re late for Potions, which you most definitely are, leaving Donghyuck and hopefully, the feelings you can’t seem to figure out.

five

The room smells like the Quidditch pitch when you arrive fifteen minutes into the class.

Professor Slughorn raises an eyebrow on you, but tilts his head towards the board where it shows which potion the class is working on today. You find your way towards Yuna and it’s only then that you realize you’d left your Advanced Potions-Making book inside the Room of Requirement. Yuna lets you share her book. The entire class is halfway done anyway.

The potion for the day is called Amortentia, which is apparently the most powerful love potion in existence, which you think is absolute bullshit. You skip through all its description, effects, and history, proceeding to the details instructions of how it’s done.

You start with boiling half a cup of standard potion water and later on adding ashwinder eggs, rose thorns, refined peppermint oil, and moonstone. Once it’s exactly as it’s described in the book, you drop the mother of pearl. The last ingredient was a drop of blood, so you quickly prickle a finger with a needle, pressing your pink with two fingers until the red liquid drops from your skin down to the cauldron.

You finish a little later than everybody, and you’re not sure whether you’d followed the instructions correctly, because yours still smell like the Quidditch pitch. You look around, and everybody’s busy smelling theirs. You lean over to your cauldron, and it doesn’t smell like anything exceptional in particular. Alongside the grassy scent of the pitch is warm tonka bean, deep cedar, and the overwhelming scent of rich jasmine and vivacious juniper berries, which isn’t really that impressive because you smell this all the time.

You smell it all the time because it smells exactly like Donghyuck.

You grab the book from the table you share with Yuna.

Page 62 says, “Amortentia is the most powerful love potion in existence. It caused a powerful infatuation or obsession from the drinker. It had a distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen, and steam rose from it in characteristic spirals. Amortentia is considered an incredibly dangerous potion, as one should have never underestimated obsessive infatuation.” Then why the fuck does it smell like Donghyuck? And the entire god damn room, too? Does Donghyuck bathe in Amortentia every day?

“Yuna,” you ask. “What does your potion smell like?”

“Sandalwood,” she answers dreamily. “And leather. And floral rose.”

Oh. Then you must have done something wrong. “I think I mixed up the ingredients.”

“Well, what does yours smell like?”

You shrug, “Something really weird.” You turn the page to 63 where the potion is described better.

“Amortentia smells different for everyone,” Yuna continues, and so does the book.

“Amortentia has a different aroma for everyone who smelt it, reminding each person of the things that they found most attractive," the book says.

“Basically,” Yuna’s voice fades in the background. “You smell whatever you’re attracted to."

"Even if the person did not acknowledge or was unaware of their fondness for the object of their affection themselves," the book shouts.

Oh no.

Yuna sighs dreamily, "I aced mine pretty well. I mean, for example, my potion smells exactly like—”

“Donghyuck,” you whisper when it truly, truly hits you.

“No, silly,” she laughs.

“No, Yuna,” you protest. “Mine smells like—”

“Donghyuck, what brings you here?” Professor Slughorn’s voice catches you off-guard. You and Yuna turn to where he’s looking at, and by the door, Lee Donghyuck stands, holding your copy of Advanced Potion-Making.

“I just wanted to bring this to Y/N. She’d left it when she was wandering around Slytherin’s quarters because she’s so obsessed with me,” he announces, smiling widely as he shows off the book.

You stay frozen in place. “What are you all cooking?” Donghyuck sniffs, looking around until he locks eyes with you. “What’s this horrible scent?”

Oh, no.

Donghyuck keeps his eyes on you, equally as confused when he starts realize what the potions smell like.

“Why are you wasting so much perfume, Y/N?” he asks. Everyone goes silent. “The room smells like absolute shit.”

Oh. Merlin’s Beard.

bonus

Slytherin House wins, of course, and you lose your voice cheering for Ravenclaw and Lee Donghyuck, which earned you side-eyes from your peers and at the same time teasing remarks from Renjun and Yuna.

His friends call you an honorary Slytherin and invites you to their Common Room. You're the first person that Lee Donghyuck looks for at the afterparty.

He arrives earlier than the others, and his mates gather around him as soon as he steps in the room, but Donghyuck, Merlin's Beard, Lee Donghyuck doesn't waste time and goes straight to where you stand and kisses the air out of your lungs.

You're on your fifth year in Hogwarts when you learn that Lee Donghyuck tastes like strawberries and that the perfume his mother makes for him is made from jasmine and juniper berries.

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 2 months

Note

WIBTA for trying to get my disabled coworker fired?

I know it sounds bad which is exactly why I’m asking. Please give it a read-through before voting though.

I (18M) work a food service job. One of my coworkers, L (20sF), is deaf, which can make working with her harder than other coworkers. I don’t mind this, and have taught myself some ASL to communicate with her when phones aren’t available.

However, in my half a year of working here, I’ve noticed that she has bad habits compared to every other coworker I have. For example, L comes in late nearly every day. I wouldn’t mind it if it was only by a few minutes, but she regularly comes in over 20 minutes late, and on occasion, being over 40 minutes late. Being the only other person who works mornings in my position, this makes my job harder because I have no clue when I’ll have someone to help me. It’s especially bad during morning rushes, in which I have to do almost everything by myself.

She regularly lies in order to get off as well. At one point, she told everyone in the store she was sick. We let her go for the day, but 30 minutes after she left, she posted about going to a party on her Facebook account. There are other incidents, but this is one of the clearer ones.

There have also been incidents in which she messes up food. Bad. At one point, she poisoned a customer by putting something they were allergic to in their order. It wasn’t even a thing that normally came on the food, so I couldn’t chalk it up to a really unfortunate mistake.

When L does prep work, her stuff usually turns out super poorly as well. With the dough she makes, it’s always so thin that someone has to go back and add flour to it. With the in house sweet cream we make, it’s always unmixed at the bottom. And just a few days ago, the chicken salad she made turned out fucking pink. A coworker got sick giving it the benefit of the doubt and trying some.

L’s also, frankly, really unpleasant to be around. She’s incredibly bossy, which is rich for how lazy she can be. If you’re around her when there’s nothing going on, you’ll hearing about all of her personal drama. Complete with private messages between her and her boyfriend of the week, messages with her doctor with way to much detail about her sex life, and at one point, photos of a dead dog she had run over that morning. All completely unprompted.

She’s also been hitting on me and another coworker recently. I have repeatedly stated I have no interest in romance in general, and the other coworker is taken.

L continues to do these things, despite everyone telling her otherwise. Even when the manager or boss get onto her, she’ll only change for a bit and then go back to her old habits.

The reason I’m asking if I’d be the asshole is because I know it’s hard to get a job while disabled in this country. And L’s been at this job for 3 years somehow. I know that doesn’t excuse a lot of things, but I still have trouble knowing that someone could be going without money they need.

There’s so much more I could get into here, but I already fear that this is too much.

So TLDR: I’m considering pushing for my deaf coworker to get fired because she regularly shows up really late, endangers customers, and makes everyone uncomfortable.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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discordantwritings · 21 days

Text

Rock Hard (Rock Band! Cross Guild x Reader)

Part 4. The Drummer

Prelude // The Vocalist // The Guitarist // The Drummer

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, gn afab! Reader, Crocodile is an asshole (I mean it), Crocodile calls you a whore in a derogatory sense but you straighten him out about that, possessive Crocodile, light choking, desk sex, PiV sex, creampie

WC: 2.5k

Summary: Of course Crocodile finds out about you and Buggy. And you and Mihawk. Because that’s just the way your life is going. He seems to be taking the news extremely poorly.

Notes: y’all wanted mean Crocodile, you get mean Crocodile

Tagging: @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @keiva1000

You contemplate never going to work again. Preferably faking your own death, creating a new identity, and starting over in some small European country where they don’t have internet and you can just be a sheep farmer. That seems like the more reasonable solution- as opposed to getting out of bed and facing Mihawk or Buggy. You could call in sick but for some reason that’s worse than any of the previous options so you begrudgingly peel yourself out of bed to get ready for work.

Your only saving grace is that you’re working with Crocodile today and ironing out sponsors for their first concert- a task that shouldn’t involve either of the men you’re desperate to avoid. If you keep your head down you should be able to artfully dodge them.

And by artfully dodge you mean using the stairs and fast walking though hallways as you don’t bother to stop at your own desk- opting to start your day in Crocodile’s office. You hover at the door to his office, listening to make sure there’s no one else in there (like other pesky band members) before knocking. He tells you to come in and you do, relieved to see he’s alone.

“Did you get the papers I left on your desk?” Is his first question and it has you cursing under your breath.

“Sorry- I must have missed it-“ You know your lie is caught the second he looks at you with one eyebrow raised.

“I came straight here, I was running late.” Another lie, but a better one that Crocodile seems to accept.

“I’ll have Daz grab them off your desk in a bit, there’s something I need to talk to you about first.” He motions for you to sit at one of the chairs across from his desk.

You hesitate, walking closer but stay standing behind the chair. “Something wrong with the venue?”

“No, everything with that is going fine. It’s something more personal.”

Shit.

“Last night I had to stop a fist fight from breaking out between Buggy and Mihawk.”

Fuck.

“Would you happen to know anything about why that might have happened?”

You can tell by his tone of voice his question is rhetorical, and you wish you had followed through with your plan on faking your death. Taking a deep breath, you dig deep to find some sort of reasonable response.

“I’m sorry. Some of my actions have been incredibly unprofessional.” You keep your eyes glued on the chair in front of you but you can still feel Crocodile’s glare burning into you.

“Unprofessional? Look if I had know you’d be such a whore-“

That last word has you seeing red and your gaze snaps up to meet his. “Excuse me? I understand that I fucked up but that gives you no right to call me that. If you’re going to call anyone a whore look at your bandmates and take your pick. Buggy begged for weeks and Mihawk couldn’t stand the concept of Buggy having something up on him that he dragged me into a closet. Get your fucking facts straight before you decide to start throwing names around.”

Standing up to him throws Crocodile for a second, and you watch his glare falter into surprise for a second before coming back as he stands up and rounds his desk. “Oh, I’m sorry, is weak willed more appropriate? Degenerate? Pathetic?”

He’s standing over you now, large frame crowding yours in an attempt to make shrink back. You don’t.

“Does saying that make you feel better? Or do you just get off on talking like that to your subordinates?” Anger and adrenaline fueled your words, not backing down even when his body moved to cage you against his desk.

“What makes you think you can talk to me like that?” His prosthetic, an expensive robotic hand, slams into the desk by your side but you don’t flinch.

“You’re already going to fire me. I might as well keep what’s left of my pride.” You answer honestly, not breaking eye contact.

Crocodile laughs- honest to god laughs at that. “Well, I guess I can appreciate that.”

Silence hangs in the air as his body continues to press the backs of your thighs into his desk. You’re not sure what to say, only that you’re not going to try and slink away and lose this fight.

“I had to stop Mihawk from denting Buggy’s painted face in. Buggy was getting awfully descriptive to get under his skin.” Crocodile muses and you grimace.

“I’m going to kill both of them.”

Crocodile doesn’t respond but as the silence stretches on you notice the way he’s carefully looking over you, gaze dragging down your face and neck. His hips are square with yours but hovering just out of indecent range and then it all clicks.

“You fucking hypocrite.”

“Excuse me?” Crocodile tone lowers, clearly pissed.

“You’re just like them! Probably mostly like Mihawk if I had to guess.” You stand up straight, chest pressing into his. “You’re mad that Buggy had something up on you. You insecure, petty-“

You’re cut off as his hand shoots up and grabs your jaw, forcing your face to keep staring up at him but giving him more control. You flinched back at the move but try not to let it scare you- the second he actually hurts you your knee is perfectly set up to hit his groin.

“You can dish it out but you can’t handle it?” You fire back, voice slightly muffled by the way his fingers dig into your cheeks.

“I would never get jealous over anything involving that clown. And I can take a lot more than a few rather tame insults.” His grip tightens. “What I don’t appreciate are brats.”

“The way you’re looking at me suggests otherwise.”

Your knee, which was previously itching to debilitate him, creeps up slowly and you can feel his hard length straining against his pants. He makes a noise almost like a growl when you press down and you grin wide. The grip on your jaw turns slack as he grinds his length against your knee before settling even closer to you, pressure held against his cock.

“Just admit it Crocodile.” You whisper, tilting your head so it’s laying gently in his hand. “Admit that you’re jealous.”

“Fuck you.” Despite his words his thumb caresses your jaw and his hips slowly grind into your knee again.

“I’ll leave. You need this more than I do. Say it.” You press you knee in further, getting close to hurting him with the amount of pressure you’re exerting.

“I’m not jealous.” He restates, but there’s less bite to the statement.

“Fine.” You straighten your leg back out and his reaction is immediate.

“Fuck- wait a damn-“ His grip on your face tightens once again and you feel his other hand grab onto your hip.

Despite him holding your face he doesn’t look at you, eyes focused downwards as he works through the thoughts in his head. He moves your jaw, tilting it slightly to the side as he leans down to bring his face to the column of your neck. His breath is hot as it fans over your skin and his nose slightly nudges you.

“I’m not jealous.” You’re about to wrench out of his grip but when he continues you still. “I’m competitive. I’m possessive. Just like Mihawk I thought about you under that fucking clown- and then with him-“

“You probably didn’t even like me until Buggy-“ You begin to snarl but Crocodile cuts your off by finally moving to look in your eyes.

“I’m not a toddler and you’re not a fucking toy. You’ve had my gaze for some time why do you- I remembered you from Marines. I spotted you then and I remembered you and that’s why you’re here. You stood out to me and I chose you to be my manager. I chose you.” There’s a sincerity to his words that catches you off guard- a sharp contrast to the argumentative push and pull.

Your eyes scan his face for any trace of deceit but you can’t find it and you find yourself floundering as the game suddenly changed. You find yourself melting into his strong grip almost against your will.

“Don’t lie to me.” You whisper, now afraid of the emotional weight added.

“I’m not. I haven’t. I won’t.” He promises.

And you believe him.

“Tell me you want me.”

“I want you.”

You surge forward to close the small gap between you two, mouths roughly meeting. His hand slips down to your neck as your tongues and teeth clash in the messy, heated kiss. His teeth tug at your bottom lip as the hand around your neck grips loosely, just enough to feel that he has control over you.

With one of your free hands you reach down and slide a hand roughly underneath the waistband of his pants to palm at his erection. He groans into your mouth as he moves his hips to grind into your hand. Before you can reach your fingers around him your hand is yanked out and Crocodile is stepping away.

“Pants off. Now.” He barks and while your hands automatically go to the fastenings on your pants you pause once you think about it.

“If you want them off so bad-“ You don’t get the rest of that bratty thought out of your head before Crocodile is manhandling you.

He turns you around and pushes between your shoulder blades until your chest hits his desk. Before you can even complain your pants and underwear are yanked down to your ankles and his foot kicks yours so your legs are spread wide.

“Smart fucking mouth- gonna make you shut up-“ You hear the click of his belt and the unzipping of his pants and that keeps you glued to the desk.

“Look at this. So fucking wet. You love getting pushed around?” You feel his tip drag along your entrance and you moan, but that’s not good enough. “Use your words.”

“Yes-“ You whine and are rewarded when his tip presses into you.

“That’s right- that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You try to think of some clever retort but lose every single thought in your head when he pushes himself all the way into your in one sharp motion. Both of you moan loud as he bottoms out inside of you. There’s a sharp pain that makes you feel like you might be ripped in half but as he grinds himself in and grips your hips it quickly fades into pleasure.

“That’s it- just needed to be stuffed full with my cock- fuck-“ The grip on your hips is bruising as he starts to move, thick length dragging out and then snapping back in.

The sharp thrusts force your thighs to dig into the hard corner of the desk but the pain adds wonderfully to the flood of sensations. Crocodile sneaks one of his hands around your neck and pulls you back just enough so he can bite into your neck, another pain that makes your head dizzy with pleasure. You know exactly what he’s doing- marking you so the other two will know exactly what happened. The thought is electric as you imagine what Buggy and Mihawk’s reaction will be.

“You’re so fucking tight around me- can’t wait to feel you cum all over my cock-“ The hand around your neck grips tighter, not cutting off your air in any way but keeping you firmly locked against him.

His other hand reaches down and presses into your clit causing you to moan and clench around him. You know you’re close but you can’t tell him, all you can do is moan and whine as he pounds into you.

“Tell me- either of them cum inside you? Did they claim you like that?” He asks and you shake your head no- the correct answer. “Fuck- that’s right- gonna fill you up- make you mine-“

You cum hard around him, vision whiting out as he keeps relentlessly thrusting into you.

“I’m- fuck-“ He swears loud as he stops buried all the way inside you, his cum shooting out deep into you.

He holds himself in there, grip around your neck still keeping you up. Both of you pant and you can feel both of your cum sliding out of you and onto the desk below, but you can’t bring yourself to care about the mess. Crocodile kisses your neck right where he bit into it before letting you go and you let yourself lay on his desk while he slides himself out of you. You hear him shuffling around and after a few moments you feel him lightly wiping you off with some tissues.

“Thanks.” Is all you can manage, looking over your shoulder to give him a tired smile.

“You can lay down on the couch.” He offers, head tilting towards the ridiculously expensive couch off towards the side of his office.

“Not kicking me out?” You ask, half joking, half not as you take up his offer and wobble over to lay down.

“Of course not.” He straightens up some of the papers and pens you both scattered everywhere. “I don’t- I would hope this could be more than a one time thing.”

“You were serious.”

“Of course I was.” He stops what he was doing to walk over to you, bending down as he holds your face.

You’re confused, you’re tired, you’re overworked, and you just got fucked within an inch of your life. You were not ready for something that seems so serious. Crocodile seems to pick up on that and can’t hide a twinge of disappointment coming over his face.

“I don’t- I’ve had a long few weeks and I’m not saying no. But-“ You sigh and nuzzle into his hand. “Is this really a good time?”

He sighs, you’re right. “We really need to be focused on this first concert.”

You nod, pressing a kiss to his palm. “You will do the concert and then after we can seriously work this all out.”

“I knew I hired a good manager.” He gives you an uncharacteristically soft smile before straightening back up again. “Rest all you need today but tomorrow it’s all work.”

“Yes sir.” You respond, and you don’t miss the way his gaze snaps back to yours at the title.

“Next time, that’s the only way you’ll refer to me.” He says like a promise before returning to his desk and getting back to work.

You got comfortable on the couch, pulling one of the pillows under your head to get comfortable and rest a bit before you had to get back up. But every time you thought your head was clear thoughts of all three men flooded your head.

Again the only thought you had was of how truly fucked you were.

#one piece x reader #one piece x you #x reader #sir crocodile x reader #crocodile x reader #sir crocodile x you #cross guild x reader #the cross guild x reader #buggy x reader #dracule mihawk x reader #mihawk x reader

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jaennwrites · 2 years

Text

Little things | Captain John Price x f!reader

feels like I'm the only person obsessed with this man, so I'm doing a service to all the Captain Price lovers fr.

summary: an eventful morning with Price :) cw: established relationship, smut, size kink (kinda), unprotected sex, praise, slight violence, aftercare, L-bombs (i think that's all of them or at least the major ones) word count: 2,615

ofc reblogs and comments much appreciated :)

You woke up to the sun gently warming your face although causing major obstruction to your vision. Lazily using your arm to shield your eyes from the sun but it only helped so much so you opted to just turn away, only to be reminded of the man you were sharing a bed with.

John Price…your captain.

You couldn’t specifically remember the first time you both slept together but the pattern eagerly ensued almost every time you both got the chance.

It was indeed a privilege to be able to see the captain so relaxed, you seemed to always wake up before him so you would always have the chance to examine his face and it was as if you always found something new.

Today was the prominent stubble growth, typically Price had always made an effort to shave his uniquely styled beard that you had a crazy infatuation with, but he has been really busy recently. Last night was the first time in 3 weeks that you guys had the chance to sleep together, you will admit that he made sure you knew that he was sorry.

You halted all movements as John stirred in his sleep but he soon calmed down and was quietly sleeping again. You noticed he always slept on his back as well, maybe that's why his face was so perfect.

You contemplated the risky move you were going to take but took it not caring if John awoke. You carefully pulled the blanket off of him, stopping a few times so as to not wake him. Soon enough his entire bare torso was visible allowing you to view one of your favorite things about John.

His scars.

Your favorite being a medium slash on his right arm that he got on a mission with you. You two had been running away after being overwhelmed by a cartel you can’t bother to remember the name of and he had found a fence that led to an abandoned part of the town. You urged him to go first but he firmly denied, he pulled the fence open and pushed you through first, but that’s not how he got the scar.

There were multiple enemies following behind you two and you hadn’t thought that they would be able to catch up in time but they did, but instead of Price allowing you to help him fight, he zip tied the fence closed knowing you had lost your knife in an earlier fight.

He pushed you away and demanded you run towards an abandoned house, promising that he would meet you there. You ran hesitantly at his request and of course he met back up with you, rewarding you with a kiss on the top of your head but also with the scar that you’ve grown to love.

“You’re a creep” A deep accented voice spoke ripping you from your silent trip down memory lane

“No” You poorly defended resting your head on his chest as you looked up at him

“Oh?” He hummed looking down at you

“Oh” You repeated in an answering tone

“I could’ve sworn I fell asleep with the blanket over my chest” He teased

“Bad memory” You smiled

The way John looked at you was intoxicating but this morning the look was different, it seemed somewhat sad in your opinion.

“I don’t like that look” You joked wrapping your legs with his so you could be closer

“What look?” He questioned closing his eyes

“Like a high school boy about to break up with his girlfriend before they start college” You joked

“Secondary school” John teased

You rolled your eyes playfully before sighing knowing that Price would never tell what was so clearly bothering him, you were just hoping it wasn’t you. You went to get up from his bed but his arms stayed tightly wrapped around you.

“Am I not allowed to leave?” You teased

“Last night was the first time in weeks that you slept in my bed…” “You’re not getting away so quickly” He spoke with his eyes still closed

You let out another sigh before turning your attention to the resting man, hell if he wasn’t going to let you go, you might as well keep “creeping”.

You stared at his closed eyes trying to remember the vibrant blue that continued to surpass your memories every time he opened his eyes. If you were an idiot you would admit that you were practically in love with the man, oftentimes you found yourself wishing he’d randomly come up to you and say that he loved you too.

“What?” John questioned sweetly as one of his eyes peeled open to meet yours

“I’m not even doing anything” You defended with a small laugh

You playfully huffed making another attempt to escape Price’s arms but once again his hold remained tight. He pulled you on top of him before placing a soft kiss on your lips giving you a smile after.

“Can you stop being so eager to get away from me?” “Breaking my heart” He joked

“Let me get on you then” You teased sitting up

“That sounds nice” John spoke as a smirk creeped onto his face

His hands trailed from your hips slowly, simultaneously pulling off his oversized shirt you wore. You breathed in deeply at the feeling over cold air on your now bare torso.

John was a major “boob” man, the infatuation he had with your breast could entertain you for centuries. You couldn’t hide the smile that spread across your face as you watched his large hands go to your chest like magnets.

You let out a sigh of contempt as you relaxed into the feeling of his rough hands massaging your chest. He used a hand to guide you down before happily taking turns sucking your nipples and leaving hickies on the soft skin of your breast.

John always opted for hickies on your chest or just about anywhere that wasn’t visible, he wanted you to remember him but professionalism still needed to be maintained, he was still your captain.

“You’re obsessed” You teased prying his mouth off of your chest

“You have perfect tis, what can I say” He defended moving his kisses to your mouth once again

Your hands cupped his face with a slight smile forming as you felt all his facial hair. Your hips slowly grinded on his; filled with excitement for what was inevitably about to come.

“Fucking hell (british ppl talk tee hee)” John groaned placing his large hands on your rocking hips

“Captain” You teased sitting up knowing John went crazy for your little “performances”

You smiled at your success to get the Brit so riled up as he wrapped an arm around your waist before flipping you over so that he was now hovering over you.

“I hate when you tease me” He defended

“Liar” You hummed

Price often had a funny habit of dropping most of his weight on top of you, whether you were just joking with each other in bed or he was ramming into you, he loved doing it and to be honest you didn’t really mind.

“Fuck you” You joked hoarsely as he dropped his body weight onto you

He smiled propping himself up, freeing you of his weight, but he just stared down at you, once again with that somber look you noted before.

“What is it?” You asked searching his eyes as if to find an answer

“I love you” John spoke

He loves you.

“What?” You asked in disbelief but only for the best reasons

Captain John Price…loved you, you knew he cared about more than he’d ever admit, but this reserved man who always pushed you forward first, always questioned your comfortability, praised you ability…of course he loved you.

“I don’t want to scare you off” “I love you, and I want you to know that I care for you, all that sappy stuff” He joked placing a gentle kiss on your lips

“I love you too John” You smiled

Price smiled down at you before kissing you again, you felt his hand descend under the blanket you two laid under, he pushed your legs open before fitting himself into the space he had made. A soft moan escaped your mouth as you felt his hard bulge prod at your exposed wet slit.

“Tell me” “Tell me you want it” He teased covering your neck with wet kisses

“I want you” “Please” You begged shamelessly

Price placed a kiss on your lips before freeing his leaking erection from his boxers. He looked at you amusingly as his large tip prodded your entrance.

He was big all around, in every aspect of the word, whether it was his height, his general build, or wickedly enough, his dick.

“Ready?” He asked covering his tip in your wetness

You nodded eagerly which made him laugh a bit but soon enough your eyes were fluttering closed as Price pressed into you with a deep groan. You placed one hand on the side of his face as you kissed him to remedy the fiery sensation of him stretching you out.

“I love you” You moaned into his mouth

Price smiled down at you taking in the sight of you, the marks on your tits, the way they bounced which each of his thrusts, the way your free hand gripped the bed sheets, everything about you was arousing, even when he wasn’t pounding into you.

The burning hunger that overtook his body when he saw you simply holster your gun, when you put on a mask, when you waked, hell even when you spoke to him. Everything about you always made him want to tear your clothes off and sink his dick into you.

Your legs involuntarily closed as John sat up making his thrust harder and faster, this was a common occurrence and every time your body began to tap out, he took it as a challenge to push you over the edge of stimulation.

“Open them” “Or I’ll make it worse” He teased stopping his motion

“Just…” You began but just like every other time you didn’t know what to say, you didn’t want a break, you didn’t want him to stop…you just didn’t know

“You know the safeword” John spoke placing his hands on your knees that were still shut

When you and Price first hooked up, you saw the above average size of him which resulted in the agreement of a safeword and you were sure of the decision after having sex with him. You both decided on just saying his call sign ‘Bravo Six”, there was already a serious connotation attached to the words so it made sense to use it for a serious situation.

You obliged and opened your legs with instant regret as you saw the familiar smirk of a man who was about to drop half his weight on you.

“Stop” You warned attempting to be serious but the smile creeping up on your face assured Price that you were not.

His pace began again and you paid no attention to the shenanigans that Price planned on pulling, because you loved when he fucked you like this. When his face was so close to yours, his forehead resting on yours, being able to feel the vibrations of his groans on your face.

“Fuck” You moaned as Price’s heavy body pressed down onto you

“I love you” “You’re mine” “I’ll fucking kill armies for you” He groaned before placing a rough kiss on your parted lips

John lifted up his body allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist as your body scoured for more of him which he was glad to give you.

You could feel the pit in your stomach building, it weirdly felt like a good stomach ache almost, you were close to cumming and John knew it. The way your breath got ragged as if your body was starting to panic, the way your legs were locking around Price’s torso, but his favorite thing was the eyes you gave him. The way they got low, the way you could barely keep them open, the faint dampness of your lashes from when your eyes watered when he first put his dick in you.

“You wanna cum?” He teased

“Yes” You moaned shamelessly

Price slowed his pace but his slow place was just as potent as his fast one, his thrust became deep and taunting forcing loud moans out of you everytime he sunk himself back into you.

“Oh my god” You moaned loudly as your orgasm overtook you

“That’s my girl” He praised clearly amused by your unfolding

It was a domino effect when you came and one thing John made sure was that you came before him because if you didn’t then he couldn’t. He loved the way you began to tremble under the pleasure, the sensitivity of each part of you, that’s what he looked forward to with each of your “encounters”.

Your body shivered as Price peppered kisses on your neck and collarbones and picked up his pace once again, other than your hand that was gripping his, your body was practically just spasms now as his tip kissed your cervix with each hard, fast, deep thrust.

“Is my beautiful girl, all cock drunk” He teased

John began to focus on achieving his orgasm seeing that if he didn’t stop now you wouldn’t be able to get up for the day. He let go of your hand to your dismay, he used his now free hand to prop up your hips as he got rougher than you ever could imagine.

“Please” You moaned loudly not even sure of what you were begging for

“I love you so much” He groaned loudly pressing so deep into you that his pelvis smacked your clit

Price watched amusingly as some of his cum seeped out the sides of the “seal” you both created. He finally pulled out and made his way to the bathroom to run you a bath. John took full responsibility for his rough demeanor during sex and so he always made sure to make up for it after.

You groaned at the soreness you felt as you sat yourself up; you loved sex with John but my god did it take a toll on your body after.

“Stop trying to be independent” He playfully scolded before picking you up bridal style

He placed you in the tub before getting in behind you; he placed small kisses on your now wet shoulder. You laid your head back onto Price’s chest allowing him to wrap his arms around you peppering kisses on the top of your head.

“Why do you always kiss the top of my head?” You asked examining his hands

“Cause I like to” He defended with a smile you could hear in his voice

“Seriously” You spoke playfully slapping his knee

“I like the smell of your hair” “And I love you” “That’s how I show it” He shrugged

You craned your head back smiling at your upside down view of the handsome British man, you reflected on all the times even before your first hookup that Price had his face buried in the top of your head.

He always fixed any headgear you had on, always taking something out of your hair, and patting down your flyaways. You sat yourself up turning your body to face him because it finally hit you.

Captain John Price had been in love with you long before you two even had sex.

“I love you” You smiled

#call of duty #john price #captain john price #modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #i crave this man like a drug addict #smut #x reader #x fem!reader #x female reader #captain john price x reader

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pupyr0arz · 2 months

Text

Reader confronts stalker Gaz

Kyle plans your conversations. He keeps scripts, and the ones about you are his favorite. They keep him company, what he thinks you might do and say and how you’d smile at him gently soothing him out on missions. He could probably talk about your life, up to marriage and maybe kids, for hours.

What he doesn’t have a script for is you sitting down right besides him at the bar with that expression on your face. Kyle knows he’s been caught out the second you pull out the stool, you’re a creature of habit and you never sit this close to the middle of the bar. It’s Friday night, the night you like to come and have a few cocktails before retiring to your home, and Kyle’s new favorite day of the week. Alcohol shows sides of people hidden to everyone under the sun, and ever since you got those tacky, ugly blinds Kyle has been aching for some vulnerability. Something he can pretend is privately shared between the two of you, shine and clutch close without having to grapple with the guilt of intruding, stepping too far away from what can be waived off.

Maybe it’s the lack of you, the sudden deprivement of something hes quickly coming to cherish as much as the blood in his veins, that makes him sloppy. You’re not as neat as you usually are, messy shirt under a jacket, boot laces untied. Your face is cast in shadow and dim lights, and all Kyle can manage to think about as his eyes trace the agitated crease of your brow is that you look like something that belongs in a museum.

“Who,” you hiss, speaking lowly in tight, furious syllables, “the hell are you?”

It’s said in anger, but the words are for him and that sends a little thrill through him. Kyle cherishes each part of you you give him, like anyone who deserves you should.

Kyle, sweetheart. Your secret admirer. No one special. Your soulmate.

“I’m sorry?” He coughs politely, feigning confusion. Kyle leans awayl trying to sell the image of someone being wary of an angry looking drunk stranger, but he’s already mourning the proximity.

“I know you’ve been following me, asshole.” You don’t let him, half standing to shove your face into his, and he’s more pleased than he should be, but your hands are curling into a fist and you smell like alcohol. “I’ve seen you.”

Shit. Now he couldn’t deny it fully. You couldn’t have had more than a glass, were you drinking at home? The drapes must’ve been deliberate, you trying to cut him out of your life. It sends a pang of hurt in his chest—why do you withdraw so suddenly now? It seems like everything about the world demands him to tug you closer, and now you’re running away?

Kyle averts his eyes, lifting a hand in a placating manner. “I have a generic face.” He lies guilelessly, ignoring how you practically breathe smoke at the deflection. Your rage is incandescent, and as much as Kyle loves to stare into the face of your emotions, he isn’t willing to have you get spooked enough to try anything extreme.

Though, with the way you’re cocking your fist back, you’ve got a different idea in mind. Kyle isn’t too mad at you, he’s happy you’re not that scared of him and he likes the idea of you defending yourself if an actual creep ever showed up. He can work with this, though, and he turns into the blow, taking it poorly on purpose.

It’s not exactly how he wanted to get your number, but he’s willing to take anything he can get.

#I’m too lazy to write the rest rn but you two get kicked out and he manages to gaslight you into thinking you attacked a random guy bc your #So paranoid. You get food together to apologize for breaking his nose and vent to him and he stares at you with heart eyes #.bark #cod #gaz #Gaz x reader #kyle gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz x you #cod x reader #Writing #snippet

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thebearchives · 2 years

Text

ma moitié | CL16

PAIRING: charles leclerc x fem!reader

REQUESTED: [X] yes [] no

WORD COUNT: 5.4k

SYNOPSIS: no time better to confess than after a near-death experience, am i right?

WARNINGS: hurt/comfort, angst?, descriptions of a car crash, literally every dialogue is french so LOTS of translations (looking back now, i could have just been like “italics = french” but it’s too late), probably really inaccurate descriptions of a race bc idk logistics of races oops

as always, don’t be a ghost reader!

“je me sens vraiment bien pour aujourd'hui, c'est mauvais?” i feel really good about today, is that bad?

your eyes dragged up from the egg you had just cracked into the hot pan and onto your phone, poorly propped up against a loaf of bread. said phone’s screen displayed the view up charles’ nose, his eyelashes peeking over the apples of his cheek. no doubt, he had been holding up his phone mic against his lips, making sure you could hear him over the bustling of the garage.

a giggle caused him to bring the phone back down, full face now in frame. his eyes were furrowed as he questioned, “tu te moques de moi? c'est mauvais, je le savais.” you're laughing at me? it's bad, i knew it.

you cut him off before he could get inside his head and stress himself out, “non, non, char, ce n'est pas mal du tout. vos résultats ont été bons tout le week-end, bien meilleurs que lors de vos dernières courses.” it's not bad at all. your results have been good all weekend, much better than any of your last races.

you turned the heat down of your egg, “il n'est pas faux de penser qu'aujourd'hui sera bon aussi.” it's not wrong to think today will be good too.

“alors pourquoi avez-vous ri?” then why did you laugh?

the pout on his face was adorable. adorable and absolutely horrible for your heart, which ached lightly. you wanted nothing more than to be in his arms, arms around his neck and lips on his, kissing that pout away.

“allô?” charles’ voice brought you out of your thoughts, he scoffed playfully, “regarde-toi tu essaies de trouver une excuse.” hello?...look at you trying to come up with an excuse.

you reluctantly pulled your eyes away from his lips. at least there was one good thing about him travelling a lot for his job; whenever he called you, you could stare at his lips for as long as you wanted and he’d never know.

“je n'ai pas besoin d'excuse, mais si tu veux savoir, ta voix s'est coupée et je n'ai pas tout compris.” i don't need an excuse, but if you must know, your voice cut out and I didn't catch everything.

you lied. of course, you would. why wouldn’t you? it’s not like you could tell him ‘hey, yeah, sorry i was staring at your lips because i want to kiss them.’ years of hiding it straight down the drain, along with his friendship too.

“mon dieu, encore ça? je viens littéralement de mettre à jour le plan que nous avons,” charles sighed, “peut-être que vous avez juste besoin d'un nouveau téléphone.” my god, that again? i literally just upgraded our plan…maybe you just need a new phone.

you waved him off, flipping your egg over. oops, slightly burnt.

“ouais, ouais, le meilleur fournisseur de wifi de tout monaco, ça ne pourrait jamais être leur faute. pourquoi es-tu si catégorique sur le fait que c'est mon téléphone?” yeah, yeah, best wifi provider in all of monaco, could never be their fault. why are you so adamant it's my phone?

“parce qu'il l'est! il fonctionne parfaitement sur tous les appareils de la maison, sauf le téléphone.” because it is! it runs perfectly on every device in our house except your phone.

charles brought the phone closer to his lips again, this time, however, it was angled sideways so you could see just outside his open driver room. he spoke again, “je vais payer même pour ton nouveau téléphone si tu le veux.” i'll even pay for your new phone if you want it.

“peu importe,” you rolled your eyes, “ne devrais-tu pas être littéralement dans ta voiture en ce moment?” whatever…shouldn’t you literally be in your car right now?

before charles could reply to you, his name was called out from somewhere outside the frame. his eyes met yours through the screen, a look of understanding shared between the two of you.

he had to go.

“tu peux le faire, char,” you smiled at him, “prends ce sentiment et fais-en une réalité.” you’ve got this, char. take that feeling and make it a reality.

“je t’aime, ma moitié.” i love you, my other half.

and then he was gone, taking your heart along with him.

moitié. you hated it when he called you those pet names. in all your years of knowing charles, rarely ever did he use your name. it was always ma moitié, mon ange, petite chou, anything and everything but your name.

you hated the way it made you feel like you were more than just a friend to him. you hated the way it made you feel like maybe, just maybe, he returned your feelings too. you hated the butterflies, the clammy hands, the way your brain would just stop. you hated how easily you were like putty in his hands.

after charles had ended the call, you rushed to plate your egg before it burned to a crisp. with your coffee in one hand and plate in the other, you made yourself comfy on the couch, legs snug under a throw blanket, unmuting the tv which was already streaming the grand prix.

as you chewed on your breakfast, you couldn’t help but think back to charles’ words. he had every right to feel good about this race. this weekend had gone beautifully, with charles topping the times in every round of the qualifying. he was sitting in pole position, with carlos lined up right behind him in p3. you could only hope that the strategists at ferrari would help him succeed.

your lips involuntarily curled into a smile the second you saw charles’ car on the screen. that smile widened when his voice entered your ears, god, the way he spoke english was so perfect.

you wished you could have been there, in the garage wearing those red headphones. but sadly, you had taken too many sick days already and were saving your vacation days for the actual summer break and any grand prix that was especially significant to charles.

you watched the lights turn on one by one with great amazement. you had never known how it felt to be behind the wheel at that specific moment, not personally really. anytime you asked, charles would describe it as exhilarating, nerves just simply disappearing along with the lights. he’d also go on to say “you’d know if you karted with me instead of making me cry.”

and he was right. the two of you met way back when charles had only just started karting, at a karting race that your dad had been working as a commentator for. your mom, ever the outgoing person, quickly made friends with charles’ mom, and unlike charles on the circuit, you found yourself sitting next to a very small arthur, too young to kart alongside his brother.

when the race had finished, you and arthur were sat across from one another, a pile of ripped-up grass and flower petals between the two of you. the youngest leclerc’s toy car sat at the bottom of the pile, and at the sound of your mother saying ‘go’, the two of you dove your hands into the pile, fingernails scratching against the other’s hands, just to be the first to reach the car and pull it out.

when you felt like you had finally grasped the small car, you pulled it towards yourself, unknowingly pulling the young boy along with you. as arthur lurched forward, the car slipped out of both of your hands and flew straight into charles’ head, helmet having just been taken off.

safe to say, you had made charles cry the very first time you met him, which he never failed to bring up.

you couldn’t help but wonder, eyes following charles’ red car along the track, if you’d be where you were in life had you not made him cry. or if 8-year-old pierre gasly hadn’t seen his friend get hit in the face with a toy car or tease him for crying like a little baby in his mother’s arms, every single time he saw you at a karting event.

would you two be friends? would you even be living in this place, sharing a flat with charles leclerc, if it hasn’t been for that stupid ferrari toy car?

the very toy car that arthur had gifted you and charles as a housewarming present, which now sat on the tv trolley, between two framed pictures of you two. one at your eighth birthday, months after you two had met, and one from when you were both 19, celebrating charles’ formula 2 championship title.

the broadcast shifted to the camera in charles’ car, and you listened as he gave the team his update on his tires, and listened to them give him information in return. things were looking up for him, well-deserved after the last few shitty races.

it wasn’t until halfway into the race, right when charles had pitted for a new pair of tires, that things started to go downhill. although called in for the pit stop by the team, the mechanics had seemed unprepared for charles to pit, which caused charles to have to wait for an extra 10 seconds before exiting the pits. the lead he had built for himself slowly crumbling away, neck in neck with max’s car.

your hands gripped your empty coffee mug tightly, unmoving. you had taken your last sip just seconds before charles’ pitstop but had been too focused on the shitshow in front of you to place it down.

you flinched as charles’ angry voice came through the radio, “he’s going to get ahead of me.”

you watched as his words became reality, joining the racing line milliseconds behind the redbull car. charles tried to maneuver his car around the sides to get ahead along the straight, but max had always been good at defending, charles had told you before that it was something he had both respected and hated about the dutch driver.

the two cars drove nearly tire to tire as they drove through the chicane. your heart felt like it was in your throat, praying that the two cars didn’t touch.

you felt like someone had thrown you into an ice bath when you heard charles’ radio again, his voice was filled with anger and frustration, “something isn’t right.”

his race engineer’s voice followed shortly, “everything looks good, charles. what is wrong?”

“i don’t know, the steering is acting weird. it’s getting hard to keep it under control,” you couldn’t tear your eyes from the red car, “there’s too much oversteer. more than normal.”

fuck.

charles’ car fell behind max’s slightly going into the next turn. it was clear now that charles had pointed it out, the back of his car coming out far too much for it to be normal.

“okay, charles, we will look into that and tell you what to do. keep your head down and elbows out. the pace is looking good right now, you should be able to retake your place soon.”

what was mere seconds had felt like hours of charles trailing closely behind max’s car. it was the last turn of the lap when it happened.

charles had taken to the outer side of max’s car, still struggling to correct the oversteer, when max’s wheels locked up going into the turn. it had happened so fast. one moment, charles’ car had pulled up slightly ahead of max’s. the next, his car was spinning out, speeding straight towards the wall.

your eyes stung with tears, the mug in your hand slipping and rolling off the blanket, shattering into tiny pieces on the ground. you barely registered the sound, barely being able to hear anything over the sound of your heart racing.

your breath hitched in your throat as they replayed the crash from charles’ perspective. the deafening silence after charles’ engineer asked if he was okay made you want to throw up.

get up, charles, please, the tears felt salty in your mouth. please, please, please.

you bunched up the blanket in your hands, watching as the screen zoomed in on the car. the halo looked to still be intact, but you could barely see charles from behind the cloud of smoke.

dread clouded over you, your mind both rushing with thoughts, yet silent all at the same time. where were the fucking medics? why was no one helping him out?

after what felt like years, you saw charles helmet emerge from within the cloud of smoke. his red racesuit next. your heart continued to race, calming slightly knowing that he was conscious.

the medics reached charles’ car just as he had began moving, hands rushing to pull him up and out of his seat carefully. you watched with a bated breath as they supported him away from the red mess of a car.

but charles was stubborn, you knew this, and so you watched as he pushed away from the medics slightly, trying to walk on his own. they had backed off a bit, trailing alongside him just in case his body decided to give out on him.

and it did. on his fifth independent step, his knees buckled, the medics catching him before he hit the ground. the way charles’ head titled forward was a clear sign that he had lost consciousness.

you felt numb, watching them take him into the back of the medical car. the camera switched as soon as the car drove off, showing the reactions of the rest of the grid drivers, before panning onto the damaged redbull car, which had also been taken out of the race in the collision, albeit much less destroyed than the ferrari. not far from it, you could see max also being taken care of by another set of medics.

you felt sick.

you don’t know how long you sat there, wet eyes staring blankly into the tv, seeing but not registering. it wasn’t until a notification sounded loudly in the kitchen, recognizing the tone as the one you had reserved for members of the leclerc family, that you snapped out of it.

you rushed off of the couch, forgetting about the broken ceramic on the floor as you raced to the kitchen. it was a text from lorenzo.

ils l'emmènent à l'hôpital. they’re taking him to the hospital.

the hospital. charles was going to the hospital.

you felt all of your emotions hit you at once, the weight of it all causing you to physically hunch over the counter.

a sharp pain shot up your leg and you gasped, eyes flitting down to notice the trail of blood that you had left in your haste to reach your phone. you had been numb when it happened, but as your foot screamed out in pain, you realized you had stepped in a glass shard.

you momentarily ignored the rush of pain and nausea that was climbing up your body, hastily sending lorenzo a reply.

est-ce mauvais? is it bad?

todt a dit qu'il a repris connaissance dans la voiture, mais ils veulent encore l'emmener pour s'assurer que tout va bien. todt said he gained consciousness in the car, but they still want to take him to make sure nothing is wrong.

you felt like you could breathe again, charles was awake.

tenez-moi au courant s'il vous plaît. please keep me updated.

il va s'en sortir, ma petite. he's going to be okay, kiddo.

although he knew he couldn’t quell how you were feeling, lorenzo still tried his best. and his best was good enough for you to finally stop hyperventilating. charles would be okay. he had to be.

you rested your head against your arms, taking a deep breath to reset your brain. after a couple seconds, you raised your head, turning around to look at the small trail of red that you had dragged along with you.

your foot was still bleeding, and you decided to wrap it up before you cleaned the floor. it’d do you no good to just sit here and waste away, waiting for an update from lorenzo, or a call from charles himself.

you winced as you took a step, hand gripping the counter tightly for some support. with the lack of adrenaline coursing through your body, you were able to really feel how badly you had cut your foot.

you grabbed a towel paper and placed it against the heel of your foot, half-hopping to charles’ bathroom, where you knew he kept his first-aid kit. you had one too, but yours had consisted of only bandaids and alcohol wipes. charles had splurged on the good stuff, saying something along the lines of “all the athletes carry one.”

you weren’t sure if he was right as you had only had the pleasure of meeting fellow racecar drivers, arthur leclerc and pierre gasly, both of which had received the same kit from charles as an “it was on sale so i bought it for you” gift.

by the time you had finished cleaning out your wound and wrapping it, you felt exhausted and mentally drained. your earlier panic had left you feeling extremely cold, and you couldn’t help but catch sight of the hoodie thrown over charles’ desk chair. the same one he had been wearing the night before he left.

you pulled yourself up from the ground, throwing away the bloodied alcohol wipes and gauze packaging before hobbling over to the chair and picking up the hoodie.

you willed yourself to not tear up as you brought the hoodie up towards your nose. it still smelled like him. you couldn’t help but wish that charles was in the hoodie still, wrapping his arms around your neck and squeezing until you would cough and slap his back. it was his favourite thing to do, up there with blowing air in your ear while you were cooking and poking your skin whenever it peeked out from under your shirt.

“c'est une vengeance pour les dommages émotionnels que tu as causés quand on avait six ans." he had said once, after you yanked his ear in retaliation and demanded why he was so insistent on annoying you. it’s payback for the emotional damage you caused when we were six.

god, when you’d see him again, you were going to get your own payback for the emotional damage he caused today.

you slipped the hoodie on, the warmth of it instantly blocking out the cold you felt. you made your way back to the kitchen, wetting a towel paper and wiping at the trail of blood from the kitchen to the living room.

thank god for tiled flooring, huh? but also, fuck tile flooring because if there was a carpet in your living room, maybe your cup would have never shattered in the first place.

when you entered the living room, you found yourself faltering, eyes catching sight of the tv that was still on, now showing the repeat of charles’ crash. you looked away when the car slammed into the wall, opting to turn the tv off altogether and began picking up the pieces of what had been your favourite mug.

back in the kitchen, you stared at your phone, willing it to ring with a message or a text from charles, or anyone from his family really.

after realizing how much of an idiot you were being, you grabbed the phone yourself and started to draft a message to charles, explaining how you worried you had been and how you hoped he was okay.

one message quickly turned into several as you poured your worries out to him over text. you went from freaking out, to scolding him, to finally settling on how you couldn’t wait to see him and that you weren’t going to let him out of your sight the entire time he would be at home.

just as you had finally put the phone down, it rang. you rushed to pick it up, “hello?”

“ah, y/n? bonjour, ma petite fleur.” my little flower. pascale’s voice was so soft, like she knew exactly how you were feeling. she probably did.

the emotions you had tried so hard to suppress all came flooding out at the sound of charles’ mother.

you sniffled, “maman,”

at the sound of your voice, pascale felt her heart clench. over the last (nearly) two decades, you had become like the daughter that she had never had, and with pascale being able to see through both you and her son, she knew one day, you would become her daughter for real. she had been the one to convince you to call her ‘maman’, calling you her ‘belle fille’.

“oh, ma belle fille. tout va bien, ange.” oh, my beautiful girl. everything is okay, angel.

“comment le savez-vous?” you rubbed your eye, “vous lui avez parlé?” how do you know? have you talked to him?

“la mère sait toujours ce qui est le mieux, non?” she chuckled lightly, though you could tell she was also choked up, “son manager a dit qu'il va bien, qu'il se repose pour le moment.” mother knows best, no?...his manager said that he is fine, that he is resting for the moment.

you hummed, too choked up to say anything.

pascale cooed out your name, “mon ange, pourquoi tu ne viens pas?” why don’t you come over?

you shook your head before remembering she couldn't see you, “non, c'est bon. ça ira. je suis sûr que vous êtes plus secoué par ce qui s'est passé. je ne veux pas me mettre en travers.” no, it’s okay. i’ll be fine. i'm sure you're more shaken up by what happened. i don't want to get in the way.

pascale tsked, “petite idiote, tu ne pourrais jamais te mettre en travers du chemin. tu es de la famille, je sais que tu souffres aussi.” silly girl, you could never get in the way. you are family, i know you're hurting too.

you couldn’t help but laugh pitifully at the way she called you an idiot, “j'ai été vraiment stupide, non? j'avais tellement peur que charles parte et je ne lui aurais jamais dit ce que je ressentais.” i've been really stupid, no? i was so scared that charles would leave and i would have never told him how i felt.

pascale had been the only one to know how you truly felt about charles, having caught you crying one christmas night when charles had brought his girlfriend to join the family dinner. she had comforted you all night, and spent the whole dinner staring charles’ new girlfriend down, though you–and charles–had no idea.

“il aurait été tout aussi stupide,” pascale hummed, “je ne peux qu'espérer que ce jour l'amène à admettre ses sentiments également.” he would be stupid too…i can only hope that today causes him to admit his feelings as well.

“je te le répète, il ne ressent pas la même chose.” i keep telling you, he doesn’t feel the same.

“ouais, ouais, et je continue à te dire qu'il l'est. Je connais mon garçon, et il est amoureux de toi. Il ne s'en rend juste pas compte.” and i keep telling you, he does. i know my boy, and he's in love with you. just doesn't realize it.

the two of you chatted for a bit more, with pascale giving you live updates every so often. lorenzo and arthur both joined the conversation, commanding you take care of yourself or else they would come and bring you home.

the conversation had only just died down when pascale gasped, “oh, mon dieu! c’est charles! y/n, je vous téléphonerai après, d'accord?” it’s charles, i’ll call you after, okay?

your breath hitched in your throat, “bien sûr.” of course.

it felt like forever, waiting for her to call back, or for charles to reach out to you on his own. yet nothing happened.

sometime later, your phone buzzed with a text from lorenzo.

il va bien. Il rentre pour finir son travail avec les médias, mais il prend l'avion ce soir. he's okay. he's going back to finish his media duties, but he'll fly back tonight.

c'est un soulagement. that’s a relief.

viens. je vais chercher charles et le ramener à la maison. il voudra te voir. come over. i'll be picking up charles and bringing him home. he will want to see you.

non, c'est bon. je le verrai quand il reviendra à l'appartement. no, it's fine. i'll see him when he comes back to the apartment.

y penser? think about it?

you left him on read. as much as you wanted to see him, you weren’t sure you wanted to in front of his entire family as well. who knew how you would react?

not long after, you found yourself in front of the tv again, much like you had been earlier in the morning, only this time charles was no longer in a smoking car, but rather in front of a bunch of mics and cameras.

you watched as he answered questions about the car, the oversteer, and how he had felt in the moment. your heart ached as you stared at his face, he looked so tired. he’d grimace every time he moved, so lightly that no one would notice. but you did, you’d learned to identify any subtle expression changes early on in your friendship with charles. he was a stubborn man, but you were nothing if not just as stubborn.

you didn’t know when you fell asleep, eyes getting heavier and heavier as you watched charles answer the same questions again and again. you also didn’t know how long you slept for, the stress and tension of the day had left you exhausted.

you barely stirred when the lock of your house opened, or when the keys chimed loudly as charles placed them in the key bowl near the door. when he was picked up by lorenzo, he had told him to take him to your shared apartment immediately. lorenzo, who knew what was coming, didn’t question a thing, just gave his brother a smile and a quick “it’s about time” before driving.

the driver turned around, leaving his luggage near the entrance. the sound of the tv was quiet, but charles could hear it. his eyebrows furrowed, it was late. were you waiting for him to come home? he walked towards the living room, stopping when he caught sight of you on the couch, asleep.

he quietly walked forward, hand blindly grabbing at the tv remote and turning it off. his eyes followed down your figure, lingering on the hoodie you had been wearing before moving down to the bright white gauze you had wrapped around your foot earlier.

he kneeled down next to you, hand lightly grazing the rough wrapping, “oh, mon dieu, ce qui vous est arrivé, ange?” oh, my god, what happened to you, angel?

at the sound of his voice, you stirred. charles cursed himself for being loud, although his words had been whispered so quietly. charles retracted his hand, shushing you lightly as you groaned.

“rendors-toi, amour.” he lightly pressed a hand against your fluttering eyes, blocking out the light from above. go back to sleep, love.

“charles?” you pushed your head up, cheek nuzzling into his palm, “c'est toi? tu es vraiment là?” is that you? are you really here?

charles could feel his heart break inside his chest. how many times had you woken up tonight, expecting to see him but then be wrong? how many times had you dreamt of him coming back home?

charles rubbed his thumb against your cheek, “oui, c’est moi. je suis là.” yes, it’s me. i’m here.

you blinked twice, vision clearing enough to see the man you had been waiting for, sitting right in front of you. your eyes instantly pooled with tears, “charles?”

he rushed to soothe you, “ne pleure pas, mon amour. je suis là, je vais bien.” don't cry, my love. i'm right here, i'm okay.

you reached up and grabbed the hand that had been resting on your cheek, “tu ne comprends pas. j'ai eu si peur pour toi.” you don't understand. i was so scared for you.

you sat up and charles moved to grab your other hand in his as well.

he squeezed them softly, “je suis désolé, mon ange, tellement, tellement désolé. je ne voulais pas te faire peur aujourd'hui.” i’m so sorry, my angel, so, so, sorry. i didn’t mean to scare you today.

you lurched forward, hands escaping his and instead wrapping around his neck. charles’ own hands found themselves in new places as well, one wrapped around your back while the other flew behind him to keep the two of you from toppling over.

his heart tightened, feeling his neck get wet with your tears as you sniffled loudly. his other hand found itself wrapping around you as well, pulling you closer to his body.

charles moved the two of you into a more comfortable position, stretching his legs out so that you were essentially sitting in his lap, straddling him, “je suis désolé, y/n,” he apologized again.

at the sound of your name slipping through his lips, you couldn’t help the sobs that escaped your own. charles’ grip around you tightened, “hey, what’s wrong? qu'est-ce qu'il y a?” what’s the matter?

you shook your head, “tu es si méchante, charles. je n'ai même pas pu te dire que je t'aimais quand tu as raccroché ce matin.” you are so mean, charles. i didn't even get to tell you i loved you when you hung up this morning.

he lightly coerced you to pull your head back, “oh, mon coeur, je suis désolé.” he felt like a broken record, apologizing again and again, but in the moment, nothing was coming to his head.

you leaned back, puffy eyes connecting with his own, which were tinged red, a sign that he had been crying as well, “ce n'est pas ta faute. c'est la mienne. je ne t'ai jamais dit ce que je ressentais, et je m'en voulais tellement de ne pas l'avoir admis plus tôt. quand tu n'es pas sorti de la voiture tout de suite, j'ai eu tellement peur de t'avoir perdu. perdu avant d'avoir pu te dire que je t'aimais.” it's not your fault. it's my fault. i never told you how i felt, and i was so angry at myself for not admitting it sooner. when you didn't get out of the car right away, i was so afraid that i had lost you. lost before i could tell you that i loved you.

charles’ tears spilled out of his eyes, “c'est ma faute aussi.” his words were the same as pascale’s, “j'ai toujours eu trop peur de te dire ce que je ressentais parce que j'étais trop égoïste. je ne voulais pas te perdre, alors je ne t'ai jamais dit ce que je ressentais.” it's my fault, too. i was always too scared to tell you how i felt because i was too selfish. i didn't want to lose you, so i never told you how i felt.

“tu m'aimes?” your voice was so soft, as if scared to be wrong. you love me?

charles placed his forehead against yours, “tellement. je t'adore plus que tout ce que j'ai jamais aimé.” so much. i adore you more than anything i've ever loved.

the tears slipped out as you relished in his revelation, “je t'aime. mon dieu, je t'ai aimé aussi longtemps que je me souvienne.” i love you. my god, i've loved you for as long as i can remember.

charles leaned up, kissing your tears away, “je te promets qu'à partir d'aujourd'hui, tu ne pleureras plus jamais à cause de moi.” i promise, from today forward, you will never cry because of me ever again.

your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of his lips against your skin. he couldn’t help it, placing soft kisses against your eyelids.

his hands followed down your spine, resting at the base of your waist, “on va te mettre au lit, mon ange.” let's get you to bed, angel.

“je peux m'allonger avec toi?” can i lay with you?

“toujours, à partir de maintenant et pour toujours.” charles smiled lightly, “je suis tout à toi, ma moitié.” always, from now on and forever…i am all yours, my other half.

2K notes · View notes

gravehags · 9 months

Text

every day is halloween

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: Teen

Tags: reader and Copia have become good friends, sexual tension, romantic tension, Halloween party, Terzo is back on his matchmaking bullshit, slight Terzomega

Words: 2,156

Summary: Halloween always was your favorite holiday.

a/n: Desperately wanted Copia in a Halloween costume so here we are. If you know who either Copia or reader is dressed as I'm giving you a big wet kiss with tongue.

divider by @gothdaddyissues!

“So what are you going to be for the big Halloween party?”

You’ve got your feet up on your coffee table, currently watching Copia poorly guide Lara Croft through a jungle temple. When you found out he likes video games just as much as you do - albeit his games are a little older - you invited him to your quarters every Friday for a game night. These nights usually consisted of the two of you drinking wine and taking turns with your PS5 controller, all the while casually venting about your respective weeks. Lara runs directly off a cliff and you snort as Copia throws his hands up in defeat, tossing the controller onto the couch.

“Eh…it’s a secret,” the tips of his ears are red and a slow grin settles on your face.

“Ooooh,” you tease, adjusting yourself on the cushion so your legs are tucked under you. “Alright fine, I’m not telling you mine either. But it’s so good. You’ll never guess.”

Copia’s mustache twitches in amusement.

“Hmm…give me a hint, cara. Per favore.”

You’re momentarily distracted by the endearment - you still haven’t quite gotten used to hearing that sort of thing from him since Terzo’s party and it enchants you every time - but then your face settles into a pout.

“Now why would I do that?”

“Eh…because we are amici. And I am a terrible guesser.”

You make sure to put extra drama into your eye roll but answer him all the same.

“Fine. ONE hint. It’s a historical figure.”

When he reaches a gloved hand up to stroke his mustache thoughtfully you can’t help but sigh a little. Where did he get off being so damn cute?

“Is it–”

“Don’t guess now,” you say, slapping his arm lightly. “You can ponder it over the next few weeks. Now come on, pick that controller up, Lara has some tombs to raid.”

Grabbing it, he passes it to you.

“Your turn, dolcezza,” he says with a tired look. “It has been far too long a week and I would much rather watch you play.”

Shrugging, you lean over and set your wine glass down on the table and accept the controller from his hand.

“Watch and learn, dear Cardinal,” you smirk as you unpause the game.

He spends the remainder of the evening with his eyes on you and not the screen.

—-

“Progress on your costume coming along?” you ask, bent over with your arms on Copia’s desk. When you see his cheeks redden at the sight of you you realize your compromising position and straighten with a blush of your own.

“Eh…” he begins and clears his throat, fidgeting with the cuffs of his cassock. “Sì. Very well, I think I have all the necessary parts.”

You roll up on your tiptoes with a thoughtful expression. “Me too. Gotta say you’ve got me very intrigued, Copia.”

“D-do I?” he asks, leaning back in his chair trying his best to look casual. He’s chewing on his bottom lip and he reaches up to straighten his biretta.

“Mmhmm. Two weeks and we’ll see who can guess who is who,” you say, rolling back onto the flat of your feet and crossing your arms.

“Ah…is this a challenge now, cara?”

You fix Copia with a positively angelic look and cant your hip, not missing the way his mismatched eyes slide over your form. When he smirks up at you, your knees nearly buckle.

“Well then, signorina, if I can guess who you are or you can guess who I am…then what?”

“You get…a favor.”

“Oh?” He’s stroking his mustache again and this time you have to take a seat because your knees really do wobble.

“Yep, one favor. Redeemable anywhere, anytime.”

“For anything?” the tone of his voice lowers, darkens, and it takes you by surprise. Suddenly you remember that delicious little dream you had where he–

Ahem.

Focus.

“Sure,” you say lightly, ignoring the implications of such a broad demand. “And if I guess correctly, I get a favor of my own.”

“What if we both guess correctly?”

“Well,” you say, studying your cuticles, “the favors could cancel each other out. Or we just both have favors from one another.”

“Sì, the second option,” he says quickly, tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair.

“Got something in mind?” you ask with a wry grin, wiggling your eyebrows a little. His eyes narrow and he exhales through his nose.

“Perhaps,” he practically purrs, and you have to force yourself to school your face into a neutral expression. Flustered, you rise from your chair and meander towards his office door. When your hand is on the knob you turn to face him again.

“It’s a bet, then?”

He nods solemnly, but you don’t miss the lascivious grin that plays around his painted lips.

Game on.

—

You’ve finally finished lacing yourself into the decadent black and red gown you purchased and regard yourself in your bedroom mirror. Seventeenth-century looks good on you, with the shape of the stays you wear and the way they heave your breasts up. Reaching backwards towards your bed, you grab the belt you made with small potion bottles and tie it around your waist. Last thing is an elaborate pearl necklace - the icing on the cake. When you’ve completed your look you give a little twirl in place and grin. Copia won’t know what hit him. Walking out of your room you grab your keys and phone and slip them into the discreet pocket inside your dress before heading out of your quarters.

The Ministry Halloween party, you’ve been told, is quite a sight. Terzo described it to you once at the beginning of September as the most lively celebration of the year. You are quite looking forward to seeing the costumes the siblings have adorned themselves with and your little heels tap insistently on the stone floor as you pick up your pace. Approaching the celebration hall you hear an intense muffled din coming through the large wooden doors. Taking a deep breath, you heave the doors open and your jaw drops. There must be hundreds of people in the room, wearing every costume you could possibly imagine. One wall is lined with a long table filled with decadent foods and beverages. Music plays, but is ultimately drowned out by the boisterous noise coming from the crowd that you find yourself navigating. Several siblings smile at you as you pass - just now finally warming up to you - and you’re relieved when you spot Terzo. He’s decked out in head-to-toe black with a cape and a mask over his eyes, a jaunty hat perched on his dark hair.

“Zorro?” you ask with a smile and he beams back at you.

“Do I not look very dashing?” he crows, striking a pose. One of his ghouls emerges from behind you carrying a glass of punch - Omega, you think? - who is wearing his usual mask and short cassock. On his head is a headband with a gold halo attached and when you laugh out loud, you like to think he’s smiling at you from behind the mask. The ghouls and their function were still a mystery to you but you appreciated their stoic presence around the abbey. Terzo accepts the punch from Omega and cozies up to you, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

“Don’t you look delicious tonight, bella,” he purrs in your ear. “Beautiful view,” he says, his eyes lingering on the abundant cleavage your gown produces.

When you roll your eyes and elbow him sharply in the side, you swear you hear the tall ghoul chuckle.

“I assume,” Terzo coughs after collecting himself, “that you are looking for your amato cardinale?”

You open your mouth to both protest and respond when you see Copia cutting through the crowd. He looks incredible. As he approaches your trio you gape at his outfit, having never seen him in anything but his standard cassock before. He’s wearing a tuxedo with a black bowtie and a red cummerbund. On his shoulders is a black cape lined with red satin. His mustache is waxed and hair impeccable, and you notice he’s added some grey at the temples to enhance his natural coloring.

Now it’s Terzo’s turn to elbow you. But there’s no need - Copia is similarly enraptured with your appearance, eyes dancing over the details of your gown and as Terzo did, gazing at the swell of your breasts.

“Bellissima,” Copia breathes and Terzo regards the two of you with something akin to pride.

“Omega,” he says airily, “let us fetch some drinks.”

You barely register Terzo and his ghoul leaving the two of you alone. It’s as if all of a sudden the raucous din from the party around you has quieted as the two of you behold each other. Finally coming to your senses you shake your head and give Copia a wide smile.

“Look at you,” you say, giving him an exaggerated once-over, “aren’t you something?”

“Me?” Copia replies hoarsely, adjusting his tuxedo jacket, “Cara, you.”

You give a little “who me?” wave of your hand, but the violent blush on your cheeks gives away your true feelings.

“Well?” you ask, giving a little twirl, “who am I?”

Copia’s mouth finally closes as he remembers the bet the two of you have created. He puts his gloved hand to his chin and considers.

“Eh…is the costume historically accurate?”

You put on a faux-offended look. “Just who do you think you’re talking to?”

He gives you a sheepish smile and waves his hand at you.

“Hmm…” he studies you intently and you look to the ground in an effort to avoid his gaze.

“You get three guesses,” you murmur. You’re feeling generous tonight, and you’d be lying if you said a part of you didn’t want him to win.

“Artemisia Gentileschi,” he says firmly.

“Ooh, not a bad guess!” you’re impressed by him that’s for sure. “But no, not Artemisia.”

“Ah shit,” he sighs. “But the right era, sì?”

You nod.

He considers you for another silent moment before making a noise of exclamation.

“Julie d’Aubigny!” he says, looking smug. Once again you have to hand it to him for his knowledge of deep historical cuts.

“I appreciate that you acknowledge me as a bisexual icon but nope. I have no sword!”

Copia swears loudly and puts his hands on his hips. Idly, you run your fingers over the potion bottles on your belt. He’s silent for almost three whole minutes before a slow grin spreads on his face.

“Giulia Tofana,” he says, fully sure of himself this time. You grin back at him, giggle erupting from your throat.

“Bingo,” you say, poking him lightly in the chest. “Not too shabby, Cardinal, I’m very impressed.”

He looks like he wants to strut around like a proud rooster and you love the confident air he’s adorned himself with. When he’s finished preening about his victory, he holds up his hands.

“Your turn, cara.”

When you step forward into his space his eyes widen and his breathing becomes more rapid as you stalk around him in a circle.

“I think,” you say as you round his shoulder, “I deserve a hint. I gave you one a month ago and it’s only fair.”

“We’ve discussed him before,” he says simply, adjusting his gloves. Your lips curl upwards.

“Well as I have said before you look an awful lot like Vincent Price. And there’s something so familiar about this get-up, I know I’ve seen it somewhere…”

Copia says nothing but his mustache twitches in an effort not to smile. You open your mouth to tease him and then it hits you like a truck.

“Oh. My God.” you laugh. “No way!”

He’s giggling with you now, knowing full well you’ve deduced his outfit.

“You did not come to this party dressed as Vincent Van Ghoul!” you squeal and he lets out a deep laugh.

“Molto bene, Signora Tofana,” he says, slowly clapping his hands together. You give him a little curtsy just as Terzo and Omega approach you again, bearing several cups of punch.

“For you,” Terzo thrusts a glass of ominous red liquid into your hand before handing another to Copia. You smile fondly at him over the rim of your glass and Terzo gives you a little wink.

“Saluti!” he half-shouts, raising his glass. “To bets! To Sathanas! To love!”

Avoiding all eyes, you clink your glass against the other three and take a deep drink. You don’t know what is in this stuff but you suspect it’s whatever Terzo made you take a shot of at that party. It makes your throat burn and your belly warm.

“Happy Halloween,” you say softly, eyes meeting Copia’s once more.

“Happy Halloween, mia cara,” he says, just as quietly.

You don’t see Terzo looking up at Omega knowingly before pressing a kiss to the side of his mask.

#cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia x female reader #cardinal copia x f!reader #cardinal copia #the band ghost #the band ghost fic #rachel writes

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