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irisintheafterglow · 3 months

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friends can i hs journalist!reader x bachira brain rot on main real quick because i really need to get this idea out of my head

it's no secret that bachira meguru did not have friends. elementary school into middle school was essentially spent in solitude, and only when he reached high school did he attempt to connect with others.

luck, he figured, placed you two at the same lab table for a science class whose concepts he's long forgotten. you were uncharacteristically warm to him and possessed the patience of a seasoned kindergarten teacher, letting him doodle in the top right corner of your notebook and worksheets. you were always ready to build on whatever joke he muttered, but equally as quick to steer him onto the right task. you countered him so easily that it unnerved him. he found you perplexing, listening to him rattle on about soccer with an interest that only his mother had shown him. there was a monster inside of him, he'd revealed after a few months of knowing you, and you nodded in understanding like you could see it too.

"i feel the same way when i'm photographing a game. it's hyper-focus, right? like someone is whispering in your ear what the best shot is, though i guess 'shot' means different things to each of us," you added, barely glancing up from your notebook. you picked out a yellow highlighter from your pencil case and carefully ran it over a vocabulary word, only stopping when you saw bachira staring at you. "what is it?"

"you're in yearbook?"

"yearbook and journalism class, yeah. i write for the school paper, but it's mostly the sports columns," you say with a nonchalant shrug.

"oh, so do you do, like the-" he holds his hands in the shape of two L's, wiggling the top joint of his pointer finger like he was pressing the shoot button on a camera. "the this thing?"

"mhmm. i take photos at the games and i also write about the result afterward. it's pretty cool, especially during nationals season." another highlighter is chosen meticulously from your bag, the same shade of blue that he liked to draw raindrops with. bachira could probably match a doodle to every writing material you owned, if he tried.

"huh, i bet. why've i never seen you at a game, hmm?"

"they usually assign the same people for each sport, and i've been covering the basketball and volleyball teams for a few years." orange, you pick, for something about homeostasis. "why?" he catches a mischievous sparkle in your eye, like you were teasing him. "you want me to go to your games?"

"absolutely," bachira replies without hesitation. "you don't even have to ask."

so, you do go to the next game. not as a school journalist, but just as a spectator in the stands. you find a seat next to a very passionate mother cheering for the other team, somewhere in the middle of the bleachers. it's close enough that you can spot bachira as soon as he's on the field, and he spots you too. he raises his hand in an excited wave, mimicking the same 'shooting a camera' gesture that got you into this situation. during the game itself, you realize bachira's talent is impossible to ignore, especially when he's finding you after every goal and assist and doing the camera movement like it was your own private joke. you find yourself in the stands again and again, catching his eyes and finding that he's already looking at you.

"i can't believe they actually let you switch," he said, breathless after he sprinted across the field to find you during half-time of your first game as acting journalist. "what'd you say to convince them?" you shrugged, a small smile playing on your lips.

"i just told them the truth," you murmur so that only you two could hear, "that i like watching you play."

"right," he stutters, unsure of what to say. "yeah. well, i'm glad i look cool to you!" he considers it one of the biggest mistakes of his life, leaving whatever was there between you two unsaid. he didn't respond how he wanted to, truthfully, because you'd caught him off guard. bachira meguru wasn't used to having friends, nor was he used to the airy feeling in his forehead and the lightness in his stomach. bachira meguru was not good at being in love.

when he left for blue lock, he felt like he'd left a part of himself with you.

"you're-you're leaving?" he knew you were trying to keep your composure, but it was slipping. he explained the implications of being a certified athlete again and you nodded, your mind anywhere but present. "i see. do you know when you'll be back?" bachira shakes his head. "i see."

"but it'll be good! it'll probably make me a better player and get me one step closer to my dream!"

"right. i'm excited for you, meguru." there was something off in your tone that he couldn't place. the monster was telling him he was...hurting you.

"i'll send you letters or something like we're in shakespeare!" you crack a pained grin, forcing out a laugh that was no more than a nicety. most of the characters die or hate each other in shakespeare. "and i promise i'll come right back to you when i'm done." it seems to be the wrong thing to say since he spots the tremble of your bottom lip as you swallow thickly. what was he doing to you?

"i hope it's everything and more," is the last thing you say to him before he leaves for blue lock. when you're completely removed from his life, he finds his mind drifting to you as a safety net when he had trouble sleeping or hits a low during training. it is everything and more, being at blue lock, but his fingers want to become the shape of a camera every time he makes a goal.

"'mock press day' my ass," raichi declared during a training day before the u-20 match. according to ego, the five-on-five scrimmages would be observed by various reporters to increase interest in the blue lock vs u-20 game. "they just want an excuse to gawk at us."

"the existence of this program is riding on that game," isagi points out. "they're probably trying to prep us for the other scrutiny that comes with being in the public eye." raichi's eye twitches, his grip tightening on the laces of his cleats.

"they can shove all their eyes up my-"

"what kind of press do you think they'll be?" chigiri's question unconsciously catches bachira's attention. "news channels? maybe interviews?"

"don't be thinking they care about what we're doing here," rin deadpans from across the locker room. "it'll be yelling and flashes and that's it, so ignore them and move on." from a dark corner of his brain solely focused on preparing for a match, a childish hope consisting of two words popped into the back of bachira's mind. what if?

when the kickoff whistle is blown, the other players don't understand why he keeps looking toward the spectators as if he's trying to find someone. the even more perplexing bit?

why bachira apologizes in advance for 'needing to show off' before pulling the nastiest dribbling the program has seen since its conception.

there's a buzz in the visiting group of reporters when the match you observe ends, compliments and awe revolving around the striker with the outlandishly good dribbling skills. he was really fired up, they comment. and he's only your age, they say to you with wonderstruck faces. can you believe the talent of that striker? i'm not sure what he was doing with his hands after each goal, though. was he taking a picture of us instead? while they continue to recount their favorite plays, you smile and wait for him to come and find you, your star player and his favorite photographer.

later heard in the locker room: "why the fuck was bachira kissing one of the press people after the match?"

"call it unfinished business," bachira replies with a satisfied smirk, "you better be scared of me, next time that reporter is in the stands. i have a lot of time to make up for."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#bachira x reader #bachira x you #bachira x y/n #bachira meguru x you #bachira meguru x reader #bachira meguru x y/n #blue lock x you #blue lock x reader #blue lock x y/n #bllk x you #bllk x reader #bllk x y/n

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haruhey · 2 years

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The Day Will Come When You Won't Be

Enemies With Benefits masterlist

Word count: 5k

Chapter warnings: descriptions of everything that happens at the Negan lineup. If you can stomach that, everything else should be no problem.

The Saviors seize a hostage.

You should have never gotten on the truck.

But what could you have done, really?

“Got a new group out there givin’ us trouble, and I’m in the mood to settle some shit. Wanna come?”

He stood lent against your doorframe just 4 hours ago, the Virginian sun still streaming in from the tiny crack of wall you called a window, and he had that grin twisting his features. You’d been through enough of those looks to understand that, when it morphs his face, he’s not asking, and your skin had risen into those insistent, memory-laden goosebumps that come like Pavlovian instinct, forcing you to leave the scratchy linen of your sheets and pad across the frigid cement of your room.

In 10 minutes flat, you were dressed and loading into the seat you’re in now, and 5 minutes later you were peeling out of that hell-hole, a nonchalant humming coming from the man next to you as he taps his thumbs on the steering wheel, one half of some long forgotten rhythm muffled slightly by the leather of his glove.

You keep your eyes on the flashes of trees as you ride on gravel roads. You don’t want to look at him. Or at the mirror, where you would see Arat and the bat resting next to her. You’re not sure if you can, souvenirs of its violence painting the metal wire. Knowing what will be happening once each checkpoint reports back, you’re not sure you could even handle the look of any of them.

It’s been months since you’d been forced into those 4 suffocating walls you’d refused to call home, and though you’ve lost a lot of yourself, your fear of Negan lingered no matter how much you’d wanted it to evaporate and disappear like the parts of you before it. It’s been months since he held that goddamn bat against you, but it doesn’t matter. That fear ignites at the worst times, knotting up your stomach.

You loathe it, but you’re powerless against it.

Maybe you hate that fact more.

There seems to always be an ever-present smirk on his face whenever it comes to ‘settling shit’, the promise of making a show of his unwavering power dangling in front of him and ramping up his excitement with each passing moment. You can’t remember how many times you’ve sat in this seat - the last group was a while ago, you think, the place with the huge house at the top of that hill - but as Negan’s hum changes into a whistle, that stupid overwhelming fear shoots through you, taking over your body for a second and banging your knees against the door when you flinch away from him.

The knock reverberates through the truck, the enclosed space doing you no favours when you take a sharp inhale at the pain, but the whistling stops, the crush of asphalt and the squeak of his leather jacket taking over as he turns to look at you.

“Oh, c’mon. Loosen up, princess. It’s not like this is your first time.”

You bite the inside of your lip to keep from responding to his poorly hidden double entendre and that stupid nickname which has wormed into his vocabulary. It was a joke - at least it was when it was a throwaway comment from Sherry after she had one too many sips of cheap vodka - but Negan seems especially inept when it comes to how close he thinks he is to you. He had pinpointed it and insisted upon it being some playful replacement of your actual name, and every fucking time he said it, you feel your blood start to simmer.

But you know what happens when you upset him.

He makes a show of it in front of the furnace, and you remember the pain which tears through you, but in private - a handful of Saviors for insurance and away from prying eyes, in front of his own stovetop and his squeaky cupboards and his hidden drawers - that’s what terrifies you.

Actually, no. What scares you is the fact he can do all that and then act like it never happened.

He’d greet you in the morning like he was greeting an old friend, and just go on with his day.

“Keep your eyes on the road, Negan.”

Arat scoff does little to hide her smile - neither does he, an upwards curl of his lips before he turns away to do just that - and you let out a breath, shifting in your seat in an attempt to regain your bearings. It’s like walking on eggshells, each time you talk to him.

He’s volatile.

One day he’d brush it off with a laugh, but some days he would pin you into place with a look, and you’d go to bed with one more bandage than you’d had the night before. But he’s mellowed out since you’d first met him; either old age is taking its toll or he’s become comfortable in the status quo he’d hammered in with swings of Lucille and burnt faces by the iron.

“Well, shit, who pissed in your cereal this morning?”

You let the question linger, and Negan peels into the gravel-faced clearing before you can let silence fully steal the space between the three of you. He slams the brakes as he turns into his spot, and it sends your body forward. You barely have time to lift your hands to brace for the stop, but you manage enough, your forearms pressing against the dashboard.

“Whoops,”

He pulls the keys from the ignition then, pulling a laugh from his chest before you hear a click from between the two of you, and he gets out, resting his arms against the top edge of the truck before leaning in with a wide smirk.

“Guess you should’a worn your seatbelt.”

Asshole.

You’re not sure at what point your abrasion had distorted in his head into banter, but, frankly, it pisses you off. It pisses you off because he couldn’t be more obvious with the fact he doesn’t think of you as a threat. As far as he’s concerned, you’re some angry chihuahua he’s ultimately got control over. Angry as all hell, but harmless at the end of the day. The more you think about it, the more it pisses you off, and though your mouth opens in the beginning of a retort, Simon’s static voice breaks through before you can form anything further.

The group reached checkpoint C first.

“Pass me that, won’t you?”

Grabbing the walkie-talkie from the cupholder, you chuck it at him without another thought, turning to open your side’s door as it hits his chest with a thump, and he even laughs at that, not missing a beat before the push-to-talk is engaged and his voice rumbles into the microphone.

They reach a second checkpoint not much longer, the chained-up rotted soon after that, and radio silence follows after they reach the wall of burning trees. It must have freaked them out - it was Simon, after all, whose voice was the first and last they’d heard. They would have had to have known something was coming at this point, even if his presence at the flames was purely by chance.

Sooner or later, they were gonna get sloppy. They were gonna get nervous - get desperate, and slip up - and they have no fucking clue what’s in store for them.

As the sun inches under the horizon, you sip nervously from your water bottle, the carabiner attached to its lid tinking against metal as your hand shakes. The Saviors had started getting into position just after sunset - an order that was barked by Negan echoed by Laura when she’d decided they were moving out a little too slow - but you’re stuck in place, your heart pounding in your chest and a lump in your throat that you can’t get down no matter how hard you try.

You’re leant behind a car, Arat sat in the driver's seat as she absentmindedly toys with the safety on her pistol, and you’re thankful for the Virginian night. It hides the shaky breaths visible from the chill after an unfamiliar RV pulls into the clearing, and it hides the flash of panic that crosses your face when Simon pulls out someone you can’t quite make out in the dark.

It’s starting.

You don��t know how many people are in the group. You’re sure Negan has told you - that big mouth of his never quite shuts up between the orders he gives you and the monologues he considers ‘conversation’ - but you never listen.

It can’t just be him, though, you’re sure of it. One man can’t have caused him to go all on the offensive like this.

Negan’s sat in that red-lined RV now, a short conversation with Simon wrapping up with a wolfish grin shot in your direction before slinging Lucille over his shoulder and waltzing into the open door, and you clip your water bottle back onto your belt, rubbing your temples to try and forget it.

It feels so pointless, every time you’re dragged to one of these stupid confrontations. You don’t even do anything here. You don’t grab automatics to ‘get shit done’ - you don’t douse cut-down trees in lighter fluid or tie up the infected for some sick psychological torture - you’re just some spectator in all this.

Every time Negan looks at you like that, that expression wiping across his face like that night you’d first met him, it’s like a taunt. It’s like he knows, even without making you kneel next to the squelch and crush of a head, that he can make you break out in a cold sweat and make you remember the fear that coursed through your veins when you had been.

You hate that he’s right.

When you hear the first few whistles, your hair stands at the back of your neck, and you try to blink away the first few tears threatening your vision. The Saviors are close - they have to be, even grouped up, whistles can’t get that loud - and as the two tones get even closer, you close your eyes and lean forward, putting your head between your knees as you prop yourself up against the trunk of the sedan.

It was only a matter of time before they were caught.

In the position you’re in, you urge your bloodflow to your brain in hopes that maybe - just maybe - it’ll work well enough that it won’t make you think of the first time you’d heard those sounds. You hope that it’ll melt the ice lining your muscles, but you don’t have to hope any longer when the lights of the parked cars turn on, breaking you out of your spiral with the momentary flash of white as you squint your eyes to adjust to the brightness.

Despite the pain at your temples when you stare into the lit clearing, you’re thankful for it. It reminds you you’re here, not in a long-buried memory, and though you hate being here, you hate being there even more.

But you know this weirdly settled thankfulness won’t last long. As you watch them get onto their knees, whatever’s left of your morals are screaming at you to do something try to stop the way Negan swings open the door and waves Lucille like he’s at some pissing contest, but you know it won’t do anything. You know you can’t do anything.

You’re not sure if savior complex is the right word for what you’re feeling, but it feels funny when you’re in this type of situation.

There’s always an illusion of help - that maybe if you screamed loud enough or just spoke some stubbornly-ignored reason, you could be able to stop him - but you know you can’t. As the first bash of Lucille breaks skull, you know there’s no way to stop him. He swings and swings and swings, and it’s so silent save for the group’s sobbing and the constant thunk of his strikes.

You’re not close to them at all - the length of a car and several people separate you from the group - but you can see them well enough when you turn your head, your heart hammering against your ribs when you recognize that one of them is a kid and one of them looks so pale that she might pass out at any given second. The headlights illuminate them like some sort of demented spotlight, Negan’s shadow distorting across their bodies and their bloodshot eyes as he lingers the bat in front of one of them for too long.

You know what he’s getting at - he’s testing their fear, he’s testing how much more he needs to push before they crack and run back to their community with their tails between their legs - and you remember when you were there, a different type of acquiescing running through your mind. You knew you couldn’t do anything when you were the one knelt on hard ground. You knew that there were too many guns pointed at you and there was too much violence in Negan’s eyes.

The only people who would act on that impulse would be the stupidest people in the-

Holy shit.

The only people who would act on that impulse are here. Or, at least one of them was.

He swung at Negan - that man who had blood running down his chest and blood covering his hands - made hard contact with the corner of one of Negan’s cheeks, and though he’s subdued in almost an instant, you can’t look away. An odd sense of fascination keeps your eyes glued to the scene in front of you.

You don’t remember the last time anyone’s swung at Negan - let alone at a lineup - and you can’t help the spark of a long-forgotten hope that sparks within you.

He’s brave, that much is obvious.

But still, he’s stupid as all hell, held down to the ground as Dwight points a crossbow at him, staring straight at the barrel of it like a trapped animal, and you watch them drag him back into place, a sick feeling crawling into when Negan rises back to his feet.

You know what’s coming. You were on the receiving end of this once, too.

You know defiance gets you nothing except another grave to dig.

And though you’re expecting it, your hands balled into fists at your sides as if to somehow cushion the consequences of not looking away, you still recoil when Negan brings Lucille down on a different man.

It’s different, this time. This man doesn’t use his last bit of consciousness for a well-deserved ‘fuck you’ to Negan. He uses it to tell someone that he’ll ‘find her’ - holds on to his coherence and fights the rushing blood and pain to try and get out more - but he can’t, Negan’s voice filling the space with a mock of sympathy.

Then he swings again, and your stomach feels like it’s folding in on itself, rushing up your throat and through your lips. You turn back away from the scene, hoping that it’ll erase you from whatever the hell is going on, but it doesn’t and in a split second, you’re throwing up. Everything you’ve just seen finally catches up with you and you’re really throwing up, but nothing is coming out except pieces of a granola bar and the ocean of water you’d tried to calm yourself with.

It hits the line between the gravel and the sparse grass, and you take a step back to avoid it, but nausea hits you like a wave and makes you stumble. The trunk of the sedan stops you from moving any further, and you place a hand on it to steady yourself before taking a step to the side and then another, leant forward with your arm in front of you until you can brace on a tree.

Jesus Christ, did you really manage to forget the reality of this? Did you really manage to forget how the air smells when it’s tinged with this much fresh blood? Or how fucking haunting the sound of so many people crying is?

It seems you have - at least, you forgot how overwhelming it was - and you’re not sure if you’re furious or happy that you have.

But now you remember. You remember kneeling and your ribs stinging with each breath you took. You remember the smell of your friend’s blood coming from right next to you. You remember the way your eyes burnt from all your crying and the way your chest hurt with each sob that ripped through you. You remember it all, down to each blade of grass.

Stop overreacting.

There’s always that voice in you that berates when moments like these happen. It curls its lips up in disgust at the fact you’ve let yourself become so terrified, and you loathe yourself for it, a reminder of how it had all gone wrong that day and how you’d let it. It speaks tenfold, the image of that man even just trying to swing at Negan sharpening its words to a point and cutting you with its disappointment.

Even though you try to convince yourself you’re not there anymore, it all feels so real that you can’t help but spiral.

God, you’re such a fucking-

“Hey! Hey, y’alright?”

You’re not sure how long you’d spent lent on that poor tree, the intensity pulling you from reality, but it doesn’t matter because, when Arat places her hand on your shoulder, you flinch away, stumbling on your shaky legs. It feels like it’s been ages - your mouth is cotton and your ears are ringing - but it can’t have been long, the sun barely starting to rise.

“Yeah, fine. Great. I’m great.”

Wiping your mouth with your sleeve, you ease yourself back into a stand, blinking hard before looking around and ignoring the suspecting squint of Arat’s eyes. You’re pretty far out, a couple meters past the closest vehicle, and when you spot the pistol strapped to her thigh, you can’t help but wonder if you could just go.

If you just reached down and took it - if you just concentrated enough pressure to one spot at the side of her head - would she be knocked unconscious, giving you the opening to run?

But you know you can’t. Well-aimed pistol whips barely knock people out as it is, and you haven’t eaten anything substantial since the day started. There was no way you’d be able to do it. The second you bolt, Arat would tackle you. Even if you knocked her out, you wouldn’t make it far, your legs would give up as if they knew he would end up finding you.

He always does.

“Here, eat this.”

A tiny plastic packet is pressed into your palm before she steps back, grabbing your arm and dragging you back towards the clearing. With the darkness ebbing away, the headlights have been turned off, and you can see everything without its blaring harshness.

The scene looks even sadder in natural lighting - tracks of dried tears and slumped shoulders lined up one by one - and all of them refuse to move their heads from where they’re frozen.

But one of them is missing.

Leaning against the sedan, you rip open the packet with your teeth, your fingers still lacking feeling from what Arat had caught you in just moments ago, and you try not to look at the center of the clearing as you force down the crackers.

It’s then when you notice the RV is gone, and it’s then when you realize Negan’s gone too.

It doesn’t take long to connect the dots, and when you finally glance back over to them, you finally figure out who’s missing.

He’s the leader, then - curly hair and fur-lined jacket.

Break him, and everyone falls in line.

The sun comes up soon, lighting the clearing through the gaps between heavy-set trees, and the RV peels in not long after. You watch with the same pit in your stomach when Negan pulls him out by the back of his collar, and as he yells his demand of him to chop off his son’s arm off - as he stops him before he really does it - everyone knows that, whatever Negan had set out to do, he must have done it.

Dwight loads the man who punched Negan into the van he’d come out of - and he shifts his weight when he gets in, swaying like an animal trying to escape - and you find yourself curious about him. You watch as Negan leans in just a foot away to talk to their leader before rising back onto his feet, and you learn that the man’s name is Daryl.

And as much as you hate agreeing with Negan, he really does look like a Daryl.

“We'll be back for our first offering in one week. Until then, ta-ta.”

He throws their axe over his shoulder, a nonchalance in his gait, and he’s quick to hop back into the truck he drove over, letting out a theatrical sigh as if to say ‘all in a day's work’ without actually saying something. Though, knowing him, he’d probably love it if his voice carried for a moment more.

You contemplate where to go as you watch everyone start to disperse - if you’d asked, would Dwight be willing to let you sit shotgun in the car he’s keeping Daryl? Or should you follow to wherever Arat is going and try to figure out a way to thank her for the saltines that have settled your stomach for the time being? - but you don’t have time to move your feet before you hear a familiar voice calling your name and banging against the car roof.

“Get on in, princess.”

Negan sticks his head through the driver’s seat window, and you pull your lips into a line before taking a deep breath and turning your feet in his direction. He’s looking at you with an easy smile, but you keep your eyes on the ground instead, walking behind the wall of cars to mitigate some of the embarrassment you feel at any type of association with Negan.

You look over at the group before pulling at the passenger side handle, and some of them are looking back at you. The woman who had spoken up is studying you, so is their leader and the kid and two of the other women, and you feel shame course through you at their glares. You tear your eyes away from them and blink harshly before hitting the seat, and you slam the door shut, taking a deep breath as you refuse to look at Negan as he barks orders through the open window.

You watch them as all of the Saviors loads back up, and you can’t stop yourself from wondering if this was what you looked like on that night, too. Was this what you would have looked like on that soccer field if he hadn’t taken you before the sun rose?

You can’t blame them for it, though.

Because it’s your fault for letting him push you around like this, isn’t it?

Because you’re so scared of being out there alone, you’d do anything to survive, wouldn’t you?

Because he’s scarred you enough times for you to think like that, hasn’t he?

Swallowing hard, you try to stop that stupid voice from running by pulling your legs up to your chest and tapping a lazy rhythm onto your shin. It’s comforting. It reminds you of the world before - when you’d slaved over schoolwork to it playing mindlessly out of your old cassette player - but also of how things were before you met Negan, its tune playing through that rusty old vinyl player you’d dug up.

You hadn’t heard it since.

“Hey, your little… blegh, during the shit that went down, you alright?”

Your eyebrows meet in the middle of your forehead as you turn to look at him, trying to figure out if there was some hidden motive behind what he’d just said only to conclude that there doesn’t seem to be.

“Yeah, fine. Doing great. Don’t worry about it.”

Your face relaxes as you speak, and you shake your head to try and convince him to drop it. Turning back towards the window, you study the trees as they pass by once again, and it feels like you’re back in yesterday, blurs of green the same way they’d been when he’d driven you to the clearing. There’s some peace to be found in the colour, but he breaks it before it settles.

“Go see the doc when we get back.”

It turns out that your response just wasn’t convincing enough for him, so he tells you what to do, and you think about how this is always how it is with him. You think about how it’s never a suggestion - how you never get a say - and how it’s always an order you’re just expected to follow.

Guess you’re clocking into your shift earlier than expected.

“You got some boyfriend I don’t fucking know about or something?”

Scrunching your nose at his digging, you give him a curt response - ‘I’m not pregnant, if that’s what you’re implying’ - and when he speaks again, you can hear the way a corner of his lips turns up.

“You haven’t been screwing around?”

You don’t dignify him with an answer.

Instead, you let an emptiness linger as you chew at the inside of your cheek, wondering if you really should say what’s hanging on the tip of your tongue. It could get you in trouble - no, it could get you in a shit ton of trouble - but you do it anyways, some feeling gnawing at you to take a hint from that Daryl guy and just be brave for once.

“You didn’t have to kill the Asian guy.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

“I let you get away with a lot of shit, y’know that?”

Then panic comes - it drips slowly, down from your hairline and stings from your forehead down to your chin - but you stave it off before it can shake your voice.

“I’m just saying that you-“

He interrupts with a raise of his gloved hand, the pieces of dried blood on it cracking with the open and close of his first, and for that second where you think he might hit you, you flinch away by instinct, pinching your eyes closed to brace for it.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done it, but the impact never comes.

“If you were one of the limp-dicks out there, I would’ve thrown you in a cell for questionin’ my goddamn authority.”

Instead, he places his hand back on the steering wheel with a small smile, his words making you let out a breath, and you find yourself listening more intently than you care to admit.

“But that’s why I like you, isn’t it, princess?”

Your jaw strains at the stupid nickname, but the playfulness that’s wormed into his words makes your tensed shoulders relax just the slightest.

“Pullin’ me back and really putting shit into perspective when that shit needs it. I like that, keeps me in line. It shows you’re really lookin’ out for the future of this place.”

It takes all the strength in you not to scoff, but some of it slips out, a tiny huff followed by a twist of your lips, and it doesn’t take a genius to understand that it’s definitely not a smile. There’s no doubt in your mind that he knows you’re not looking out for the Sanctuary or the Saviors when you find the courage to mouth back at him. Why else would he keep dragging you out to shit like this?

It’s to keep you in line, you’re sure of it. It’s to keep you in line as if reminding you of that night would keep you locked in your room and stuck where he wanted you. He’d dragged you back to the Sanctuary one too many times for him to just not care about you anymore.

“It was just- it was just unnecessary, Negan. If you liked the balls on the guy who punched you, you could’ve just taken him and left and ended everything there. You didn’t have to kill the Asian guy or do any of the stuff you did afterwards, either.”

The breath that escapes his mouth as a barely-audible whistle, his frown oddly approving before he questions you. His voice isn’t condescending or accusatory, you don’t think, but there’s a dangerous edge to it, like something could go wrong if you answered it wrong.

“You know what they did, right?”

But you don’t have the right answer, so you just don’t say anything.

“They ambushed the whole fucking satellite station! Killed every one of them! The blood’s on their hands, so I would say it was pretty fuckin’ courteous of me not to cut off their dicks and kill every last one of ‘em, wouldn’t you?”

You can’t find the words to refute that - not when his voice rises enough for the vibrations to run through the car and work their way into your bones, or when he gestures with that same gloved hand that’s done more than its fair share of things to hurt you - but even if you did, he gives you no time to respond, anyways.

“So you still wanna debate morals, princess? ‘Cause I don’t think you understand the whole damn scope of what they did.”

His voice drops down, but it doesn’t hide his irritation, and you swallow down the spit that’s made home in your throat. Nobody told you what that group did, but you think you know why, biting down the smile pulling at your cheeks.

They’re the only ones to have tried it and done it successfully.

“Yeah, I guess I don’t.”

The rest of the drive is silent.

#haruwrites #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon the walking dead #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl dixon #haru's ewb #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon oneshot #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x you

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shsl-fander · 8 months

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Logince Week: Day 2

Prompt: Revenge

Pairing: Logan/Roman

Description : Logan and Roman are extremely competitive with one another, and so they have their weekly game nights, however Roman offers a different prize for the winner

@loginceweek2024

If you asked anyone in the mindscape who the most competitive person they'd ever met was, their answer would either be Logan Sanders or Roman Sanders, no one else would even come to mind. For this precise reason, what had once been an family game night tradition, involving every single side, had been entirely changed. Now it was left with only the logical and creative traits still involved, eager to see who would win the next time.

They'd found themselves in almost an endless cycle, either wanting revenge if they'd lost last time or wanting to continue their pridefull streak. Oddly enough, this weekly occurrence had brought the two closer than ever before, always looking forward to when they would see the other.

"Ahah! Finally! I've won!" Roman declared happily, launching himself up and out of his seat from the table to gloat. He danced around the area, occasionally doing his pose or smirking over at Logan.

Logan, who was still sat down at the table, their scattergories board between them. He was grumbling something about 'unfair' and 'statistically I've won more.'

"This is ridiculous, there is no way I've lost a vocabulary related game to Princey," Logan scoffed in disbelief, which only made Roman's smile grow even wider.

"Hey! I'm good at words too, Specs! You think all my wonderous stories just create themselves?! To be creative requires good vocabulary!" Roman argued, hands on his hips.

"Ironic, since the correct phrase would be 'I am good with words, too.'" Logan jabbed in response, a small smirk tugging on his lips. His smirk grew into an amused smile as Roman scoffed indignantly. "You are so ridiculous," he sputtered through laughter.

Roman dramatically placed a hand to his heart, stumbling backwards. "Your words hurt, Nerd! You've gotten your revenge, I understand now!" he gasps, turning his head away in faux sadness.

Logan shook his head, standing up so he could walk closer to Roman. "Do you really doubt me that much and think I'd give up that simply?" he said holding his hand out, "rematch?"

Roman grinned, eagerly shaking his hand, "Oh you're on, microsoft!" he exclaimed. "I think we should make it more fun though, have something at stake," he offered, with that creative romantic glint in his eyes.

Roman had an idea, an absolute awful idea, and he was dangerously close to letting his romantic thoughts win and doing said idea. He'd had a crush on the logical trait for ages now, longer than he could even remember given how long the two had known each other. There was something about Logan's competitive fire, the one that mirrored his own so well, that made Roman feel so warm inside.

"What are you referring to, Roman?" Logan pondered, scrunching up his eyebrows. His eyes widened as Roman took another step closer, blush rising to the apples of his cheeks. "Roman?!" he sputtered, attemping to keep his composure. Internally, however, Logan's heart was pounding inside his chest.

"If I win, will you let me take you out on a date?" Roman requests softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Logan swallowed nervously, and the added warmth in his body made his glasses to begin to fog. He cleared his throat, fidgeting with his tie. "You are interested in me?" he asks, audible doubt in his voice.

Roman laughed softly, shaking his head in disbelief, "Is that even a question?! Of course I am, I've been sending you hints for months."

Roman for one, absolutely loved to tease Logan, amd if Logan had remembered correctly, that was the way Roman showed his love. Not to mention all the comments he'd sneak into their discussions that could definitely be taken in a flirtatious way.

"So, do we have a deal?"

Logan couldn't fight the smile that snuck onto his face as he nodded, "Indeed we do, Prep."

#loginceweek2024 #logince week 2024 #logince #logince week #ts logince #ts logan #ts roman #roman sanders #sanders sides #logan sanders #tssides #sanders sides fanfiction #fanfiction #kai writes #logince fan fiction #tss #ts sides #sasi

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shibaraki · 2 years

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⇢ spoilers for bnha chapter 282

Trauma, you think, is not only applicable to injury or assault. To survival or war. The disembodiment that follows a sudden change, the lack of control that comes with loss in your life of which you hadn’t expected, is a trauma in and of itself.

You are forced to confront your own helplessness.

The first step is to accept that there is now a before and after, a fork in the road that you will never again retrace. Seated on the bedroom floor with your spine pressed uncomfortably against the bed frame, you aren’t sure if it’s possible.

Something inside you fractures at the sound of Eri’s muffled sobs. She is curled into herself beneath the comforter like a pill bug, the small bump trembling where she remains hidden from you. To a heart as bruised as her own, it is not safe to cry here without Shouta.

Medical jargon filters through your memory. Definite loss of his right eye due to contact with Shigaraki’s quirk and self amputation below the right knee. High risk of infection. Currently being kept in a medically induced coma. You aren’t allowed to see him yet.

Neither of you are.

Even though you aren’t her legal guardian, you are her guardian’s partner. With most of the remaining heroes either recovering in the ICU or out in the field, the already short list of candidates to take care of her was much shorter.

But a young child with her history only saw people with many faces, and feared the ways their intentions could change. She did not know know who you were without her foster father present. Instinct guided her under the blankets again and again, away from any possible harm— away from you.

There’s guilt leaden in your stomach that you wish would dissolve. It was unjustifiably cruel that Eri’s stability be ripped from beneath her feet so soon, and in part you feel like a liar for making promises you could not keep. Pointless as it is, you wonder if you could’ve done more to prevent this. You should have been there with him. But if you’d have been there, you might not be here.

“Eri,” her breathing hitches, wet and meek as she expects punishment, still trying so hard to be quiet. “Could you come out from there, sweetheart? It’s important that you eat to stay healthy and strong”.

How is Eri? the others would ask. Your answer does not change: struggling. Struggling to eat. Struggling to sleep. Struggling to speak. The word has become so integrated into your daily vocabulary that it starts to sound foreign in your mouth. You her routine and replicate it well, yet it still isn’t right, because you’re not her father. The texture of your food is too odd, the way you braid her hair is too loose, the way you detangle her knots is too rough. You try to tuck her in, to coax her into resting with a pleasant story, but to her it’s a betrayal. Bedtime stories are his and hers and Shouta is irreplaceable.

The lump doesn’t budge. “I’d love it if you shared some of these jelly packets with me,” you try again, grimacing through the break in your voice. Plastic crinkles in your hand. It was a risky shot but you’re running out of options. “There’s lots to choose from”.

You watch the gradual shifting of her body, lured by the promise of a sweet treat. Timid, Eri meets your gaze over the edge of her blankets with red rimmed eyes. Atleast there is no fear there, only caution — maybe even a kindling of hope in them as they flicker to the colourful packets in your hand. “Is... is it really okay?” she finally asks, filling the drawn out silence, “those are Mr. Aizawa’s favourites”.

“They are. I know he would want us both to enjoy them together,” you give her your best attempt at a reassuring smile. She deliberates before shuffling to the end of her bed and lingering there for a moment, deliberating. You had not expected that she would climb down, nor that she would slowly crawl into your lap, but you welcome her weight with a swell in your chest.

You’re reminded then of a conversation between you and Shouta before he left for the raid. Before he got hurt. Be careful, love. She needs you, you’d told him. You’re practically her father. Being assigned the role of a reluctant parental figure was joked about in good faith, especially with his newest class —and taking custody of Eri without question or complaint had only fuelled it further— but in this instance you were being sincere. She would be, and is, undoubtedly distraught by his absence.

Eri receives the flavoured jelly packet with a quiet thank you, sinking into your chest as she brings it to her lips. You tuck your nose against her crown and try not to cry.

If she’s my daughter, he had replied, a soft kiss left in your hair, then she’s yours too.

#bnha x reader #aizawa x reader #idk what this is I have just always wanted to explore eri & readers dynamic #parenting ur partners kid is uncomfortable!! especially when it is amidst tragedy lol #m.aizawa

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kuroosweakness · 4 years

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things the haikyuu boys did when they had a crush on you

miya atsumu

started wearing whatever you really liked wearing/complimented him on. if you mentioned the print on his shirt, you best bet he’ll be wearing that shirt for a whole week straight. a shirt he once thought nothing of is now his favorite shirt.

“‘tsumu, why don’t you try changing. you know, y/n could probably smell you a mile away,” osamu said to atsumu one morning as they were walking to school.

“nuh uh,” atsumu quipped back. “i washed it with the detergent y/n likes.”

“oh so you finally learned how the washing machine works?”

“‘samu you’re ruining it for me.”

asked overly-personal questions. not to be creepy or weird, but because he cherished the information he knew about you that no one else did; it made him feel special

“y/n, do you have any big regrets?”

“is there um, anyone you feel really happy around?”

“what’s your guilty pleasure? c’mon everyone has them.”

“have you ever been bullied?”

got visibly irritated whenever another guy interrupted your conversation with him. or if you were just smiling too hard when talking to a guy he doesn’t know about

“if you keep frowning like that, you’ll look like a grandpa by next year,” osamu said right before biting into his onigiri.

“shut up, ‘samu,” he groaned, trying his best to distract himself from the fact that you looked happier talking to another guy than him. did you smile that hard when he made a joke? he sure hopes so :’

kuroo tetsurou

pointed out the smallest differences in you. he noticed the slightest changes in your body language, style, mood, etc etc. on your bad days, he desperately wanted to ask if anything was wrong, but didn’t want to risk overstepping boundaries. so he just asked “how’s your day?” and even if you answered with a “good/fine/okay” he would know you weren’t telling the full truth

if you came to school wearing a brand new pair of shoes, he’ll point it out and tease you all about it. if you showed up with a new hairstyle, kuroo won’t say anything, but you can tell he noticed because of the way he looks at it.

even if you cut off three centimeters of your hair, he probably noticed.

kept trying to fix his appearance around you

he tried making it really subtle too. he’ll smooth down his jacket, try to flatten down his hair, and straighten his collar around you in hopes that it’ll make him look a bit better (he’s such a cutie 🥺 okay who’s gonna tell him that he’s looks perfectly fine the way he is)

teased you, in a flattering way. the type of teasing where you have to force yourself from smiling too hard. and he only does it to you! no one else is worth his teasing

but the moment someone else starts teasing you, he’d act a little ... distant. he’d back off and just watch you interact with them. if you look uncomfortable, he’d immediately put a stop to it and put them back in their place.

called you by a nickname only he uses

at first, he used it as a joke. but overtime, it just stuck and now it doesn’t feel right for him to call you by your first name. again, the annoyance is clear on his face when someone called you by the same nickname

~~~

when you first met kenma, he said, “y/n? i’ve heard a lot *glances at kuroo* about you.”

suna rintarou

lowkey protects you. such as putting an arm in front of you, shielding you with his body, draping his jacket over your head, lending you his umbrella, that type of stuff (ugh just kiss already)

he acted like it was no big deal. it’s not like he’d admit it was on his mind for a whole week. the miya twins knew something was up when suna suggested watching a romance movie. (suna needed new scenarios with you in his head)

subtly invited you everywhere, made excuses to be around you

“hey, we have a game on saturday at *specific location* in case you wanna come”

“since they’re having a buy-one-get-one-free, it’ll be a shame if you didn’t come along ...”

“since we’re both headed towards that place, might as well go together”

unexpectedly defended you/your opinion in conversations and class. even though suna rarely talks in class, if you brought up a point/answer, he’d defend it

sakusa kiyoomi

had trouble meeting your eyes without blushing

even with his mask on, you could see the redness spread across his cheekbones whenever you spoke to him.

always plopped himself in a seat close to you, even with all those other empty seats

his became more soft, gentle, and high-pitched around you, his posture became less stiff

it’s subtle; he didn’t even notice a change in his own voice. maybe because there’s nothing else on his mind when he’s talking to you?

always walked a little bit slower in the hallways when he saw you pass by and eyed you, hoping that you’d notice him like the way he noticed you

bokuto koutarou

stumbled with his words and forgot basic things around you

“class? what do you mean by ‘we have to go to class’??”

listened intently to everything you said and memorized facts about you better than his vocabulary words

“akaashi, did you know that y/n’s favorite ice cream flavor is ...”

“nope, y/n can’t make it today. how do i know? because they told me in advance :D oh wait, y/n’s not gonna be here today?? D’:”

made a handshake with you to do in front of everyone to show off that your connection with him is special

the pride he felt when everyone gathered around to watch you and him do your special handshake 🥺

got you gifts out of nowhere simply because you said you liked it

his mindset goes: getting y/n ___ = y/n happy :) i better get it for them before someone does

tendou satori

always lends you his stationary and whenever he forgets a pencil, you’re the first person he asks. don’t worry, he always returns them right after :)

he also loves “borrowing” your personal things. the idea of you trusting him is really special to him. plus, whenever someone asks him where he got it, he gets to say, “oh, it’s y/n’s.”

loves, loves, loves passing notes in class!!

he kept all of your conversations with him in a special little box hidden in his room.

complimented the little things he knows you care about!

he loves seeing that beautiful smile of yours while knowing he’s the cause of it.

he smiles so much around you <33 tendou’s smile is so contagious it’s hard to be sad around him. not to mention he always knows how to cheer you up :’

iwaizumi hajime

whenever his friends talked about hot actors and classmates they found attractive, he never joined in. (if you were there, he’d be glancing at you ever-so-often)

he’d always offer to walk/drive you home. every single day. even if you insisted that he didn’t need to, it would take another five minutes of convincing him. if you said yes, he happily got you home. no matter what occasion, he always asked you. it was your regular, daily routine with him :)

made jokes only for you to hear. he loved having inside jokes with you that only you two understood. the confusion on other peoples’ faces was satisfying.

akaashi keiji

had a lot of sympathy for you over small things (and big things too, of course)

if your weekend plans got messed up, if you lost your jacket, forgot your stationary, tripped on the stairs, he’s the person you go to to talk about these things. he never belittles your struggles and always finds a way to help you feel better

always checked in with you and made sure you had a lunch to eat

even if your classroom is across the campus, you better expect him to be at the front door after your class is over

tried his best to get to know your friends and family (and pets!)

akaashi best boy 🥺 the way he sees your friends and family as his own because he knows how much they matter to you

-> a/n: i hope you like these hehe :))

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jbreenr · 3 years

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𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐥𝐥

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale × Reader

Summary: You wanted to meet Ransom's family, he wanted to make sure you'd never want it again.

Word count: 3k.

Warning: Poorly written smut (+18 only, please), public sex (prompt 11), fingering, unprotected sex (don't do that, kids. be responsible), a bit of dirty talk, the Thrombeys being the Thrombeys. And I think that's it.

A/N: So, after finding out one of my stories was stolen an translated in Wattpad, I did not know if I should post this just yet but, what the hell? Let's do it. Anyway, this is for @stargazingfangirl18 and @navybrat817 's Shameless Hoes for Chris Challenge so, happy belated birthday! Yaaay. 🥳 Hope you like this at least a little and that it's not as bad as my paranoid brain thinks it is. Also, I just love how the prompts fit perfectly together, don't you? As always, lack of vocabulary and grammatical mistakes abound. *apologizes in español*

Wheel results (just attaching evidence):

ᴹʸ ᵍⁱᶠ

Draining, tedious, exasperating. Those were some of the adjectives Ransom associated with Thrombey family reunions. He'd arrive late, have some sort of conversation with his grandfather and leave early to do whatever that took him away from that big house.

Today though, he had a reason to stay for more than half an hour.

If it was up to him, you two would have stayed at home, happy, relaxed, and most importantly, naked in his bed, having a more pleasant time than the one you were most likely about to have.

He tried to persuade you. Of course he did! But your insistence and puppy eyes made it impossible for him to say no to your request.

So, here you were, getting out of his car, cake in sweaty hands and an excited smile on your lips, an expression so different from Ransom's, who seemed to be ready to get back behind the wheel and drive straight to Canada.

He didn't knock; he simply opened the door and held it for you to enter. If the three floor house was imposing from the outside, you felt impressed by the inside. Extravagant sculptures, apparently expensive paintings and other kinds of pieces of art were scattered everywhere, telling you just how wealthy and eccentric Ransom's family were.

“That's Harlan Thrombey! ” You exclaimed as you stood in front of the portrait of your forever favorite author holding a knife and a book.

“So?” Ransom asked, unconcerned.

You turned to him open-mouthed, the cake almost slipping off your palms as you went to playfully slap him in the arm.

“How come you are related to Harlan Thrombey and you didn't tell me?” Your question was more of a shock than an accusation.

The carefree gesture he did with his shoulders only accentuated his next words. “I did not think you would be interested in knowing.”

“I wouldn’t be interested?” Incredulity, flowing out of your lips. “He’s the best thriller author of all time! He’s like today’s Edgar Allan Poe!”

To say that you didn't believe him was an understatement. He knew for a fact that you liked Harlan Thrombey's books, just taking a look at the bookshelf in your apartment was proof enough of that.

“We call him grandpa here.” Said a femenine voice. A brunette walked in your direction, her pretty features hardening as she looked at your boyfriend. “Don't we, Hugh?”

He seemed to be ready to say something but decided not to. Instead he inhaled and placed his hand on your back.

“This is Y/N, the only reason I’m not telling you what you need to hear right now.”

Her eyes rolled in irritation and then turned to you. “I’m Meg. Let's introduce you to the rest of the family, shall we?.” And she dragged you to the room where more people were gathered together, discussing something, not before sending a deadly glare at Ransom.

Given the distance between you and him, you didn't listen to the heavy sigh he let out before waking behind.

“Everyone!” Meg called, making everyone leave whatever they were doing to look at her –and you, in consequence. “Meet Y/N, Hugh's new friend.” She then proceeded to introduce every single member of the family, including the housekeeper and the nurse, except for the grandfather, who apparently had a moment of inspiration and left them momentarily to put his ideas on paper.

None of them left their seat to go and shake your hand except for Meg's energetic mom, who hugged you and expressed how much she loved your coat even though it was soooo last season.

Sitting on a couch next to Ransom, you half expected someone to ask you about how you two met or how long had you been dating or what was it that you did for a living. Nothing. As fast as their attention was on you, it fell from you to their previous discussion.

You now understood why Ransom jokingly suggested deep cleaning the house instead of attending that reunion.

What you weren't aware of, Ransom thought, was that all of them were behaving wonderfully compared to previous times.

You didn't know if you felt more disappointed or uncomfortable. Ransom had left your side to go to the studio for a second and you had barely had any interaction with his family. All of them, dipped in their own matters to even notice your presence.

Fran, the housekeeper, was kind enough to take the cake to the kitchen and offer you a glass of water, but after giving it to you, she disappeared along with Meg and the nurse.

“So,” All at once, the room went quiet as Ransom's uncle spoke. “Have you read any of dad's books, Y/N?” Only until you heard your name was that your head snapped up.

“Oh, uhm… yeah. I'm a big fan.” Taken by surprise, you simply answered.

“Really? Which one have you read?”

And to that question, you felt suddenly included in the conversation since you had knowledge of the topic.

“I'm like fifty pages from finishing 'The Needle Game' and intrigue is eating me alive.” As you heard the excitement in your voice, you tried to compose yourself and said “Though 'Nick Of Time' is my favorite.” You smiled at him, hoping that your answer was a good one.

The woman that was introduced to you as Ransom's mother nodded as she licked her lips. The light of the fireplace, reflecting on her glasses as she moved her head up and down.

“Have you read 'Ultimatum' or 'Drop In The Pocket', dear?” Her tone was curious, but the look on her face said differently.

You responded anyway. “They're not bad. I feel like the ending of 'Drop In The Pocket' was a little vague and out of line but it can always be interpreted as an open ending so…” The change in their expressions told you that you had to add something else to that answer. Maybe it was not time for literature humor yet. “But I enjoyed both.”

She hummed and took her drink, detaching from the talk that continued with courtesy questions until it morphed into a heated discussion between Ransom's father and uncle, who would repeatedly ask for your opinion to back up his own.

The discomfort you felt, dispelled to be replaced by the disturbance of being bombarded with dozens of questions at a time, each louder than the other until they changed to a completely different topic to which you were occasionally included as a neutral point of view.

“She knows what she's talking about!” Said Richard at some point when you confirmed one of his arguments. “Thank you, dear.”

Ransom came back from his obligatory argument with his grandfather to find you nowhere to be seen.

“She's using the bathroom.” Informed Jacob, who did not take his eyes off of his cellphone.

Thinking that you went there to hide, he started his way to your potential direction until an overheard observation from his mother stopped him halfway through.

“… Did you hear how she talked about dad's work? Oh, I assure you she won't make it to next week with Ransom.”

Her and Richard's backs were to him, both of them unaware that their son was listening to their share of opinions.

“And did you see her hands?” Joni joined the criticism contest. “She could use some moisturizer, I tell you.”

As usual, they ignored her attempt to fit in and kept going.

“I know it's contradictory to say this,” Richard paused, as to make his point clear. “But he could do better.”

Despite their whispering, Ransom heard every single word and was glad that you were not there to see what was about to happen…

Ransom's words stuck on his throat when he saw you making your way out of the bathroom, fixing the skirt of your dress, with such niceness and warmth directed to him as you smiled, oblivious to the fact that the people you were trying to get to like you weren't going to.

His parents were right. He could do better. He could determine to not see them ever again and it would be the best thing to happen to him… Besides you, obviously.

“What's wrong?” Your concern was evident, just as his annoyance was undeniable.

Cold hands caressed his cheeks and Ransom thought of going back to Joni and tell her to fuck off. Your touch was soft, comforting, and gave him the greatest idea he'd ever had.

“I want to show you something.” Was his answer. It was better if you were the one who decided to never step on that house for the rest of your lives. It didn't matter if it was out of embarrassment.

Taking your hand in his, he guided you up the stairs to the first landing. The creaking sound of the old structure, probably alerting everyone in the other room that you were going to the next floor.

“Are you okay?” The sweet giggle that you let out when he abruptly stopped, almost making him feel bad about what he was seconds away from doing.

“Better than ever.” And he stamped his lips to yours.

Taken aback, it took you a second to respond. Hands on each side of his face as his own explored your body. When his fingers lifted your dress to caress your ass cheeks was when you ended the kiss.

“What are you doing?” You asked in a breathless whisper. “Not that I'm complaining.”

You were cornered against the wall with Ransom towering in front of your smaller frame.

Trying to escape from whatever he had in mind was useless, you knew that much. Though, you were not sure if you really wanted to escape.

“What I've been wanting to do ever since you got a shower without me this morning.” His lips found your jaw and descended to your neck where he sucked to create a bruise. Your eyes closed to the sensation.

“Wait. No, wait.” His fingertip that had started rubbing your still clothed bud paused it's motions as his eyes focused back on your face. “We can't do it. Not here.”

Ransom's finger went back to work, bringing a soft moan that you tried to suppress. “Why not? No one's gonna come here.” His other hand moved up your thigh to lift it. “Even if they did, they wouldn't notice.”

With an expert swing of his wrist, he moved your panties aside, letting the cold air that wandered inside the house hit you before his skilled middle finger entered you while still managing to rub your clit in circles with his thumb.

Adrenaline ran through your veins, fuel activating every nerve in your body and shaking away fear from your brain, replacing it with lust and boldness.

“I'm blaming you if we get caught.” Your hips jolted forward wanting to feel more of his hand, the contradiction between your words and actions, making him smirk.

He added a second finger. Knuckles deep and his cold ring slowly warming against the inside of your thigh, he said, “I'll take responsibility, sweetheart.” Pumping his fingers in and out, he felt your slick running down the back of his hand to his wrist, wetting his overly expensive watch and the cuff of his cozy sweater .“But I can't assure you we won't get caught.”

His words, instead of working as a bucket of cold water as one would expect, increased your need to be touched by him, the yearning for him to take you right there and then.

“Damn it, Ransom.” One of your hands flew to his shoulder to hold onto him for dear life. “I'm close.”

“You're not cumming unless I'm inside you, pretty thing.” At what point did he unfasten his belt and unzipped his trousers, you had no idea. The friction of his digits was gone in a second but the feeling of his already leaking tip rubbing against your most sensitive parts was enough to make you forget about those trifles.

Your lips opened, ready to tell him to keep his voice down when he suddenly thrusted home, stretching you out so deliciously that you had to cover your mouth to muffle the moan that threatened to inform everyone of your current activities.

Ransom's breathing hitched. Being inside you was a dream come true, feeling your walls enveloping his cock so fucking good… it was like you were made for each other, and he was going to prove it, even if his family didn't really get to know.

His hips started moving. Back and forth, back and forth. Delicately at first, letting you adjust to his size but the second he felt you throbbing around him, he increased the pace. Little by little his pounds gained power and energy.

Your whimpers –stuck in your throat, leaving only soft snuffles that crashed against Ransom's cheek, soon became more rapid, erratic and as his fingers dug in the flesh of your thigh to keep you still while he accommodated to go even deeper you heard a creaking noise.

Your boyfriend's blue eyes met yours, his movements never faltering despite the alert given by the dark wooden floor under your feet.

There was a conflict in your head, and Ransom could tell. The way you tightened and the pleading look on your face told different stories, yet Ransom knew they had the same ending.

Shaking your head, your eyes asked him not to do it, but you knew Ransom well enough to be sure that not even begging could stop him.

“You love it, don't you?” His smile grew bigger as his change of position allowed him to hit your sweet spot on and on, ripping high pitched whines from you and obligating you to close your eyes. “The thought of getting caught. The image of someone seeing how good I make you feel.” The placement of his foot, making the landing creak repeatedly each time he pushed up accompanying every word. “Fuck, you're talking me so well. Such a dirty girl, uh.”

His big hand yanked the strap of your dress down, exposing your left boob. Your already hard nipple was soon attacked by Ransom's fingertips. He'd pinch and twist it slightly, just enough to make your back arch in search of his touch.

Pleasure was overflowing your senses, you could feel your heart thudding in your ears and your legs losing strength. Your hand left your mouth to grip at the back of Ransom's neck to keep you from falling.

The sight of your lower lip trapped between your teeth didn't please Ransom. In other circumstances, he would've let you stay that way, as quiet as possible so no one would walk on you. This time though, it was his intention to rip the most delicious sounds from your lips so you thought of the possibility of his family listening.

And so, he lent to kiss you, passion and desire transmitted through his breath. His tongue asked for a permission that was not really required, but as you let it in, Ransom took the opportunity to bite down your lip.

With your lips forcefully parted and Ransom's restless hand traveling back to your bundle, you had no other option than to moan with each quick circle his digits drew.

A series of laughs and undistinguished words were heard from a distance. Both Ransom and you turned to see what they were about, stopping in your tracks with him still buried deep inside your needy cunt.

“Guess dinner's ready.” Unbothered about the information he just gave, he hid his face in the crook of your neck and resumed his movements.

A shaky oh, fuck fell from your lips as you felt the familiar knot in your stomach forming. Your head flew back, hitting the wall with a soft thud.

“Careful. We don't want to be obvious, do we?” You knew you were about to explode, and by the way your walls were clenching and your trembling body tried to separate from him, Ransom knew as well. “Let go, sweetheart.” A roar erupted from him as he felt you tightening around his length. “Cum for me.”

With a last, powerful thrust of his hips, you let out a silent scream. The coil snapped, making you see a kaleidoscope of colors behind your eyelids and listen to a loud ring in your ears.

Ransom followed right after, cursing as he finished inside of you, coating you with every last drop and making sure everything would stay there.

He slid out, leaving you with a feeling of emptiness as he zipped his trousers and took a step back to let you fix your appearance.

You managed to accommodate your dress just in time for Ransom's family to walk out of the room they were in to see you. Your agitated breathing and blushed cheeks, getting everyone's attention.

“Are you okay, dear?” Ransom's dad asked.

“She's fine.” Your boyfriend answered for you. “She's feeling a little sick. I better take her home.” He took you by the hand and helped you down the stairs to the door, which you thanked. Had he not done it, you would have tripped taking the first step.

“But she hasn't met grandpa yet.” Meg noted, furrowing her brows.

“It'll be next time.” And with that, Ransom took you out of the house and in the passenger seat of his car without giving anyone the chance to say goodbye.

When you were at a considerable distance, you sighed, letting out the air you didn't know you were holding.

“Just so you know, there won't be a next time.” You informed him, against your want to meet his grandfather.

“Why not?” He asked with a chuckle, already knowing the answer.

“Cause embarrassment won't let me come back in the near future.”

Behind an eye roll and a tap on your thigh, Ransom hid the triumphant grimace his perfectly carried out plan gave him.

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foryoumyheroes · 4 years

Text

Sharing is Caring

How [Midorya + Todoroki + Bakugou + Hawks] steal share food

A/N: I miss eating out but what can you do? Please, if possible for you, continue to stay inside as much as you can! I’m saying this bc the actions in these headcanons are not pandemic-friendly LOL Also, crack-ish?

Midoriya:

Oh, what? This little angel can do no wrong, of course he would never take your food without asking and he rarely even asks for a bite of your food unless you offer it up.

Always shares what his mom packed for the day as well as any other meal he has.

Willingly eats the things you pick off your plate. You eat what he doesn’t like. A symbiotic relationship.

Once you guys get to a comfortable part of your relationship he does do weird things in order to be closer to you.

No matter what he uses the same soy sauce tray as you, even when there’s a perfectly good one right next to him.

If you’re eating takeout and it’s a picnic or somewhere outside/inconvenient he will use the same chopstick as you. Just...you take a bite, pass the chopsticks, and go back and forth.

Drinks from the same cup as you. Even if he’s pouring out a cup for everyone and pours a drink out for him too, he’ll drink from your cup and then once you guys are done with that you’ll both drink from his.

He loves it whenever you guys do share food though!! It makes him [heart squeeze~] doing such a cutesy thing. He feels 100% more affectionate whenever this happens.

He just likes being next to you. If you guys get street food and have to stab with the skewers into that tiny box or bag, it makes his day standing so close to you for a while.

Of course, when he first did this he almost died every time because of the mental image of indirect kissing.

Todoroki:

It’s already canon that he offers up his precious soba whenever his close friends are feeling down.

Honestly such a baby boy.

This food sparks joy in me? It must do the same for them as well!

But once you guys get into the extremely comfortable part of your relationship the words “my food” and “their food” get erased from his vocabulary and is now completely replaced with “our food.”

When you guys go to a restaurant, you’re that couple that sits in the same booth seat, side-to-side, instead of across from each other.

He only orders one dish. The waiter will just stand there until Todoroki will be like, “We’ll order another if we’re still hungry.”

If you’re getting takeout, he’ll order two dishes but when you get home you’re still going to be sitting as close as ever eating from the same plate.

As a result every meal you have will always involve him sitting by your side.

The kind of person that never orders the same dish as you if you’re eating together.

It happens so frequently that Fuyumi bought this big old bowl for you two to eat from whenever you visit Endeavor’s house.

You guys are so lovey-dovey and roman -- 🤮 romant -- 🤮🤮 I can’t even say it. 🤮🤮🤮🤮

I mean it’s kinda economical, saving all this money sharing a meal.

Like a dog when they see you eat without them.

If you guys are having lunch and he ends up sitting on the opposite end of the table from you, one sound of you cracking apart your chopsticks will have him noooming over to your side to eat some too.

Quite honestly, if you try to eat without him he will physically fight you to take at least one bite too. He’s just jumping over you while you’re protecting your food from him like a football player with the ball.

[Aizawa: so...do any of you want to tell me how [Name] gave Todoroki a black eye?

Everyone starts talking over each other all at once while you’re saying, “I accidentally elbowed him in the face BUT that was my melonpan though!!” and Todoroki’s saying, “Our melonpan.”]

Kinda cute though because it becomes something you kind of just expect. He’ll buy like a boba, take a sip, and then immediately give it to your awaiting hands so you could taste.

Bakugou:

The person you’re leeching food off of.

He’s like, “FUCK off!” and “Get your own!” but we all know the truth 😊😊

Even tries to pass off his affections by saying that the portion you took from him doesn’t have the recommended nutritional balance so he gives you more meat/vegetables/rice to “even it out.”

Sometimes he’ll even feed you straight from his chopsticks, just straight up shoving food in your mouth. He’ll be really aggressive and pushy but he’ll do it.

If he wants your food, he’ll just gruffly say, “Give me that,” and snatch it.

He anticipates you wanting to eat his food so even though he’s a spice fan he’ll tone it down for you when you steal some from him later in the day.

[People will be like, “Wow he’s such a doting boyfriend.”

And he’ll yell, “Mind your own shit! I don’t fucking feed [Name] all the time!” And then turn around to be like, “Here’s your napkin and I brought you utensils too.” sdfghkl]

[He’ll refuse to give anyone else food, and he’ll say some BS like, “No one is eating this but me!”

Kaminari is like, “but you’re sharing with [Name] right now!”

Bakugou: what of it?]

What if he lulls you into a false sense of security though.

He’s been lowering the spice levels this entire time leading you to believe that you’re getting better at spice and your tolerance has gone up but one day he just suddenly spikes it with spice and nearly kills you.

When you two cooked together you used to grab bites right in the middle of cooking and he told you off saying it was annoying but now he always calls you over to “taste test.”

Hawks:

This bastard.

Obviously he steals food from you all the time.

He even strategizes how to steal food from you in the most efficient way possible.

In more casual restaurants he’ll guide you to the seat that’s closer to the counter/bathroom/water dispenser and constantly asks you to go pick stuff up for him. That’s when he strikes.

Gets one of his feathers to tap you on the side/behind so when you turn your head he starts shoveling food when you aren’t looking.

Doesn’t wait for you when you go to the bathroom. You know this. He knows this. It’s survival of the fittest here.

You get so nervous whenever you get delivery food because if Keigo gets to it first he’s going to eat your fries.

Once he dipped his bare ass hands into your noodle dish and took the egg on top before you could stop him.

Every time he convinces you to rock-paper-scissors him for the last piece even if it’s your food.

Do y’all know that scene from Kung Fu Panda or Power Rangers where they move the last piece around the bowl and maneuvers it with the utensils so the other person can’t get it? If you’re a Pro-Hero too he’ll pull that shit on you.

LIKE JUST LET ME EATTT.

This is gross but he doesn’t even care if you licked something or put it in your mouth to “assert dominance” over it. He’ll just get you to spit it out like a mom bird.

One time he came home early from patrol and found out that you were eating fried chicken without him so the two of you just stood there on opposite ends of the apartment with you staring at him like 👁️👄👁️.

[Hawks: I thought you were bae--

You: Keigo--

Hawks:...turns out you’re just fam. ]

He turns and goes back outside and goes get his own fried chicken and even gets himself a treat ice cream. Takes a picture and sends it to you and everything to gloat.

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creweemmaeec11 · 3 years

Note

Villain X Hero Writing Prompt- Today is the Villain's birthday but due to a bad memory accosiated with it (and because the villain is kinda lonely) they dont celebrate. The villain has a battle with the hero with the hero merging victorious, kidnapping the villain. The villain thinks they've been kidnapped for information however the hero made made dinner and got a meaningful gift for the villain. Have fun with this prompt!

I love this concept. Villains being surprised with pleasantries is everything♡ I know I didn't quite get to the present part, but it felt like the right place to cut it off. I also just realized I kinda forgot about the "for information" part, oops. also I'm so sorry this took so long!

As if their day couldn't suck any more than it already did, the villain had to go and top it off with losing in a fight with the city's hero.

Could this day get *any* worse?

They were handcuffed in the back of the hero's police car, driving through the city, towards the city jail, just like they had so many times before.

The villain had escaped jail multiple times, so this wasn't much more than a large inconvenience for them, at least it would have been, had it happened on *any* other day.

The criminal in question had gone out to avoid sitting at home alone with their thoughts today. Having to sit alone with their thoughts in a jail cell was an even worse option.

Letting out a deep sigh, they flopped back against the seat. Miserable. They just felt miserable. It felt like they couldn't even see colour in the world around them anymore.

"You're much quieter than usual," the hero commented as they drove, "Is something wrong?

"Excuse me‽"

"You're usually more talkative. These drives have never been this quiet before,"

"What do you care?" The villain muttered as they turned to look out the window.

That's when the villain suddenly realized something.

"Wait, we aren't going the right way," the villain blurted out, sitting up straighter suddenly.

The hero in the front seat gave a laugh under their breath, "you only just noticed?"

"This isn't the way to the station or city jail,"

"That would be because we aren't going to the station or city jail,"

The villain felt their throat tighten.

"Where are we going?" The villain asked, trying and failing to sound demanding. There were notes of slight fear. Nerves.

In the rearview mirror, the villain saw the hero glance at them, before their gaze fell back to the road ahead.

They didn't say anything.

"Hero..." the villain tried, "Where are you taking me...?"

"You'll see," was the hummed response.

A feeling of dread settled in their stomach.

Looking out the window, the car was already on the outskirts of the city.

Suddenly the radio was flicked on.

The villain swallowed nervously.

What a day to go out on, of all the 365 to choose from in a year.

After driving for close to half an hour, they were well outside the city and into the surrounding woods, pulling up to what looked like a small cabin.

It wasn't that the villain exactly *blamed* the hero for what they were about to do. Clearly, they'd pushed the other too far, or maybe the hero had finally grown tired of their game of cat and mouse.

This just wasn't how the villain imagined themselves leaving this mortal coil. It was always in a blaze of glory, last stand type of thing.

Still, they couldn't find it in themselves to fight back. Not today. Perhaps it was fate, to be taken out on the same day it all began. Poetic, if not ironic.

The hero got out of the car, straightening themselves and stretching for a moment before turning and opening the back door.

"Are you coming?" The hero asked, before surprisingly taking a step back away from the door so the villain could get out on their own. Not like it mattered, the hero probably knew there was nowhere to run out here now.

"Do I have a choice?" The villain muttered under their breath, looking at the ground.

The hero had the *audacity* to look *surprised* at that. As if they were shocked the villain wasn't jumping with excitement to get this over with.

"Well, I mean... no... I guess... I'd like to think I'm not forcing you but..."

The villain sighed, before swinging their feet out and standing up. Luckily, they'd been cuffed in the front this time, which- now that they thought about it, was also abnormal- but it made it easier to get out of the car on their own.

Still, they felt the hero put a hand under their arm to help steady them -as if polite bedside manner would change anything, only for the villain to shrug them off.

"I'm assuming there's nothing I can say to talk you *out* of doing this, is there?"

"What?" The hero asked in confusion, "What are you talking about?"

"Ya know, pull the whole 'you don't have to do this, I'll be better, I swear' kind of thing?"

"Excuse me-?"

"I mean-" the villain continued. They were rambling now. Maybe the fear was finally fully starting to kick in. The desperation, because they really *didn't* want this. There was no way they'd allow themselves to beg, but- "it would be a lie either way, I guess, despite the fact I probably shouldn't have said that I'm assuming you'd already know anyway, so-"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down," the hero said, placing a hand on the villain's shoulder gently, snapping them out of their spiralling thoughts, "What in the world do you think I brought you out here for?"

The villain rolled their eyes, "At least make it quick, will you? And stop acting oblivious or like I forced your hand. At least own up to what your about to do,"

The other's eyes widened as the final piece clicked into place, "You think-! I'm not gonna kill you-!" They cried in what could have been mistaken for horror.

The criminal furrowed their brows.

"I brought you here to *show* you something, silly!" The hero explained, before stepping forward and unclipping the handcuffs off the villain's wrists.

Said villain's eyes widened, "what‽"

The hero nodded, smiling, "I have a surprise for you,"

"What?!" They asked again.

The hero only nodded excitedly before turning the villain by the shoulders and giving them a gentle push towards the door, "Go on! Look inside!"

The villain glanced at the hero uncertainty before stepping forward toward the cabin.

When they opened the door, they froze on the spot.

It wasn't anything crazy.... the inside looked like any other cabin. Table, chairs, small kitchen and living area with a couch and tv. Warm glowing lights and-

A banner hung from the ceiling that read in large letters "HAPPY BIRTHDAY"

The villain spun around so fast they nearly gave themself whiplash, turning to the hero that had sense come up behind them.

They jumped back slightly, words and air catching in their throat as they gawked at the hero like they'd grown 3 more heads.

Said hero laughed lightheartedly, "Surprise!"

"What..."

It was like that had become the only word in their vocabulary.

"I know it isn't decorated much, but I didn't think you'd like the cliche ribbons and streamers and party hats," they made some jazzhand-like gesture, "I was also going to blindfold you but I didn't think you'd let me do that either,"

The villain could only stare, like their brain couldn't process the words they were hearing.

"I also made dinner, and a cake! Oh! I also have a gift for you too!"

The villain didn't move.

"Oh, and one last thing, I gave up and the fun cliche stuff just for you so I'm gonna make you suck it up and accept a birthday hug,"

"Why..." the villain managed, "why would you..."

"Why not?"

"I don't deserve this, I don't-" their voice cracked.

"Hey," the hero said softly, taking a step forward, "I heard you didn't celebrate, and I couldn't just let that happen. Everyone deserves to have a good birthday,"

The villain couldn't find any words, but the single tear that managed to quickly slip out and down their cheek did all the speaking for them.

The hero gave a small, sympathetic smile before opening their arms.

Nobody moved for a moment, before the villain caved, stepping forward and looking at the ground. They didn't reciprocate, keeping their own arms close to their chest, but allowed the hero to wrap theirs around them.

They'd never realized just how much taller the hero was until they were basically burying their face into the heros collar.

The villain couldn't even bring themselves to care at the moment, because they suddenly felt so safe, which was bizarre, considering how they felt on the way, but here they were.

"I still don't think I deserve this. Especially from you," the villain muttered from where their head was still tucked down against the hero's chest.

"I don't think your qualified for that kind of thinking, considering what you thought you deserved on the way here, which I'm almost offended by, by the way,"

The hero was rewarded with a small laugh.

"So, come on," the hero said before suddenly pulling back. They reached up, gently using their thumb to brush away the tear track on the villains face, "no tears," They reached down, grabbing the villains hand to gently tug them further inside "let's make some better birthday memories,"

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unfoundhoney · 4 years

Text

gen z dickwad ↠

↠ jschlatt x male!reader , ted nivison x younger brother!reader ; fluff ; requested one two

↠ masterlist

You’ve been up for maybe twenty minutes when Schlatt finally wakes up beside you. You can tell he’s awake by the way he rolls clumsily towards you and shoves his face into your stomach.

“Morning, sunshine,” you greet him.

You get a groan muffled in your stomach in response.

“Big mood.”

Schlatt lifts his head up, “You talk like someone in gen z.”

“I am gen z.”

“Disgusting.”

You laugh and push Schlatt’s hair out of his face for him, “You know you’re also gen z.”

“I don’t claim them.”

“So, everyone in the world from age twenty four to six you don’t claim to be a part of?”

“I’m a forty-year-old from Kansas.”

“Oh.”

“You’re okay with that, right?”

“Let me think.”

You tilt your head to the side, pretending to consider the reality in which you’re dating a Kansan twice your age.

“Nope, too weird,” you decide, “I’m breaking up with you.”

You try to climb out of bed but Schlatt holds you back. Using his remaining grogginess against him, you’re able to pull yourself from his grip and evade his attempt to grab you again. You start to leave the bedroom.

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t still love me if I was a middle-aged man from Kansas?”

“Yes,” you call over your shoulder.

You continue out of the room and into the kitchen where you start the coffee pot. When you return to your bedroom, Schlatt is sat up and checking his phone. After you get ready, he’s gone from the room. You find him on the couch in the living room with a cup of coffee; you make your own and join him.

“Um, excuse me,” Schlatt protests, “This couch is for loyal boyfriends only.”

“Do you want me to pull up the Schlinx videos? Because I will.”

“...touché.”

“Mhm.”

You check your phone for anything important as the news plays on the TV; the current story is something about a soup kitchen that’s got an influx of volunteers recently.

“When’s big brother picking you up?” Schlatt asks during the commercial break.

“Eleven.”

“I’m depending on you to not let Ted sully my good name to your mother before dinner later.”

“Maybe if you didn’t do anything that would ‘sully your good name’ we wouldn’t have that problem.”

“If that’s who I was, I’d be a completely different person.”

You hum in agreement.

“And we wouldn’t want that.”

You don’t respond this time, anxieties about your dinner later tonight numbing your mind to anything else. Your mother is in town for the first time since you and Schlatt got together. You had been “talking” when she visited last, but that’s hardly meet-the-parents worthy.

Now, however, you’ve been dating Schlatt for about six months and have been living together for a few weeks. You two are in this for the long run and your mother’s approval is very important to you.

“Babe, you good?”

Schlatt’s voice is softer than normal in his “I’m being genuine” way, a tone of voice saved almost exclusively for you. He’s looking at you with mild concern which is likely a result of your silence and possible ignoring of something he said previous.

“Yeah,” you lie too quickly.

He gives you a look.

“I am very very nervous about you meeting my mom,” you immediately concede.

“Y/N-“

“And I know- I know her approval or blessing or whatever isn’t going to be a deal breaker but I just really care about what she thinks. She’s always supported me. Like, as a son and a person. When dad wanted space from me when I came out, she convinced him to let me stay. She is so so important to me. What she thinks is important to me.”

Schlatt is quiet as you talk, listening intently and waiting for you to finish.

“And I love you. I really really do. I don’t want you to change; I love who you are. It’s just that my family’s really protective of me and you’re kind of... you. ...y’know?”

“I know.”

“Especially when it comes to first impressions. I just-... I want her to give you a chance.”

Schlatt remains quiet after you’ve said your piece for several moments, thinking of how best to respond.

“Don’t you think, for you, she would? Give me a chance?”

You look over at him, having looked away during your anxious monologue.

“I haven’t met much of your family yet,” Schlatt says. “But I do know Ted. And I know he adores you, as much as he bullies you. And even though you’re a child of satan over half the time, the entirety of the internet adores you just as much. If that’s any indication, I think that no matter how much of a dickwad I come off as at first, your mom will wait to actually get to know me before passing verdict. Because you’re her darling baby boy.”

“May I request you try to come off as little of a dickwad as possible?”

“I don’t know if that’s in my vocabulary.”

“That’s doesn’t make sense.”

“Doesn’t it?”

You blink at him confusedly, “...n-no?”

Schlatt laughs and you chuckle, knowing he only meant to confuse you.

There’s a knock at the door. A glance at your phone tells you you missed Ted’s “I’m headed up, please don’t be naked” text. You stand to get the door, but Schlatt calls you back. He stands and looks at you.

“Even if your mom doesn’t love me immediately, which is highly unlikely-“

“Eh...”

“It’s highly unlikely but in that case, she loves you. Your word- and hopefully Ted’s, too, unless he’s being a bitch- should mean more than my... ahem, brutish personality.”

“I like to think of it as a persona.”

“Nah, I’m just built different.”

“Sorry, what was that about not being gen z?”

Schlatt moves to make a run for it, “Boys, we’ve been made.”

You laugh and grab his hand to keep him from running. He comes back to stand in front of you. He cups your face.

“If it makes you feel better, I will try to be on my best behavior tonight.”

“Thank you.”

“I don’t know how little of a dickwad that will make me, but...”

“Hopefully, one day, she will eventually come to love you, dickwad-ness and all.”

Schlatt laughs, “One day.”

He kisses you.

There’s another knock at the door, louder this time.

Schlatt nudges you towards the door, “Alright, go have brunch before your brother breaks in and accuses me of murdering you again.”

You hesitate, “What do you mean again?”

“...Have a good brunch!”

Schlatt quickly retreats into your bedroom and you roll your eyes, continuing toward the door.

“I’ll see you later. Love you!”

“Love you, too!” Schlatt yells back from the bedroom.

You open the door and there stands your brother, Ted.

“What took so long?” he asks, stepping inside so you can put your shoes on.

“What happened to greeting your brother?” you counter.

“Is that you avoiding telling me you were sucking Schlatt’s dick?”

“If you must know, we were having a very deep and meaningful conversation,” you say, standing from tying your shoes.

As you grab a jacket, Ted says, “...is that code for giving head?”

“Y’know, with how often you mention sucking dick, someone might think you’re the gay brother and not me.”

Ted grabs the back of your head and shoves you forward playfully, “Shut up.”

You laugh and step out of the apartment, head down to street level where Ted has parked his car. Waiting for you in the passenger seat, is your mom, who opens the door and gets out upon seeing you.

“N/N!” she greets you happily, immediately pulling you into a hug.

The three of you are soon off to the diner you’d picked out for brunch, worries about Schlatt meeting your mother quelled for now as you focus on spending time with your family. You can deal with your dickwad of a boyfriend later.

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miekasa · 4 years

Text

the babysitter’s club (1)

+ pairing: levi ackerman + (fem) reader, featuring bright-eyed but very easily intimidated interns and part-time babysitters eren and armin who are trying their best

+ genres and warnings: modern au, parents au, fluff, yes the dog’s name is captain and he’s tiny what about it

+ summary: eren and armin are good subordinates, who happen to be pretty good babysitter, too. usually.

+ word count: 2.7k

+ notes: this was just something fun i edited and reworked again, also to provide some more insight about dad levi and my oc kids; this focuses only on holden, who is the oldest of the bunch, but you’ll more about the rest as they go

It’s not that Levi doesn’t trust Holden’s babysitters, he just would rather watch over her himself. Moreover, he would rather have the time to spend with his small daughter instead of having to leave her in the care of someone else who isn’t you, but sometimes life gets busy, and babysitters come in real handy.

He still doesn’t understand why Erwin would schedule the both of you to attend such important work-related meetings on the same weekend; much less, to send you half-way around the world for yours, and then book Levi for damn near twelve hours on a Saturday. He would murder Erwin if he weren’t his direct boss, and a long-time friend. But shit happens, and while it’s a major inconvenience and pain in his ass to be working on a weekend, it’s good to know he could rely on the brats at the office to step up on such short notice.

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that if anything happens, I won’t hesitate to dismember you,” Levi says calmly, closing his briefcase after triple-checking its contents.

“Of course,” Armin stiffens visibly, awkward laughter seeping through his words, “Eren and I would never let anything happen to Holden.”

To his left, Holden has already tugged Eren to the coffee table for a game of children’s Scrabble, determined to show off her new skills. Levi smiles slightly as he remembers playing the game with her last week, and how awe-struck she was to have seen Levi create a word bigger than “unattainable”—which is currently the longest word in her four-year-old vocabulary. But he’s certain she would have no trouble beating Eren.

He gives Armin a slight nod. He knows Holden is in good hands; or good enough hands with Armin, anyway. It’s not the first time the duo has babysat, and for as air-headed and clumsy Eren could be at the office, he seemed to be pretty damn good with kids if Holden’s attachment to the brunette was anything to go by.

Levi recounts that you’ve questioned on multiple occasions why Eren was so dedicated to being your PA when he seemed to have a potential career in taking care of, and maybe even teaching children. Not that he’s not a good assistant to you, but he’s certainly not as organized or detailed-oriented as Armin. Levi shrugs away the thought. Eren’s career choices are none of his business; his only concern is that he keeps his daughter safe and sound.

“Right. My card is on the kitchen island, you can buy lunch and dinner or whatever, I don’t think there’s much in the fridge,” Levi informs Armin. He looks briefly to the clock on the wall; he really should get going. “Remember to walk Captain at some point, and no matter what Holden says, he absolutely does need a leash on him. If Erwin isn’t being a complete asshat, I’ll be home by nine. (Y/N) will probably still be on her flight, so call me if you need anything.”

Armin nods enthusiastically, promising Levi that they would take care of everything. They’d better.

“Alright, I’m heading out,” Levi announces, pulling his keys from the table near the door, “Be good, Holden. Tell Armin and Eren if you need anything.”

Holden’s head perks up at the sound of her name. Elegantly, or as elegantly as a four-year-old can be, she stands from her seated crisscross position, to run over to Levi by the door. He should remind her that she should use walking feet inside the house, but he can’t bring himself to, instead crouching down to meet her height.

“Bye, daddy,” she tells him sweetly. Levi reaches a hand out to ruffle the top of her head, much to the small girl’s chagrin. She sports a grimace almost identical to his as he reaches up to try and smooth out the aftermath of her father’s affections, “Daddy!”

Levi can’t help but chuckle, reaching two fingers out to poke at his daughter’s forehead. “Be good. I’ll be back soon.”

“Mommy too?”

Levi sighs, “No, mommy doesn’t come back until Tuesday.”

“That’s four days away,” Holden’s doesn’t hesitate to express her dissatisfaction. Levi nods, a little proud of how quickly she’d calculated that in her head, “Can Eren stay until Tuesday?”

“No, Eren cannot.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Holden crinkles her nose. Levi really has got to do something about her fascination with Eren.

Holden looks backwards to where Eren is still seated around the coffee table, he and Armin watching the father-daughter duo. After reconciling with the fact that Eren does, in fact, have his own home to go back to at the end of the day, Holden turns back around, and holds her hand up, palm facing Levi. He does the same, bringing his larger palm to hers, so that her hand is pushed against the middle of his.

Not one for hugs, kisses, or larger displays of affection, Holden simply turns her palm so that her hand grabs around Levi’s as best as possible, hooking her thumb around his pinky finger—what Levi’s heard the young girl call a hand hug.

“Bye, daddy,” she repeats, squeezing his hand, “Come back soon.”

Levi bends his fingers to wrap around her hand, “I will.”

“Keep an eye on her,” Levi reminds Armin and Eren, after standing back up and gripping his briefcase in his hand, “Don’t cause too much trouble.”

“Holden never causes trouble,” Eren says in response, but his words are spoken in coos to the young girl, who’s already back at his side.

Levi scoffs, “I was talking to you.”

“We’ll be fine, boss, don’t worry,” Eren chuckles with an awkward blush, “We love looking after Holden.”

“I’m not your boss,” Levi deadpans, double-checking his pockets for his keys, “You’d better hope everything is fine. Call me if anything happens, I’ll be back soon.”

With one final round of good-byes, and a wave from his daughter, Levi’s out the door, and stepping into his car with a grimace. It was just one stupid day out of his life. Besides, Holden would be fine with Armin and Eren; she always is. Levi is just grumpy that he can’t be the one to spend the day with her.

He sighs, reluctantly, putting his keys in the ignition. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could come back to Holden. Everything would be fine in the meantime; for now, he had to focus on how he was going to get himself to sit through Erwin’s long-ass meeting.

“Levi! Hi! Um… okay, so don’t freak out, but Armin and I are at the hospital with Holden right now—don’t freak out—because there was a small incident at lunch—don’t freak out and fire me please—but! It’s all gonna be okay, they’re already treating her and she’s doing fine now, so don’t freak—”

“Tell me not to freak out one more fucking time and I’ll castrate Armin and feed you his balls myself.”

“You sound a little freaked out,” Eren placates, wincing and holding his phone away from his ear when Levi growls in response.

“You have five seconds to tell me what you two idiots did to my daughter and explain why I shouldn’t decapitate you immediately.”

“It’s a funny story, actually—so, um, we think Holden might be allergic to nuts…?”

“What do you mean might be, Jaeger?”

Eren can feel his heart in his throat. He eyes Armin on the other side of Holden’s hospital bed. He looks no better—color almost completely drained from his face, but Eren doesn’t think he can say much else to his boss before his knees give out from underneath him.

“Uh, well, it was a lot of technical terms, and—I—um, actually I’m going to let Armin explain!” Eren hurries, all but chucking his phone at the unsuspecting blonde.

Armin’s blue eyes look almost grey with anxiety, but before he can protest, Eren is flailing his hands and pointing fingers and reminding him that Levi will kill them both if he doesn’t start talking.

Reluctant, and terrified, Armin finally lifts the phone to his ear, stuttering out a pathetic hello, but Levi cuts him off before he can say anything else.

“Save it. Send me your location, and pray I don’t kill you when I get there.” Armin chokes out a “yes, sir,” before slowly bringing the phone down to his side.

The good news is that Holden’s allergic reaction wasn’t too severe: her throat had been irritated, and hives had emerged as a result, but it hadn’t been closing up. And luckily, Eren had the endurance to run nearly a mile and half with a four year old tucked under his arm; because with the traffic Armin observed whilst he and Captain huffed and lagged behind, it would have taken thrice as long to get Holden to the ER had they waited and called for an ambulance.

Even better was that Holden was an unnervingly calm kid, even whilst having an allergic reaction. She looked almost back to normal now, save for a few red looking blotches on her neck and upper arm; and seemed more than content to be watching a video on Eren’s phone, despite the situation. She was a little bummed out to find out that she could never eat the new ice cream she liked so much ever again, but she seemed to quickly get over it once Eren reminded her that there were lots of other flavors out there for her to try. Flavors that wouldn’t make her choke to death.

Still, Eren and Armin could probably kiss their jobs goodbye, seeing as they had nearly just poisoned their bosses’ daughter. Holden seemed to like them enough, but, unfortunately, Holden wasn’t the Ackerman who signed their checks.

At the very least, Eren doesn’t think you’ll be too upset with him. He doesn’t think you’ll be ecstatic to hear that while you were away on your already inconvenient work-trip on the other side of the globe, that he also managed to land your daughter in a hospital bed… but you were the more forgiving one. Then again, maybe not so forgiving when it comes to the health and wellbeing of your daughter.

Eren falls back against the wall in dread. You weren’t even in the same country as him and he was worried about what you might say or do to him. Levi was probably less than twenty minutes away and fully capable of beheading him.

“You… uh, you think the Interior Branch is still looking for interns?” Eren breaks the silence, looking towards Armin, who’s taken the seat next to Holden’s bed, petting Captain robotically as the dog sits in his lap.

“I don’t think it matters,” Armin responds, “They won’t hire corpses.”

Fifteen minutes, and several run red lights later, Levi is bursting through the doors to the pediatric wing of the emergency room. He doesn’t care about the old woman at the reception yelling at him for causing a ruckus, or the other parents, doctors, or visitors eyeing him for marching around like he owned the place. Holden was in there somewhere, and he was going to get to her.

“Holden—oh, god, Holden,” Levi coos, frantic, as he marches into Holden’s room, scurrying to the side of her hospital bed. A cold hand reaches up to stroke her face. Angry, red bumps litter the sides of neck, her cheeks are puffier than usual, and the perimeter of her mouth seems a bit irritated, but Levi is relieved. She’s okay, his baby girl is okay.

“’M fine, daddy,” Holden assures him. She’s almost overly-perceptive for her age, able to pick up on her father’s out of character antics, and does her best to console him. “Eren ran with me all the way here when I started coughing and itchin.’”

Levi nods, the dark grey splotches in Holden’s eyes bringing him comfort, ensuring him that she was okay. “They gave me a shot, and I don’t like needles, but I didn’t even cry at all. Ask, Armin and Eren, they saw! Captain, too.”

“Brave girl,” Levi smiles, reaching his hand up to push her hair out of her face then leans over to press a kiss to her forehead.

Levi had almost forgotten that Eren and Armin were in the room until he hears a blundering cough from behind him. The younger boys look petrified, Eren practically shaking in his shoes, while Armin doesn’t even have the confidence to look him in the eye.

“We’re really sorry, Levi,” Eren apologizes, voice scratchy and wobbly, like he’d been the one to just get a shot, “We didn’t know—and when she started coughing and saying she couldn’t breathe, I swear, I ran here as fast as I could—”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s… fine?”

Levi sighs. Maybe he’d been a little harsh with them on the phone, letting his emotions get the best of him. He’d already been pissed off enough to not have the time to spend with Holden this weekend; hearing that she’d been hurt was just the final push over the edge for him, but it wasn’t necessarily Armin or Eren’s fault.

“I didn’t know either,” Levi exhales, reaching at hand out to pet the top of Holden’s head again, the young girl now distracted once again by the phone in her hand, “She’s never had a reaction to anything before, and neither (Y/N) or I have any strong allergies.”

Armin shuffles where he’s standing. “The doctor said she might be allergic to tree nuts. We, uh, we gave her pistachio ice cream after lunch.”

If there’s anything concerning Levi, it’s that they gave Holden ice cream before dinner, but he supposes he can let it go for now.

“Eren told me to try it, and it tasted good, daddy,” Holden interjects, “Before I started coughing, it was good.”

“Ah, well, you can’t—you shouldn’t eat things that make you feel sick!” Eren stutters loudly.

“But it was good,” Holden pouts, “And you said to try new things, Eri. I won’t know if it makes me sick if I don’t try them.”

Levi holds back his laughter. He knows that Holden definitely wouldn’t want to try the same same flavor again knowing now that she was allergic to it; she was just pulling at Eren’s leg. Levi would have to keep an eye out for the stuff anyway, especially if her oh-so-precious Eren has expressed any former love for it.

“Um, Levi, sir,” Armin calls, pulling Levi’s attention towards the blonde, “We didn’t know if (Y/N) would have landed already, but do you think you should call her, to, um, let her know?”

Levi’s face pales three shades when he realizes that none of them had already informed you that your daughter was currently hospitalized with a new found allergy.

“You can call her,” Levi says, a shudder in his spine at the thought of relaying this information to you, “That’s your death sentence, not mine.”

#aot x reader #snk x reader #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #aot imagines #snk imagines #levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman smut #eren x reader #aot fluff

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kpop-dungeon-dark · 3 years

Text

The King's Bitch. (King!Taehyung x You)

•TRIGGER WARNING•

Pretty much plot credits to @taesluttt.

Warning(s): Non-con, Punishment, King!Taehyung, brat!tamer Taehyung, choking, slapping, spanking, face fucking, hair pulling, sadist!Taehyung, watersports, spit play, historical au, fear kink, royal au, objectification (duh it's me so), anal, just rough shit basically. You're both legal in this. Read at your own risk.

His arms were held behind his back in the royal manner they'd taught to be in ever since he was a little boy, eyes focused on the little figure shivering just slightly due to the chill air of the dungeons from where he was standing, the bars of the prison cell separating King Taehyung and his rather young and newly wedded wife, the younger not having any idea that he was even there in one of the shadows, watching her hug her legs as she rocked back and forth.

"Bring her to me." Instructor Jeon was ordered in the King's heavy voice, it's rumble almost shaking up the walls as the younger man bowed respectfully before one of the dungeon keepers unlocked the cell, followed by Y/n being escorted out who started to try to challenge and fight Jeon, causing him to sigh as he bit the inside of his cheek, just pulling the reckless Queen without any conversation.

"LET ME GO! I AM THE QUEEN! HOW DARE YOU LAY YOUR LOWLY HANDS ON ME YOU IMBECILE! I WILL REPORT YOU ALL TO THE KING! HOW DARE ANY OF YOU EVEN TOUCH ME LET ALONE LOCK ME IN THIS HIDEOUS GOD FORBIDDEN DUNGEON! THAT FUCKING MAID AND YOU AND EVERYONE ELSE JUST WAIT! YOU WILL FACE MY WRA-" her threats turned into an embarrassing loud squeak when a now irritated King exposed his huge figure from the shadows of the dungeon before landing his hand on her soft cheek in full swing to shut her up, catching the young woman off guard as she lost her balance and fell on the ground.

"So very disappointing." Y/n was about to get back up and start screaming when she realises the voice to be her husband's. Oh no. He was one person she had to be good in front of so she could have him bring all her wishes true. Blinking her eyes to get rid of the stars in her eyes due to the impact of the King's slap, the Queen looked up at her husband, bottom lip jutting out.

"Y- Your highness! I've been disrespected so bad!" The man felt himself cringe from her vocabulary. What noble family raised their daughter like this? It was like she was raised in the slums. "You've no idea! I was disrespected by all these cruel people! They put me in prison! The Queen! This is unacce-"

"Enough!" A little gasp left her as he grabbed a huge handful of the air from the top of her head, pulling her up on her feet forcefully before starting to drag The Queen of the dungeon in front of everyone, the girl stumbling as she whined from the pain and tried to keep up, her small figure and strength nothing compared to the 40 year old King.

"I- Owww! Let g- gooooo~! It hurrrrts!" Y/n's cheeks were red in embarrassment as she caught all the staff of the Royal Palace watching her being dragged to the Royal Residency and then their chambers as her husband kept a firm grip on her hair, both of her smaller hands that were cupping over his unable to aid her. "You o- old man!" She grunted to herself as he dragged her towards the double doors of their chambers, a huge pout on her face along the pained expression. "Ugh! I told mother you looked like a cruel old grandpa King! But they forced me to marry you and now I am being abused!" Although she was only mumbling it, Taehyung could hear it and it angered him only more.

So his own wife thought of him as a cold and cruel King with no regard for anyone like the rest of the kingdom too, huh?

"OUCH!" The Queen squeaked when she was swung against the ground as her husband locked the door from the inside, unbuckling the leather belt around his pants before pulling it out of it's hoops and doubling it. "THAT WAS SO CRUEL OF YOU! NOW THE MAIDS WILL THINK DISRESPECTING ME IS OKAY! WHAT KIND OF-"

"Oh, shut up!" Turning around, the King moved before his young wife could even decipher what was happening, grabbing her smaller body and forcing her on her knees by her neck, pushing her further down so she was on all fours before locking her in place like that by the back of her throat, landing merciless belts on her sensitive still clothed buttocks, his strength enough to make it hurt still even through all the layers of fabric she wore. "You talk and complain too much."

Y/n was screeching as she tried to get away from the strong man, starting to crawl like a bitch almost, jerking with each hit as she tried to get away although having no luck, her husband's huge hand holding her nape tightly which controlled her whole body. "AHHH! PLEASE! PLEASE! WHAT DID I EVEN DOOOOO!" The girl pathetically crawled in circles, sobbing already.

"Humiliating me as a King and a husband is what you did." Came an angered reply before the King just ripped her beautiful and expensive robes off from behind, now landing his belt on her exposed skin, causing her to scream even louder.

Y/n hated it. All the fucking maids could hear it too. Nobody would respect her or be afraid of her anymore. She was just a laughing stock now. Being disciplined by her own husband like a child. Spanking at that.

“I DID NOT DO ANYTHING! IT WAS THE MAID’S FAULT! SHE MESSED UP WHAT I WANTED TO EAT- OUCH!” Her ass was on fire as she kept crawling in circles like an animal, whining and crying from the pain. “THEN THEY PUT ME IN PRISON AND INSTEAD OF ASKING THEM YOU HUMILIATED ME IN FRONT OF THEM! THIS IS NOT FAIR! THIS IS ABUSE!”

Taehyung deeply chuckled in disbelief as he finally stopped. “You really do not get it, do you, huh?” When Y/n continued to cry like a child and just stare at him in confusion, the King clicked his tongue in distaste and made his way to the edge of the bed while dragging her with him by her nape like a toy, taking a seat before wrapping the belt around her neck. "This is what they do in your Kingdom? Explains why you are all so illiterate and beaten up by the neighboring Kingdoms." The girl's eyebrows furrowed as he pulled her closer by the makeshift leash, their faces inches away now.

"How pathetic" Taehyung's eyes were dark and full of fury as he stared down at her through the long strands of his coal coloured hair, landing a wad of spit straight on her nose which dripped down to her lips, causing her to whine out only to be shushed with a slap. "You do not even know what you did. Tsk." His hand jerked at her leash when she tried to get away followed by a slap landing on her cheek.

"We do not hit our servants here, you illiterate little disrespectful slut" Y/n's eyes widened at his sudden choice of words, the King's cock getting hard from the sight of her on her knees on a leash like this after getting spanked. Completely at his mercy. "What are you in this Kingdom? An outsider with no knowledge or skills whatsoever; nothing." The girl gulped from his deep tone and harsh words, her hands free by her sides but unable to get up and try to defend herself. "You are nothing. But my mere wife. How dare you think you could order anyone here and then hit them for it?" A slap landed on her face before he grabbed her hair by his other hand, pulling at it and making her cry out, causing her lips to part as tears formed at the corners of her eyes.

"You're nothing without me." Taehyung deeply spoke, maintaining the eye contact while tightening his grip around her soft hair. "You're nothing to order or punish anyone here." A soft whimper escaped the girl when he spat on her tongue, squeezing on her throat just a little bit and cutting off her oxygen, watching her face get red as she ran out of breath, only adding to his need. "You're just a little bitch. A bitch for me to breed and take pleasure out of." While still choking her, Taehyung unclothed his cock with his other hand, pumping the erect organ just a little before loosening his grip. "What are you?" Y/n gasped for air as more tears streamed down her face, drool dripping out of her already swollen lips. "What are you?!" The man roughly jerked her by the throat, eliciting a squeak out of her.

"A- A bitch! A bitch, y- your Majesty!"

"Good." Taehyung's lips curled into a satisfied smirk before he forced her face closer to his cock, pushing it straight into her mouth with full strength, causing her to gag instantly as the girl's eyes widened in alarm of what was happening. "Fuck…" The King threw his head back and arched his hips, getting used to the feeling of her tight and warm mouth clasped around his shaft. "So fucking tight and warm" a shudder ripped through his whole body from the feeling.

Y/n was struggling to breathe as she felt more and more tears escaping her eyes, limbs trembling from the intensity. "Just a bitch…" Taehyung's beautiful lips parted as he threw his head back, starting to thrust in her throat as he made her face meet him halfway, literally stomping it up and down his cock with the help of her hair. "I think I need to teach you your place since I didn't really have the time to when you arrived, hm?" His breaths were getting heavy as he glared down at her, pulling his cock out of her mouth and slowly pumping it, whimpering silently before he started to release his piss out and all over her face, causing it to drip down her chin and on her chest.

"Open up!" Prying her mouth open before landing a slap on her cheek, the male forced his leaking cock in her mouth and moaned, his balls hurting from how horny he was. "Drink it! Don't waste it!" Her face dangled to the side when he slapped it again, spitting on her. "Look at you! Nothing but a filthy little disgusting fucking urinal! Thinking she could do whatever in MY Palace just because she married me!" Tears were escaping her eyes and trailing down her cheeks as her throat slightly burnt from the abuse it underwent a few moments ago and now the hot piss she was being forced to consume.

"Move over" Taehyung growled when he was done, pushing her out of the way before kneeling on the ground and forcing her face against the ground that was wet from his face, pushing it in the small puddle. "Fuck… you're so much better when you're being like this, tsk." Smacking her ass and making her whine from the pain, the King spat copious amounts of spit on her pucker before massaging it in, causing her eyes to widen in realisation.

"Y- YOUR HIGH-"

"Shut it." Her eyes widened to the shape of saucers before rolling just slightly upward when he suddenly tugged at the belt, pulling her backwards all the while pushing his thick and long cock right up her small, unused ass. "You don't get a say in anything, 'dear'." The endearment was a mere taunt, the King's cock twitching in her soft walls as he pulled it out a little before pushing it back in, causing her tiny rim to forcefully expand and restrict it from defensively contracting, drilling the hole in strong and small paced thrusts.

"A foolish fucking child is what you are. No sense of responsibility." His deep voice was firm and Y/n couldn't help but gulp, helplessly being used in whichever way husband liked. "This can't go on like this. The Queen's court is a laughing stock at this point because she is not even there!" Y/n desperately tried to breath as he harshly slapped her ass, trying to force his balls in too. "Only enjoying her privileges!" Tilting her head back by her chin so she was forced to look up at him although upside down, the King spat in her mouth, shaking his head in distaste.

"I- I am sorry! I am sorry! I- I swear! P- Please! Please! I won't b- be bad again!" Y/n was crying as her ass burned. "Please, Y- Your Highness!" He wasn't an old and foolish King like she'd thought. Oh no.

"You better be." Harshly pulling her closer, Taehyung kissed her despite the piss coating her face, hands hastily slipping to her chest and fiddling with the little fabric left on her body, thumbs stroking her nipples and hardening them in an instant as his hands palmed her breasts. "You will only know obedience. I was letting you off because you were just a young little bride that had to leave her Kingdom and family. But I refuse to let you make a joke of my Kingdom and I."

Brats was one thing King Kim fucking despised. All talk no work.

"Y- Yes! P- P- Please stop! It hurts!" His heart fluttered from how she whined and pouted, looking cute even with her face all red and literally piss covered.

"That is the whole point." Peppering kisses down her neck, Taehyung but the tender skin and sucked harshly on it, marking her as his property. "When I have time one of these days, I'll make sure I force fuck some sense of responsibility in you, you pathetic brat. You will be a useful Queen, faithful wife and loving mother." Her eyes widened when she realised what he was saying. "I'll fill you deep and well with my heirs and you will raise each one yourself."

"I A- AM T- TOO YOUNG THOUGH! P- PLEASE!"

Taehyung grunted upon her pathetic attempts to try to break free from his grasp, only earning a harsh pinch to her nipples as he continued to give her hickeys all over her neck.

"You still think you get to decide?!" He chuckled in disbelief, biting down on her skin and softly grunting when he felt his balls twitch, forcing one of her hands to touch them as he tried to force them up her small rim. "No. You take what's being given to you and you be grateful for it! Bitches like you open their legs for their Masters and breed as much children from them as they want. That's all they fucking do."

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

Text

marmalade taffy

Helmut Zemo smut & feels. Soft!Dom Zemo, non-superhero!AU, Zemo being the weird uncle of college!Maximoff twins. This was written on a whim so if someone signs up to beta-read, I will shower you with affection and reminders to drink water. The Reader is addressed as "you" and is not described - race/age/body type neutral. The language I used for Sokovian is actually Serbian. Word count 2,8k.

Fun fact: I have mild synesthesia. Emotions/feelings and some people have an assigned color (and sometimes smell) for me. That's how the name of the fic was born. This fic feels like the colors of marmalade and taffy, look them up. This fic is dedicated to my lovely @slothspaghettiwrites , the shining beacon in my misty, rocky beach. (You're a periwinkle for me, by the way. I thought you might ask.)

When you first see him all you do is raise an eyebrow. His sleek, well-maintained vintage car stands out almost grotesquely amongst the various sedans and mom vans on the campus and you can see the glint of his wristwatch even from afar. Wanda's and Pietro's sheepish smirk only makes the situation worse - the girl's attire obviously screams "liberal arts" and her twin brother doesn't seem to have anything better to wear than tracksuits.

The man behind the wheel is unfazed. He is calm and collected in that European way, not conceited, just waiting. For what? You don't know. His eyes trail over you but he doesn't smile, simply gives a tiny polite nod. If you hadn't had extensive conversations about cultural differences with Wanda, you'd say he was extremely rude.

Shy, quiet Wanda, who's eyes lit up seeing her favorite not-actually-uncle. In a surprising dash of energetic agility, she hopped right into the car, her numerous scarves a bright flash of saturation against the campus grayscale. You giggle and wave at the departing car, snorting when Wanda's hand reaches over to briefly honk the horn, causing the driver to swerve the tiniest bit, his eyes trained on you in the rearview mirror.

He comes and goes often. Almost always in a different perfectly restored vintage car, mostly with the same polite mask of bored contentment. You know he's royalty in his home country and can't help but wonder how frivolously the twins act around him - no, free. He gives all the appearance of a silent, strict man.

You're proven wrong rather quickly. Freshman year left behind you, you and Wanda decide to ditch the dorms for an apartment - she finds one rather quickly and it's just you two in it even though it is ridiculously huge and the rent amount she requests is equally ridiculously small. Not the one to look a gift horse in the mouth, you pretend nothing is out of the ordinary and buy yourself a new pair of shoes.

Helmut - Wanda finally formally had introduced you two - doesn't come by often, however the visits are always... Eventful. He's not at all what it seemed to be; in the quiet of your apartment, a witty, incredibly clever man resurfaces from under the stoic façade. The Slav in him easily lets him consume alarming quantities of alcohol together with Pietro, who opted to stay in the dorms with his idiotic football team, and - you couldn't believe your eyes at the time - dorkily dad-dance squat in the middle of your living room, unfazed by your and Wanda's cackling.

The way Helmut is absolutely unbothered by the audience and the laughter, pale face flushed from the wine and a little smirk stretching his thin lips into expression almost catlike. The maroon turtleneck stretches nicely across his chest, as thinly as your lip that you worry between your teeth.

Pietro raises an eyebrow. You shrug.

"Got something in your eye, no?" He teases playfully and you shrug again, taking another swig of your nice, European beer.

There are more gatherings, more parties and quite a few rides in his car, when the wind blows your hair in all directions possible and intermingles it with Wanda's as you giggle and squeal in the back seat. Helmut always indulges you two; the word 'no' simply does not exist in that man's vocabulary. He insists politely but firmly on a dinner with all three of them on your birthday and the gifts he brings make your eyes pop out and your face heat.

"A woman like you makes any sensible man want to shower you with the finest gifts," Helmut's voice is quiet and his accent is thick and somehow, it makes it all that harder to refuse. He smiles like usual - tiny and a little secretive, as he pecks your cheek, filling the air around you with the smell of his cologne. It makes your mouth water and your fingers clench helplessly around the half a dozen of silk paper-wrapped boxes.

The summer rolls in and it's hot and humid and finally you don't have to worry about waking up at the crack of dawn or classes or the annoying boys who can barely take a no for an answer. The invitation to Helmut's villa doesn't come as a surprise; Wanda had been riled up over it since early May and Pietro and his whole damn football team were equally as thrilled.

You pack flowy dresses, daisy dukes and swimsuits. The expensive jewelry and handbag Helmut had gifted you, too, since the villa is surrounded by a whole neighborhood meant solely for the rich and famous. Wanda is absolutely unbothered by her own bohemian chic and you quietly envy her; the longer you get to know her, the more you realise of how much actually she does not give a fuck about anything besides her paintings and sculptures.

It's admirable, really, because she is talented. And Helmut knows it, too, having had collected and kept every single work Wanda had made, showing it off in the various rooms of his two-story mansion. The abstract fits in well and is a great conversation topic for him and his equally important friends. There's an endless stream of them in the first days and Wanda isn't overtly happy, choosing to run away to laze around the pool with you more often than not.

Helmut's friends stop at the glass wall between the inner side of the house and the pool to stare at you two, too, causing something dark and tense flash across his features. There always had been a sort of tangy obscurity in him, you've noticed, but not nearly enough for you to grow concerned. It added the bittersweetness, the flavour and consistency to the modest man.

Although calling him modest might have been a mistake. The moment you can't shake off one of his friends after a polite chit-chat seems to never end, Wanda nowhere in sight, dread and unease digging their sharp, spindly fingers in the soft flesh behind your rib cage, Helmut is suddenly there, arm wrapped almost possessively around your waist.

"Draga mea, Wanda is looking for you. She says it's urgent," He stares the man down with the eyes of a vulture. "I believe we haven't been properly introduced," Helmut seems to not realize he's still clutching you in a grasp of steel as the man opposite you rumbles out his name, few syllables you'd forgotten seconds after he spoke them for the first time.

"Baron Helmut Zemo," the fingers brush and squeeze once, gently, over the valley of your waist before letting go. You miss the rest of their peacocking, walking away with a fight and fire inside of your hammering heart. Anxiety and longing and confusion mix and blend, combining into a cocktail that has you beelining for the bar like a woman parched.

The next day you're sleeping off the hangover, first in your bed and then by the pool - Wanda had run off into town for one thing or another, and knowing her, she'd be back home at the crack of dawn. It was blissful peace, the soothing balm for your troubled heart and your aching head.

"Hungover?" Helmut's voice was quiet and a little bit teasing. None of the Eastern Europeans had ever showed the signs of having any ill effects from the alcohol they drunk, unlike you.

You stretched, too blissed out to care about the skimpy strings and straps of your bikini, basking in the gentle morning sun. "Mmm, not anymore," a swim in the cold pool had done wonders.

Your soft pink float rocked as Helmut's footsteps quieted, giving way to a short splash and the sound of his breathing somewhere in your space. Just as you cracked open your eyes, he reached out a hand to steady himself next to you. "I wanted to apologize for the situation yesterday. That man was stepping out of line. He is not welcome in my home anymore."

You stare at him and then you snort. The blunt was he usually speaks is so easy, it flows oh so effortlessly. No mind games, just honesty. You want to pay him back in kind. "Don't worry, Helmut. I just had a bit too much to drink," that was the truth. Any other time and you wouldn't have hesitated to unapologetically steer clear of any creep. Heat and bubbly don't mix and that was your own mistake.

"No, printsesa," the man in front of you let loose some of the delicious darkness, eyes growing stormy, hand gently resting over yours. "Some men are fools, they are nothing but animals. You deserve to feel safe, especially in my home." His lips stretched into a smile, water dripping down his jaw and making tiny circles form in the azure of the pool.

"I can't argue with that," you replied, catching the stray liquid and following the trails it made with your eyes. His forehead, dripping down over his eyes, making Helmut blink the stray drops away until they landed on his lips, trickling down his chin.

You swallowed, opting to dip your toes into the cool pool water before you could make a fool of yourself. The water splashed towards him, making a mischievous grin grace his usually serious face, as me made a half-hearted attempt to splash back weakly, making the water sizzle on your sun-kissed skin. Never the one to back down from a challenge, you knitted your eyebrows in mock offense, eagerly letting the water wash over you as you abandoned the float in favour of creating waves with your whole body.

The temperature contrast was delicious and Helmut's laugh even more so as it echoed in between the high walls of the building surrounding the pool. The sun was nearly at its peak, shining over your head in a beacon of heat that almost matched the one inside of you, the one that had blossomed there months ago and finally grew into a steady smolder, shooting sparks whenever you were around the baron.

It was hot and wet, the same feeling chasing you two when you finally kissed. His hand firmly planted on the side of your neck, his nose softly brushing against the underside of your jaw, Helmut was in no rush to taste you, to savour every millimeter of your sun-kissed skin. The man left you with your fingertips trembling and heart scrambling for purchase somewhere in the deepest pits of your belly.

"What are you so hungry for, mmm?" Helmut's voice rumbled next to the shell of your ear; you could barely focus, skin singing underwater, where he held onto you like a lifeline. "You have hungry eyes, ljubavi, tell me what it is and I'll give it to you," your bodies pressed flush against each other, his eyelashes flittering against your cheek.

"You," the maximum capacity for your brain was one-syllable words and you used it sparingly, failing to suppress a gasp when Helmut's mouth latched around a particularly sensitive spot right under your jawline.

Teeth scraped over it before he soothed the sting with his tongue. "All the things in the world, I could give them to you. And yet..." He sounded almost disappointed. Perplexed, just as you were at the strange admission. "A woman like you would have men fighting for your attention yet you give it to me so freely," he murmured softly, capturing your lips in a slow, fluid kiss once more. "I will make sure you have everything you could ever want."

Helmut's touch grew bolder as he steered the two of you towards the shallow end of the pool. The taste of him was intoxicating, like the sweetest, most alluring poison you'd ever tasted: you knew that once you had one small bit, you'd be addicted, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. His words were clever and his mouth even more, making the short stumble upstairs last hours.

A wall, baroque tapestry, marked with the wetness of the pool water, where you allowed yourself to be pressed against as he leaned into you with the entirety of his broad frame, domineering the kiss effortlessly.

You panted as your back hit the soft, million-thread count, unmade sheets of the baron's bed, staring up into his eyes and finding your own reflection in his pupils, blown wide with lust. The tiny smirk was back but now his unexpressive face was marred by a gleem, accentuating his moist, puffy lips you'd licked into and bitten in a heated frenzy.

"Beautiful, printsesa," he stated with quiet firmness, leaning over into you to unclasp and toss away the upper part of the bikini. The bottoms followed suit, flung carelessly somewhere. His hands ran over your as it sang, every tiniest nerve hypersensitive, coming alive with a fervor borne of months of longing, complimented by the summer heat and cool waters.

"Helmut," your voice wavered, flowed on the syllables as his clever, clever mouth trailed hot down your chest, briefly submerging each nipple into the sear of it. Goosebumps rose over your exposed body, highlighting a trail for him, a trail he followed eagerly. Kisses were candy sweet and marshmallow soft.

Hot breath at the apex of your thighs had you mewling and arching into it, having abandoned all shame, and Helmut found it amusing. The petite chuckle made an appearance, his fingertips ghosting over the part of your lower lips; he was as amused by your impatience as he was enthralled by the youthfulness of the gesture. "Shh, ljubavi, I will make it feel better," his accent as thick as clover honey and just as saccharine.

The first movements were tentative, brief and so light, the demanding moan slipped out of your mouth along with a growl of frustration. You felt continuous chuckling, slight stubble rasping along the sides your thighs; you felt him pick up pace and steady his hot hands on your hips as you attempted to trash against the overwhelming stimulation your pussy was receiving.

His moans, loud and wet, drove you closer to the edge like a drunk drove a Ferrari; Helmut's skill was unparalleled but it lacked precision as he lost himself in the moment just as much as you.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm- I'm so close," you managed to grunt out before the crescendo hit, eyes rolling back into your skull as the influx of more, more, more hit every nerve ending in your body. You could do little more than rest your legs on his shoulders as the noble man, the quiet storm lapped up every drop of your release.

He made the inside of you weak.

In seconds, Helmut was back on top of you, grinding his arousal into you desperately, almost begging for it and all you could do was let your body respond, mimic your lover, clench around nothing just as you felt him twitch.

"Tell me you're mine," he demanded hooking one of your legs over his hip, eyes boring into yours with everything in them plain on display. It was a terrifying thing: as if your heart had suddenly grown legs, stood up and walked out into the bare, wide world, open for all to see. "Ti moa, skaži eto," his native tongue made his voice even more hoarse, you couldn't resist anymore.

"I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours," you chanted the words like a prayer, hoping he'd be merciful - and he is. No, there's only a hidden tenderness in his hands as he drives into your with increasing force that shakes you and makes your core quiver, igniting your flesh once again like the color red; it's messy and it's sloppy and you're barely aware of Helmut muttering something into the crook of your neck as you feel yourself clench down on him with a choked moan.

"Fuck," hearing him, the polite composed man, bite the end of his own orgasm into a curse made a wave of magenta hot rush travel through your body at lightning speed, his cock pulsating and coating you, claiming you from inside out so sweetly you couldn't resist a shallow gasp into his cheek, a gasp he mirrored as his own oversensitive flesh was once more assaulted by your combined lust.

The tide of his breathing was high; both of you spent yet still drunk on the newfound sense of togetherness. It was clear as a summer's day that in your arms laid a man who'd once lost something important and you - you were a someone who's never had anything of significance and perhaps, this time each other's arms would let you both keep whatever it was that you missed.

#helmut zemo x y/n #helmut zemo x you #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo smut #baron zemo x reader #baron zemo smut #baron zemo x you #baron zemo x y/n #zemo smut #zemo x reader #zemo x you #bun writes #baron zemo #zemo #i am KNEELING

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indiee19 · 3 years

Text

She Does The Woods

Alex Turner x reader

Summary: You and a buzzed Alex go for a walk and a picnic in the woods and you can't resist how good he looks.

warnings: smut, oral sex (m! receiving), typical cliché couple things

word count: 2.8k

-Once again, Thea wrote this.

A/n: this song is literally the best song off the album. Argue with the wall if you disagree. Also, I'm working on the requests, so please be patient, I'm trying to do all of them. (And thank you, Thea.)

✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑ ✿✼:*ﾟ:༅｡.｡༅:*･ﾟﾟ･⭑

You reached up on the shelf of the small storage closet , getting the picnic blanket down from the very top, putting it in the basket. Alex had promised you that he would take you on a picnic this weekend. You impatiently waited the whole week for this day, wondering where Alex was taking you on the picnic.

You heard the door open and heard Alex's footsteps as he padded down the hallway, looking for you, eager to see the outfit you chose to wear. He hadn't seen you since this morning when you both woke up and had spent the entire morning in bed, making you feel so good like he always did. You'd asked him to go get some fruit from the store while you finished the rest of the food you were going to eat on the picnic.

"Baby, where are you!" he shouted from across the hallway.

"In the kitchen, Al!" you yelled back. He walked into the kitchen, finding and watching you finish putting everything away. He walked over to the kitchen island where you were at, handing you the fruit he had bought for the picnic.

You thanked him and put it away along with everything else in the basket. Alex walked behind you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist, pushing your hair away and kissing up your neck.

"Al, stop," you laughed, pushing him away.

"What if we don't go on the picnic and just stay here?" he asked, continuing his kisses up your neck. "No, Al. You promised me that you would take me on this picnic and I've been looking forward to it all week, so we're going on it," you replied, turning around, grabbing the bandana around his neck and capturing his lips in a soft kiss.

He sighed and moved away, going to the family room. You finished packing everything up and went to the family room, sneaking up behind Alex, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Are you ready to leave, my love?" you asked, kissing his cheek. He stood up, turning around and kissed you. "Yeah, princess. You go get the basket and I'll start the car," he replied, walking to the door and grabbing the keys.

You went to the kitchen and grabbed the basket, also grabbing your polaroid camera from the bedroom, though you didn't think that you would need it at all, and walked out the door after locking it.

You saw Alex in the car, fiddling with the radio, trying to figure out how to connect the Bluetooth on his phone to the car radio. You got in and laughed at him, amused at his small amount of knowledge on technology even though he had many references of it on his latest album.

"What're you laughing at?" he asked, clearly still frustrated with the Bluetooth on his phone.

"Nothing, I just find it hilarious that you have a very extensive vocabulary and are a talented songwriter, but you can't understand how to use technology, though your album has quite a few references to it," you laughed.

He playfully pouted and then went back to his phone to figure out how to connect his phone to the car. You laughed again and he glared at you.

"Do you need some help, my love?" you asked. Alex nodded and accepted the fact that he couldn't figure it out and handed you the phone.

You quickly explained to him how to do it and connected it to the radio. You then turned on something from The Beatles; Alex started to pull out of the driveway. You and Alex started singing along, him more than you and you watched the concentration on his face as he drove and as he sang, his angelic voice ringing in your ears and you didn't mind.

The car came to a stop light and Alex turned to you. "I want to hold your hand," he sang, taking your hand in his. You laughed and sang along with him, though you weren't nearly as good as a singer as Alex, your voice couldn't compare to his in any way possible.

The red light had turned green and Alex began driving on the road again, hand still holding yours as he continued to sing the rotor the song. You watched his facial features in the light that was hitting him through the window. You focused on his lips mainly, watching them move as he sang, remembering how they felt on your own, moving against yours in sync, just like the way he sang the song - in sync.

"Alex," you said, dragging out each syllable of his name. He looked at you then back at the road. "Yeah, princess?" he said.

"Where are we going?" you asked. He turned right and began to slow the car. "It's a surprise," he smiled, taking a few more turns.

"Please, I want to know, Al," you said, leaning over to kiss his cheek then his neck, lightly sucking on his neck just below his ear, hoping that somehow he would give in to you ad would answer your question.

"As much as you kiss me, I still won't tell you until we get there," he said. You stopped sucking on his neck, and sat back in your seat, playfully pouting.

"Now, look, just because I won't tell you doesn't mean that you have to stop kissing me," he said slyly, grabbing your hand and bringing it to his lips, placing a kiss to it.

"No, you won't tell me. No answer, no kiss," you laughed. Alex dramatically gasped and laughed. The rest of the drive was fairly typical and cliché, Alex singing his heart out, reaching over and kissing you whenever there was a red light.

You certainly didn't mind it being cliché if it meant that he kissed you, though you did wish that he would tell you were he was bringing you. It was only ten minutes before he pulled the car to a parking lot and parked the car, pulling the keys out of the ignition.

You opened the car door and stepped out, looking around. He had brought you to a dirt trail for hiking - in the woods.

"Really, Alex, the woods?" you asked. He got out of the car himself, and shut the door, opening the back door to get out the picnic basket.

"What?" Alex asked, walking around to the other side, grabbing you by the waist.

"First of all, you're literally wearing a black leather jacket, black trousers, and a button up ... and boots, it's way to hot for that. And plus, the drinks will get all hot," you said, gesturing to his attire and the picnic basket.

"It'll be fine, princess," he said, moving his hand to the small of your back, leading you onto the trail. He held onto you, knowing that it was way too hot, but still wanting to be close to you, always wanting to touch you.

He stopped when you both reached a secluded part of the trail that no one else was on, and to be honest, looked like no one really ever used it anymore.

"Okay, this is really giving me the 'I'm taking you out to the woods in a secluded area to kill you' vibes, Al," you joked, Alex letting go of you, you turning to look around the spot.

"You're right, me love, I am going to murder you," Alex laughed, grabbing you from behind, placing kisses on your neck, sucking on a spot. You laughed and pushed him away. "Alex!"

"Hey, come 'ere," he said, turning you around, kissing you deeply, shocking you. Your arms snaked around his neck, his hands traveling down your waist to your ass. He pulled you closer to him, your front now pressed up against his chest, biting your bottom lip teasingly, demanding entrance.

"Alex, we-we can't, not here," you said breathlessly, the breath you had now gone from the steamy kiss you and Alex just shared.

"Why not?" he asked, confused about why you wouldn't want him, even though you did and he knew that.

"Because, Alex, I'm not shagging you in the woods. Besides, someone could walk past us and see what we're doing," you answered, adding in the last part to try and explain to him why you couldn't even though you wanted to, but not as much as Alex wanted to.

He didn't seem to take that response to well, instantly kissing to hopefully persuade you into doing it. You felt him hard through his pants, and as much as you were afraid of getting caught, you had to admit that the thrill of it would be kind of fun and you moved your hand to palm him through his jeans.

Alex groaned into your mouth, breaking the kiss to suck on your neck to keep him quiet. You backed him up against a tree and suck down onto your knees, undoing his belt and jeans, pulling down his underwear just far enough for you to pull out his cock, slowly stroking him, placing a few light kisses to his tip, watching him as his head fell back against the tree.

He groaned in response before you took all of him into your mouth, his hands coming down on the back of your head, gripping your hair. He felt heavy on your tongue and flattened it so that he could fit better in your mouth. You started to bob your head up and down on his length, enjoying the small, quiet moans Alex was letting out.

You hollowed your cheeks, Alex pushing your further onto him, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat causing you to choke a little, but nevertheless, you continued. "Yesss, princess," Alex hissed, gripping your hair even tighter than before, moving you up and down on his length at a rate of his liking.

You looked up at him through your eyelashes, watching his face scrunch up in pleasure as you continued to bob your head, your tongue swirling his tip, hollowing your cheeks again.

You could tell that he was close when he started to buck his hips into your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your throat continuously as he bucked his hips. You swallowed around him and hollowed your cheeks once again, sending him over the edge. His hips stilled as his cock twitched inside your mouth and you felt his release hit the back of your throat, swallowing it.

He pulled you off of his cock by your hair, helping you stand up, holding onto you and he tugged up his underwear and trousers, fixing his belt as well. "Happy?" you joked, kissing his cheek.

"Very," he said, pecking your mouth. You laughed briefly. "Funny. We haven't even been here an hour and I've already sucked you off. And I've already got dirt on my pants," you said, gesturing to the dirt on your knees through the rip in your pants, getting the picnic blanket out of the basket and laying it on the ground, placing the picnic basket on it.

You sat down and Alex sat across from you, digging into the basket to see what you packed, picking the container that held the strawberries, getting one out, holding it to your mouth. You opened your mouth and took a bite out of it, Alex pulling it away from you and put it on the container lid.

"Let's see, what else did you pack in 'ere?" he said to himself, digging around in the basket more.

"There should be a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in there for you," you said, helping him find it. He thanked you and took it out of the container that it was in, taking a bite, managing to get some jelly on his fingers.

Alex laughed and put the sandwich down, licking his fingers clean of the jelly. You couldn't help but let your mind wander, thinking of very dirty things that Alex would no doubt think of. Imagine what he could do with those fingers, was all that was going through your mind, so much so that you didn't even realize that you were starring straight at him.

"Can I help you, princess?" he asked, noticing how much you were starring at him, specifically his arms and fingers. You tried to come up with an answer but you couldn't form any words at all, turning into a stuttering mess.

"Who's having the dirty thoughts now, eh?" he laughed, taking off his sunglasses. "Come 'ere, princess."

You hesitantly moved over to beside him, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you into his lap. "Tell me, love, if I touch you, will you be wet?" he teased, unbuttoning your jeans, pushing his fingers in them to play with the waistband of your panties that were slowly but surely dampening.

"Y-yes," you whimpered, voice trialing off into a moan when his fingers brushed against your clothed clit. He lightly chuckled before moving the cloth of your panties to the side, his fingers teasing your folds.

You buried your head into Alex's neck to try and hide the indescribable amount of pleasure that he was giving you. "No, look at me," Alex drawled, pulling you up by your hair. You looked up at him, starring into his big, brown doe eyes.

"Do you need me, love? Because I need you," he said. You quickly attached your lips to his, letting his tongue slip past them, exploring your mouth. You hesitantly pulled away, moving to shuffle out of your jeans, Alex undoing his belt and pants, pulling them down, along with his underwear, just far enough for his cock to spring free.

You sat back down in his lap, sitting up on your knees to move your panties aside, positioning Alex's cock at your entrance, Alex's hands going to your hips to keep you there. He pulled you down slightly; you whimpered when you felt the tip of his cock poking inside of you, hands gripping his shoulders.

"Alex, please, I need you," you said, knowing how much he enjoyed hearing you beg and whimper for him, desperate for his cock to fill you up so good.

He smirked, pulling you all the way down on him, throwing his head back, a soft moan falling from your lips. Once you were fully adjusted to his size, you pushed him down to be laid on his back. His hands were still on your hips, watching you as you began to slowly move. You sat up on your knees, his cock almost slipping out of you. His hands held you in place on him, his cocky smirk plastered all over his gorgeous face. Even though you were on top, he still had all of teh control.

Without warning, he let go of your hips, letting you slip all the way back down on him, his hands going back on your hips, helping you move on him and you moaned loudly. You slowly began to roll your hips on him, the pace gradually increasing. Soon you started to bounce up and down on him; Alex started to thrust up into you in sync with your own movements, driving you closer and closer to your high that you were now chasing.

His thrusting into you slowly began to get faster and faster, and you couldn't keep up with them. One of Alex's hands found your clit, rubbing small circles on it, driving you closer to your orgasm. You threw your head back and felt Alex's free hand travel under your shirt, massaging your breasts through your bra.

"God, love, you f-feel so good," Alex moaned, clearly just as close as you.

"Alex, I-I'm so close," you whimpered, Alex thrusting into you faster, bouncing you on his cock. "Cum for me, love," he said, thrusting up into you one final time, flicking your clit, sending you over the edge, your walls contracting around him, triggering his own release. He held you down on him and you felt his cock twitch, his release spurting inside of you. You collapsed on top of him.

You were both panting, sweat pooling on Alex's head. "I love you so much, princess," he said, kissing the top of your head.

"I love you too," you replied, struggling to stand up, sighing at the emptiness that was left when you lifted up off of him. "Oh, shit," you laughed, feeling his release run out of you, sure to stain your underwear, quickly putting on your jeans.

Alex pulled up his pants and underwear as well, doing his belt back up. "So, should we finish our picnic now?" he said, eating another strawberry, you sitting back down, digging into the basket, looking for something to eat yourself; you nodded to Alex.

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letarasstuff · 3 years

Text

Can I stay with you?

(A/N): This is based on this, this and this post. I really hope you are ready for the feels, because they are there and they are heavy-

Summary: Following the events of Emily's death, how will Spencer and his daughter cope with it?

Warnings: Angst and lots of it, mentions of drug use, contemplations of drug use, mentions of needles, we also got some bittersweet fluff

Wordcount: 2.5k

✨Masterlist✨ _______________________________

A hospital is not a place where a child should be, Spencer knows that much. But he picked (Y/N) up on his way for two reasons:

The first one being the simple occurence that the babysitter is not able to keep her any longer, because she has classes in the next morning. The second one is selfish and the father knows that, but he needs her presence, the comfort she brings to him.

“Daddy”, the child breaks the silence in the waiting room, “Is Auntie Emily going to be ok?” She sits in his lap reading a book before looking up at him. Her eyes hold something he wishes to never see again: Fear. The fear of losing someone she loves dearly.

“I hope, Baby. But let’s not forget one important fact: Your Auntie Emily is one of the strongest women I know.” Spencer gives her a kiss on the top of her head and cuddles her closer to him, seeing (Y/N)’s eyes dropping. The rest of the team watches the interaction with aching hearts.

The girl is asleep for half an hour when JJ enters the room. Everybody gets up crowding her. Spencer is careful to not disturb his daughter as he moves her head to his shoulder and hooks his arm under her legs.

“She never made it off the table.” These words echo in the genius’ mind, seemingly being the only things he can think about. “I-I never had the chance to say goodbye.” JJ hugs him, trying to give some sort of comfort. In this process (Y/N) wakes up. As soon as she spots her father’s tears, she knows not to ask a question. Instead she loops her arms around his neck.

“It’s fine. It’s gonna be alright, Daddy”, the toddler recalls the words he says to her whenever she is upset in hopes to cheer him up.

The next couple days are hard on the whole team. They try to grieve together, especially while the funeral takes place. (Y/N) notices that the color black is fitting, since her Auntie really liked to wear it. She likes that they do the same to pay their respects that way.

“Auntie Penny, is she watching?” The blonde woman carries her while the casket is walked down the aisle. Since her death, (Y/N) doesn’t dare to say Emily’s name. She thinks if she avoids it, she is going to inflict less pain when she is talked about.

“Of course. Emily is in heaven and watches this beautiful beautiful ceremony we hold for her. So wipe that frown off and put on that smile she loved so much. Alright?” Confusing to her, the adults want (Y/N) to smile all the time. But they are frowning and crying more often than not.

“Can she hear us? Because I want to say I love her. I forgot to say it the last time I saw her.” Trying to distract herself from seeing the casket lowering into the grave, the girl plays with Penlope’s hair. She in turn has to fight tears back. Only now she realizes the impact the whole thing has on her.

“I’m sure she does. What about when the majority is gone, we go to her grave and talk to Emily? Do we have a deal?” (Y/N) nods.

As soon as the ceremony is over, Spencer takes his daughter, cradling her close to him. As if she senses his sadness, the girl is petting his back in a comforting way. He squeezes her closer to him, leaving her not much room to breathe.

“Daddy, I wanna talk to her. I need to get down.” (Y/N) wiggles in his grasp after she whispers this into his ear. Reluctantly Spencer lets her down and she toddles over to the freshly made grave. A little plastic card sticks out of the grass in place of a headstone.

The adults try to give her as much space as possible, they have to let grieve on her own.

“Hey, Auntie Emily. I-I wanted to say I love you, and I forgot to tell you this the last time so I say it a second time. I love you. And I miss you. I think Daddy misses you too. He is sad since you are gone. I’m too. I think it’s because we miss you. But I hope you like Heaven. Maybe you see my Mommy. When you do, can you say I love her?

“I’ll try to see you soon, Auntie. Goodbye!” (Y/N) goes back to her father and makes grabby hands towards him. Gladly Spencer picks her up again, putting a kiss on her head. “Wanna go home, Daddy.” The child mumbles, exhausted by all the stress and emotions from the day.

The father is relieved to have an excuse to skip the meal with the team. He is scared that the evening at the little restaurant is clouded by sadness and angst. Spencer doesn’t need that right now, a nice sit in with his daughter sounds way better.

After saying their goodbyes the little family sits in the car on their way to the apartment. As soon as Spencer starts the car, (Y/N) is fast asleep. He looks at her through the rear view mirror, happy to see her at peace. It gives the father time to sort through his own thoughts. Since Emily’s death (Y/N) tries to be around him constantly, which he is thankful for, because she keeps the darkness away.

Her last hours play again and again before his eyes. The different ways he could have stopped all of this. Why didn’t he say more when she began biting her nails? When she said “Laura Reynolds is dead”? Maybe all of this is his fault?

His forearm begins to itch. Exactly where Tobias Hankel injected the needle same as he did several times. Maybe, maybe it would make everything better? Just this one tim-

“Daddy? When are we home?” The small voice cuts off his train of thought. Spencer needs a few seconds to clear his mind. Did he really think that? Taking dilaudid while the reason he fought his addiction literally sits right behind him? “Just a few minutes, Sweetheart. Do you want to go to bed after dinner?”

As if she knows that the father can’t be left alone in this state, (Y/N) answers: “No, I wanna watch a movie with you. Can we watch Alvin and the chipmunks? I love Simon so much!” This places a smile on his face, the excitement in her eyes scare his dark thoughts away. “Sure, Peanut. We can watch whatever you want.”

It's the fourth evening in a row that the girl sleeps in her father’s bed. She either falls asleep there or climbs next to him in the middle of the night, so he figures he lets her sleep there right away.

“Good night, Sweetheart”, he tells her as they lay down. Even though it’s quite early for Spencer to go to bed it’s (Y/N)’s time. “Good night, Daddy”, she tells him while snuggling closer, “I love you. Soooooo much.”

The young doctor decides to take the next few days off from work in order to work through the events. The first one he spends coloring in books with her the whole day. While she works on her own books gifted by various members of the BAU, Spencer has his own extra made for adults. He can’t deny the soothing effect it has on him. The repeating moves calms the storm of thoughts inside his head.

The next day the two of them sit the whole day on the small couch in the living room, (Y/N) on his lap, and read. Sometimes they read for themselves, others the father reads outloud from his own or (Y/N) from her own. It’s kind of therapeutic to hear his child doing something he enjoyed his whole life.

“Daddy, do you think she feels lonely in heaven? There is nobody she knows, she has to wait for us to follow her, doesn’t she?” Not prepared for such a deep question, Spencer is caught off guard.

He clears his throat before answering. “Uh, Auntie Emily isn’t that lonely up there, you know. You can’t remember him, but Uncle Gideon, a friend from work and someone I looked up to, is there. He surely greeted her with open arms, happy to see her. And your Mommy is also there, she certainly asked lots of questions about you.” “A-are you sure? I told her to say Mommy ‘I love you’ when she sees her.” (Y/N) looks up to her father with big eyes.

He is not sure if he is lying right now to her, but he sees that his daughter needs the reassurance. “Yes, I’m sure.” To lighten the mood he begins to tickle her, which ends in a tickle fight which in turn ends in tiring the girl out and falling asleep while watching a Disney movie.

The next day is by far the worst since it all happened. Both (Y/N) and Spencer haven’t slept much due to nightmares from both sides (him comforting her as she tears him from his own), which results in a grumpy toddler and a non stop coffee drinking adult.

“Sweetheart, you need to put that shirt on. Auntie JJ is expecting us in ten minutes. Please, stop fighting me”, he begs, but she continues to cry. As Spencer tries for a third time to put it on her (Y/N) throws herself to the other side of the bed.

“I don’t want that, Daddy!” She finally gets out through her sobs. Spencer halts in his movements. “Why? That’s your favorite, Baby.” While (Y/N) begins to cry louder, he leaves the clothing article on the bed and gathers her in his arm, rocking her back and forth additionally to whispering sweet reassurances in her ear.

“She gave it to me. I don’t wanna make it dirty or ruin it”, the toddler says between shaky breaths. For what feels like the trillionth time, the young agent’s heart breaks over this statement. He has a bigger vocabulary than the average English speaking person, but at this moment Spencer is at a loss of words.

“Sweetheart, I apologize for not acknowledging this right away. I’ll get another shirt out for you, ok? Thank you so much for telling and helping me.” Just a few minutes later the little family is on their way to the next metro stop. It’s then that Spencer realizes his day won’t be any easier.

“(Y/N) you can sit in the seat next to me like you always do. Why do you have to sit in my lap today?” Normally he isn’t someone who denies his child physical contact, but the seating chart has a logical purpose. Being on a train with a child means you have some kind of luggage with you, which leads to occupying a four seats compartment. In order to prevent somebody taking the seat next to him, Spencer places his daughter there. It’s a win win situation for everybody, really.

Unfortunately for him (Y/N) is extra clingy today and won’t stop crawling onto his lap. With a sigh he accepts his defeat and tries not to think about the amount of germs that fly around.

Another problem that torments the father: Over the last few days his cravings grew. Especially today the feeling, the need, for another shot and another high is undeniable for him. As if sensing this (Y/N) sticks by his side throughout the whole time, keeping his mind off of the drug that changes him.

While they are at the Jareau’s and Lamontagne’s household, his daughter refuses to play with Henry. “I wanna stay with you”, she murmurs into his shoulder. Again Spencer accepts his defeat and sits down on the couch next to his best friend.

“Sweetheart, you need to let me go. I have to go to the bathroom, you can’t come with me.” This is followed by a tsunami of tears. While JJ tries to console her, he slips out of the room discreetly.

Due to (Y/N)’s current grumpiness and Spencer’s fatigue they quickly call it a night, even though he could use some more comfort from his friends.

“Good night, Sweetheart. Sleep tight and dream nice. I love you”, he says after tucking his child in and giving her a kiss on the forehead. “Night night, Daddy. I love you, too”, her small voice echoes back to him and makes him smile softly.

Spencer finds his way back to the living room and sits down with a book in his lap. As expected he doesn’t get much reading done, too distracted by his own thoughts. The events of the night of his colleague’s, his friend’s, death replay themselves over and over again.

What if he made his conclusions faster? He is supposed to be the smart one, the one the team relies on for making important connections. But he failed once so who knows what happens when he fails again? Next time it could be the whole team dying. He could die. He would leave (Y/N) alone with the team gone. His mother isn’t capable of caring for her and his father doesn’t even know she exists. She will go into foster care, into a home with too many kids. She will be looked over, too small to be seen. Her potential will go to waste and she will never achieve anything she is capable of. And all that because he hasn’t made a conclusion fast enough.

Spencer’s scars on his forearm itch worse than ever. One shot. Only one shot to make the thoughts go away. To make the guilt go away, the bad feelings. He needs it. He needs to cure himself from the symptoms of being a human.

Before the young doctor even registers what he is doing he already put his jacket on and looks for his wallet when a voice startles him.

“Daddy, i can't sleep. Can I stay with you again?” (Y/N) stands in the doorway, clutching her stuffed animal and her blanket, shielding her eyes from the light, oblivious to what her father was about to do.

“Oh Darling, of course. Do you want me to read to you? Or we drink hot chocolate and watch a movie?” He suggests, ready to distract himself from anything that’s going on in his mind. A few minutes later his daughter cuddles into his side while watching once again Alvin and the Chipmunks.

Spencer is just happy to have his light in his life all the time and is ready to tackle any task to keep her there, may it be once again the weekly visits for anonymous narcotics or time off from work to process the events together in therapy.

Taglist:

All works:

@agentshortstacc

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl

Spencer Reid x child!reader:

@ilovetaquitosmmmm

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x daughter!reader #spencer reid x child!reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfiction #x reader #reader insert #x daughter!reader #x child!reader

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nessaxc · 3 years

Text

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Romance Me || Gojo Satoru

You break up with Gojo because he isn't giving you what you need in the relationship. And when you get a rebound, Gojo isn't too happy about that.

~ Words: 3.7k

~ NSFW 18+

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You broke up with Gojo months ago simply because you weren't getting what you needed from the relationship. It was lacking heavily in the romance department, like was it so much to ask for him to be romantic once in a while? Maybe a candle lit dinner? For him to send you flowers and chocolates? Though, you shouldn't have been surprised, this was Satoru Gojo we were talking about, romance wasn't in his vocabulary.

At first your relationship with him was fun and exciting, and the sex was amazing and he was so adventurous in the bedroom, there was literally nothing he wasn't willing to try, which was one of the many things you adored about him. You just felt like the relationship wasn't going anywhere, and sure fighting curses in the city was exhilarating and having sex in his car was thrilling but you wanted more than just being destructive with one another. Maybe a relationship with Gojo was doomed to fail from the start, but you still hoped that maybe he would have a change of heart and start treating you the way you deserved to be treated.

He didn't take the breakup very well, you knew he wouldn't, and he was quick to flip the situation around and act like he was the one that broke it off when that clearly wasn't what happened. When you explained why you were choosing to break up with him, he didn't understand, he believed because you were a Jujutsu Sorcerer, a word like romance wasn't in your vocabulary either, but there was a lot more to you than being a fellow sorcerer.

Because you wanted to show Gojo what he was missing, you found yourself a rebound and started flaunting him off to the rest of the Jujutsu Sorcerers, making sure to hold hands with him and kiss one another while Gojo was in the same room, just to provoke him. The sorcerer welcomed your new boyfriend with open arms, allowing you to invite him over whenever you wanted as long as he followed orders of course, which got under Gojo’s skin even more, because not only did he have to hear you talk about him all day, but he had to see you two together being all lovey-dovey with one another. Gojo knew that you couldn't care less about this new rebound of yours, that you were just keeping him around merely to make him jealous, and he found that he loathed seeing another man touch you and be in the same proximity as you. You were supposed to be his, and only his, and the thought of someone else in your bed made him feel sick, it made Gojo want to tear this guy limb from limb, and he would do just that after he got you back.

One night after you and your new boyfriend were spending some heated alone time together (and you two were sure to make a ton of noise so Gojo could hear everything) you went downstairs with him to open the door for him and to exchange sappy goodbyes before he left the building. You closed the door with a loud bang before you made your way back upstairs to your room. When you returned to your room, you saw Gojo sitting comfortably on your bed, sitting cross legged, humming away a tune as he waited for you to come back.

"Satoru, what are you doing here?" you asked with narrowed eyes, annoyance evident in your tone. "You know me and my boyfriend just had sex on that bed, right?" you added with a snort.

"So you replace me for that piece of shit?" he rasped, his nose wrinkling in distaste.

"I guess so, he's so much more romantic and sweet, and he knows exactly how to make me happy," you said as you dreamily sighed, taking a seat on a chair across the bed as you looked at him.

"Tell me you didn't let him come inside you," he replied gruffly, his tone threatening and dripping with venom as the mental image crossed his mind.

"You have no business knowing that, so I don't need to answer any of your invasive questions," you told him before you added with a wide smile, "but what I can tell you is that he has a bigger dick than you, and he's way better in bed than you, he's got more experience," you lied, shrugging your shoulders, relishing in the fact how overwrought he was with jealousy.

He merely laughed at your response, knowing that you weren't being honest with him or yourself, "Oh Y/N, don't lie to me and yourself, I bet he can't even make you come," he said with a forced smile stretched across his face in attempt to hide some of his anger. "C'mon, we both know you're just using him because you're not with me anymore, it's so obvious it's pathetic, and there's no way in hell that shithead can really make you happy."

"Oh of course he does, like I said he has a ton of experience and he knows exactly how I like it," you lied again with a smug smile stuck on your face. "Someone sounds jealous," you taunted in a sing-song tone.

"Oh yeah? Sure he does," he spat as he sneered, and in one quick motion he removed himself from his position on the bed and you stood up from the chair as well when he stepped towards you, standing face to face with you. "What makes you think I'm jealous anyway? I don't give a shit if he fucked you," he continued in a harsh tone, each word laced with acrimony.

"Really now? Sure sounds like it," you mocked with a curl of your lip, "I didn't think you were the jealous type."

"That's cause I'm not, your little boy toy just fucking vexes me," he snarled as he took another step towards you, so close now that his hot breath was fanning over your mouth, sending a tingle down your spine as your gaze remained unwavering upon his. You could see every twitch of his features, he was sick with envy, that much was clear. His hands were at his sides, clenching and unclenching in frustration as you continued to look at him with that self-satisfied smile.

"Tell me then, why does he vex you?" you asked, playing dumb, tilting your head to the side as you waited for his answer. You expected him to start cursing you out but instead he grabbed a fistful of your hair until you were both looking each other directly in the eye, barely a distance between you two. He crashed his lips into yours, devouring you in the ruthless kiss you had come to know so well. When you felt his tongue retract to plunge further, you bit down hard on his lower lip. You heard him intake a sharp breath, a low, guttural growl vibrating deep as you crushed your lips upon his, without a care if you hurt him or not, teeth knocking and noses bumping from the rush of the kiss. His hands groped around your hips, his fingers digging hard under your skirt and into your pantyhose, tearing the fabric as he lifted you by your ass, slamming you back against the wall, forcing your legs apart and hooking them around his waist.

"I fucking hate it when people touch what's mine," he breathed heavily against your mouth, "you're mine, Y/N, you don't belong to anyone else," his tone was raspy and threatening as he growled possessively.

"Now that sounded romantic," you hummed, and he smirked against your lips as he continued to press his pair insistently upon yours.

Your nails started to scratch and dig into his back, leaving streaks of pale, pink lines, making him groan into your mouth. You bit his lower lip hard and held him close to you as you ground against him feverishly. He panted hard against your mouth before turning his attention to your neck, biting and sucking hard, making you yelp out from the stinging sensations that spread across your whole body. It wasn't long until you got your revenge and started to bite and pull on his jaw, lips and chin, continuing the assault on his neck and shoulder.

You could feel his member hardening as he pinned you with his body. He was suffocating you, and every time you attempted to come up for air, he denied you. You were tasting blood, and you couldn't tell if it was his or your own.

Finally managing to grab a fistful of his hair, you pulled him back as you both gasped for air. Fresh blood was smeared across his mouth, it was blended with your lip-gloss like a stain. It was rough and perfect, just the way you liked it. He knew exactly how to suck you right back in. You both remained this way for what might have been mere minutes, but it felt like an eternity. His bright blue eyes were burning and intense, a wry grin playing in between each breath.

His tongue languidly licked the blood from his lower lip before he leaned in just beneath your jaw, biting hard into the sensitive skin of your neck, his teeth piercing it. You emitted a loud moan, bucking and grinding down into his hips as you felt him sucking and pulling you tighter to him, crushing your breasts against him. You were convinced he was trying to tear your flesh from your bone, until he finally released his seal with a loud pop.

"If I have to keep branding you until you remember who you belong to," he started, his voice gravelly against the bruise already forming and blending into your neck as you felt his hand drawing down your thigh, tearing the skirt off along the way. "I will."

"That's more like it," you purred. You were both tearing off the other's clothes in a frenzy, tossing aside the articles of clothing across the room in your haste. When you were both completely bare, he hoisted you up by your ass, and you clung to him before he dropped you down on the bed. He was quick to crawl atop you, and he pushed your legs aside with a hand, seeking out the scorching heat between your thighs.

Your breath hitched as his thumb dipped between your dripping folds, parting you as he spread the wetness gathered there, your hips jutting out impatiently against his touch for more contact, "so wet for me, and only for me, you're not allowed to be like this for anyone else," he cursed hoarsely, his voice raw with his need for you. His fingers danced against your sex, palm pressing into your engorged clit, earning him a mewl of pleasure.

You threw your head back against the bed, your body arching into his touch to give him better access to the place you needed him most. You released a sharp intake of breath when he sunk two of his long fingers into your tight wet heat, his palm brushing against your clit as his lips dropped to your heaving bosom while his fingers worked over you at a maddening pace, turning you into a whimpering wanton mess beneath him.

You were putty in his hands, your body molding itself to his talented fingers with a drawn out moan. Gojo groaned at the feeling of your slick walls wrapping so deliciously against his digits, and his hard member was throbbing as he thought about how all he wanted was to take you the way he used to. You rocked your hips against his probing fingers, your eyes squeezing shut with pleasure, body begging him to pick up his pace within you. He was quick to comply, his fingers meeting your thrusts before curving them inside of you, making you cry out as you called his name in unadulterated praise.

His fingers surged into you as he rolled his wrist repeatedly against your clit, bringing his forehead to your own, his nose brushing upon your own, lips inches from yours as he groaned, "Come for me, baby, I want you to come for me, just like you used to."

He sucked your swollen lip into his mouth, leading with his chin as he listened to your strangled plea for mercy, making him chuckle in amusement.

"Come on, come for me, Y/N," he drawled out, scissoring his fingers inside of you as you moaned shamelessly, your toes curling in anticipation for the release you so desperately craved. "Come for me," he repeated, his gaze flitting to your closed lids as he watched you fall apart from his ministrations. With one more rapid and harsh thrust of his skilled fingers, you moaned his name out as you came, completely soaking them with your juices.

He smirked proudly, slipping his fingers from your quivering walls which instantly made you whimper in protest. He lifted his hand to his mouth, sucking his drenched fingers between his lips to taste your sweet essence. Your body heaved against the mattress, watching intently as he tasted you, licking your lips as you heard his moan of approval, his pupils blown wide with lust.

"Mmm, it's just like I remembered it," he purred.

He released his fingers after he was sure he got every last drop, there was a wicked gleam in his eye before he lowered his lips to your nipple, taking it greedily within his hot mouth. He tortured the flesh with his tongue and mouth, alternating between nipping and sucking as his hand worked at the other, pinching and twisting. He smirked against your bud as you moaned encouragingly, spurring him on. He released you, his hand and mouth switching places, sucking upon one and thumbing the other, making you emit moan after moan.

"Only I get to touch you now, no other fucker touches what's mine, you hear me?" he rasped, growling deep from his throat, the vibrations shooting straight to your core as he once again wrapped his mouth around your nipple, sinking his teeth into it and making your whole body tremble with the harsh treatment.

You rocked your hips desperately against him which made him let out a strangled sound around your nipple. "Satoru," you whispered breathlessly, your head thrashing about against the sheets, his mouth and fingers completely relentless. "Please fuck me, already, stop wasting time, fuck I need you."

"That's the spirit baby," he cooed before he asked in a taunting tone, "and where do you need me exactly?"

His eyes were dark and hooded as he looked upon your flushed face, red coloring your cheeks, his warm breath hitting your tender, wet flesh, making you whimper and keen. "You miss me, don't you? You miss me filling you up, fucking you senseless into this mattress like I used to, huh? Tell me Y/N, you need to tell me," he demanded as he bumped his hips against yours, teasing you mercilessly.

"Yes, yes I miss you, I miss us, I just want to feel you inside me again," you admitted through a ragged breath. His lips curled into a smug, amused smirk, his eyes shining with dark intent. You couldn't wait any longer, you just wanted to feel him inside of you again like before.

"Of course you miss me, I knew that shithead was doing a shit job pleasing you," he taunted, "now get on your hands and knees for me," he ordered huskily.

You were quick to comply, positioning yourself on your hands and knees before him, his mouth watering at the sight. He dipped his head down beside yours, his lips pressing against your ear as he whispered, "That's a good girl, fuck, I missed seeing you like this," he told you, moving to take his position behind you. His length was digging deliciously against the curve of your backside, and you curved your spine, wiggling your ass impatiently in his direction, bracing yourself on your forearms and elbows.

"Just like that, you're fucking beautiful," he purred, expressing his approval, his voice dripping with sin. He worked his hand over his rigid shaft in a few jerky movements with his fist, swiping the head of his member against your dripping sex.

"Satoru, oh fuck," you whimpered as your fingers clawed at the sheets beneath you, grabbing and pulling at them in your desperation. He bit back a groan as he felt your wetness come in contact with his head. His hand wrapped around your hip with a bruising grip as he finally thrust into you, sheathing himself into your wet heat with a grunt.

You gasped loudly, eyes shutting instantly and your walls closing in on him the second he slipped inside of you. You buried your head into the sheets as he stretched your inner walls in a way the man you were with never could. "Fuck," he groaned as he started rocking his hips against yours, slamming into you with a brutal, relentless force that had you bucking back up into him.

He gripped your hips tighter as he withdrew, then slowly plunged his member back in, pumping himself in and out at a frantic pace as you writhed and squirmed underneath him.

"So beautiful, who has the bigger dick? That little shithead, or me? And don't lie this time," he taunted through a drawl.

"Satoru! Yours is the biggest," you replied in a moan, mouth open wide as another cry emitted from your lips after a particularly harsh thrust, his way of expressing how much those words pleased him. "You make me feel so good, I can't get enough of your big cock," you whined as you matched the rhythm he set, though you were having trouble keeping up with him, and your hips were stuttering against his as you continued to squeeze his member greedily between your silken walls.

"That's right, and you're mine, all mine, no one's going to take you from me," he whispered as he rammed himself into your quivering, soaked entrance, the slapping of skin ringing in both of your ears. He sighed in relief when he pulled out only to surge right back in, his nails digging harshly into your hips as he yanked them closer, making sure that your whole body would be sore and aching tomorrow and that you wouldn't ever forget how he made you feel.

You moaned into the mattress as he continued to fill you, pounding you into the bed and his balls clapping against your flushed cheeks as you writhed about, fisting the sheets in your hands as tight as you possibly could. You were trembling with each heavy, rapid thrust, and you felt like you were going to combust from the heat that spread across your whole taut body. You breathed heavily as your head tilted to press your cheek against the bed, "Oh, I can't-"

Your words were swallowed by a soft cry, and you felt your walls clamp around his length, your climax threatening to burst within you.

"That's it, I want you to come for me again, come on," he urged, picking his pace up to push you over the edge. He drove himself into you over and over again, his thrusts sloppy and hips stuttering, knowing that his own release wasn't far behind. He was hitting that sweet spot with every single deep plunge, and it had you yelping out his name breathlessly as you trailed your quivering hand down until you found the spot right above where you two were joined to stimulate your engorged clit.

"That's it, touch yourself for me, baby, oh, just like that," he encouraged through a groan.

You rolled your clit around feverishly with shaking fingers as you sought release, pressing into it relentlessly and never ceasing in your movements, flicking and rubbing until you couldn't take it anymore.

With one final harsh thrust, you came with a shout, his name pouring out of your lips as your walls clenched all around his member. You bucked your hips wildly against him, and your release sparked his. He shot his thick seed up within you, filling you up with his warmth, just like he used to, his head falling against your backside as he rode out the intense waves of pleasure, drawing it out until you fell boneless against the mattress, your arms giving out on you.

He allowed himself to remain sheathed inside of you until he softened, pulling out very slowly, making you hiss between gritted teeth at the sensation. He was quick to roll you around so that you were on your back now as he joined your side, both of you panting heavily and sucking in air desperately after the intensity of your orgasms. You two laid there on the disheveled sheets, silence thick in the air, chests heaving, bodies slick with sweat as you stared up at the ceiling.

All of a sudden, Gojo whipped out a dark red rose, twirling the stem between his fingers before he handed it to you with a smile on his lips.

"Thought you would like it," he told you, his voice hoarse. You smiled as you took it, a warm and fuzzy feeling swelling in your chest at the romantic gesture. Perhaps there was more to Gojo than you originally thought. You took a whiff of its aroma before you turned to him and gave him a chaste kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you, I will give it some water," you replied with a chortle before you placed it on your bedside table.

"You're mine. And I'm yours. Understand?" he told you breathlessly. He reached his hand out to grab yours, entwining his fingers through it as he held it up to his mouth, placing a quick peck on it before he pulled away.

You sighed dreamily as you nuzzled your head underneath the crook of his neck, curling up into his body before you replied, soft laughs spilling through small pants, "You so love me, it's official."

He merely laughed in response as he held you close to the warmth of his body, snuggling up to you as you hummed appreciatively. He didn't need to say it for you to know it.

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