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reallykaz · 6 months

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— .best date ever! // matt sturniolo

matt sturniolo x fem!reader

plot summary : when the cute guy in your class asks you out on a date, you’re more than happy to go. but you didn’t expect a fun time at the amusement park would end in the back seat of his car with your clothes off and his lips on yours.

content warnings : very mature themes (18+ MINORS DNI) strong language, small mention of anxiety. fluffy plot with porn at the end! first date things and matt being down bad for reader. tension in a photobooth ;) smutty car sex, oral sex and unprotected p in v (pls don’t do this!be safe!)

a/n : i’m a slut for a man who can drive. that’s it. also this is my first time writing smut so i hope it's up to standards lmaooo i really dk how i feel about this either… like always all likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated <333

wc : 5.5k

"Fuck! I have nothing to wear!"

Saturday night and you were stressing, half of your closet was scattered around your bedroom floor and your desk was a mess with makeup and hair products. The whole room smelt like perfume, vanilla lotion and nail polish from the last two hours you’ve been getting ready.

It was finally the night of your date with Matt and you were beyond nervous. You’ve known each other since middle school but you mostly talked in English class for the past four years - just simple ‘hi’s’ and exchanged smiles.

It took you by surprise when Matt asked you out on Wednesday because you had no idea that he had any type of attraction for you. In school he was quiet, played a few sports and only hung out with his brothers and best friends. You didn’t know much other than that.

Stalking his instagram didn’t offer much

But you were glad he was taking you out. It was the first time a guy has actually wanted to go on a date with you and Matt seemed really genuine. You were excited for once because usually being with guys has always left you feeling used, empty and no good. But this was different.

Matt had asked you for your number too when he asked you out and obviously you couldn’t say no when he looked down at you like you hung the moon so you had been texting each other a couple times for the past three days.

It was only very casual but instead of asking for pictures of your tits, he’d actually ask about your day and would make you laugh with unfunny jokes. So yeah, it was definitely different.

After twenty hectic minutes later and your mom bombarding your personal space to ask about the date, you had finally picked out an outfit - cute and simple with a hint of sexy and hot. It was good and you looked good in it.

When your phone vibrated from a message notification, you knew it was Matt and your gut swirled with butterflies. After dousing yourself in some more perfume, topped up your lipgloss and fixed up your hair, you check your phone.

from matt🤍 i’m outside :)

You immediately go into panic mode when you hear the doorbell ring and you couldn’t have ran downstairs any faster than right now. "Honey? Is that your date? I wanna meet –

"Bye mom! Be back by midnight! Love you!" Matt drops the kind smile and rehearsed lines in his head when you’re slamming your front door and dragging him back to the car by his hand as he looks back in case your parents walked out, "Was I not supposed to knock? I didn’t know."

You glance at your door when you turn to him, looking up with a smile. "It’s okay, I just didn’t want my mom to start yapping on if she saw you, we’d both we there for hours." Matt nods at your explanation, forgetting about the flowers in his hand when he actually looks at you.

His eyes trail up and down to check you out, the way your skirt clung to your hips was enough to make his head spin and cock twitch. Matt couldn’t believe that tonight he was the one you were all dressed up pretty for and the thought made his tummy swirl. He felt more nervous after realising he was staring.

Luckily you didn’t even notice because you were doing the exact same thing. Your eyes trained on the chain around his neck before they glance all the way down to the rings on his hands and that’s when you see the sweet smelling flowers. You try to ignore the veins popping out from how tight he was holding them. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck

"These are for you,"

Matt holds out the flowers and you grab them off of him, fingers brushing against his as you beam. "This is really sweet, Matt. You didn’t have to do all of this," you couldn’t believe you were already blushing over some flowers and Matt just shakes his head with a smile, "I wanted to, don’t worry."

There’s a pause when Matt just looks down at you, bashful smiles on both of your faces and he liked the way your eyes looked more light with the sunset in your face. Now, there was tension in the air surrounding the two of you.

"Well thank you, really." Your voice was genuine but small, turning shy under Matt’s gaze as you avoid his eyes by looking at the flowers in awe.

"C’mon, let’s go." You look up and see Matt holding the passenger door open, "get in." He nods his head and you comply, leaning down to get in the car and immediately smelling his natural scent. It was nice, sort of safe.

"Where are we even going anyways?"

—

"Oh my god! You’re such a cheat!"

A loud set of giggles escape your mouth when you see Matt get more and more aggravated from the game of mini golf. He hides his own smile whilst shaking his head, focusing on getting his blue ball into the hole where your red one was already in, sitting nicely. "I am not!"

The fluorescent lights from the Ferris wheel was reflecting down on both of your faces, brightening the whole mini golf course in multicolours and it made the whole experience better. The amusement park was really busy for a Saturday night so when you both arrived, Matt used the excuse of 'not wanting to lose you' to hold your hand. It was silly but it made you smile anyways.

You then spent the next two hours holding his hand, laughing and competing against each other in those little mini game stalls that gave you a teddy as a prize. But Matt had won you a little heart keychain that already held so much significance to you already, you knew you'd keep it forever. He then dragged you on a couple of rollercoaster rides with the promise that you could drag him into mini golf afterwards.

Matt didn't realise that you were actually really good at it.

"I'm gonna get this next one, just watch." After throwing you a promising look, Matt focuses on the ball and you grin at the way his tongue poked out in concentration before he hits it with his little matching blue club and it finally goes into the hole. "See? Told you," his eyes light up when he looks back up at you with a smug smile on his face and you match his excitement, naturally wrapping your arms around his shoulders for a hug. "I knew you could!"

Matt's heart flutters for the 100th time tonight and he completely melts into your touch, wrapping his hands around your waist tightly. Your bodies swayed together in a moment of celebration and Matt could feel how warm you were against him.

"But guess what?" You both pulled away but you still kept yourself close when you look up at Matt with a playful smile and twinkling eyes that made him adore you, "what?" He knew full well what but seemed to find himself enjoying entertaining your banter in the last few hours.

"I still win," you let out a soft chuckle at his teasing glare, positively ignoring the way his simple touch made you feel so alive when you hugged. "Do you?" Matt questions quietly, tilting his head to the side that made you mirror his expression. Before you could answer, his hands were wrapped back around your waist and tickling your sides.

To an outsiders perspective, you and Matt looked like a young and happy couple that were very much in love with one another. The way your bodies just naturally gravitated towards each other so easily with either a simple touch or a quick glance seemed normal.

Matt was comforting. And he made you feel safe in every sense of the meaning. It was difficult to describe how you felt right now because you didn't understand it whatsoever but you knew you could be your genuine self and that's what mattered the most. You just had no idea how to tell him or if you should say anything at all.

"Ah! Stop! I can't breathe!"

Matt lets out a loud laugh, letting go of your body to almost keel over in laughter at the snort that just appeared in the middle of giggles. Your cheeks burn in embarrassment, eyes wide as you hold your cheeks in complete disbelief that Matt just heard your ugly laugh on the first date. "Oh my god! Pretend you didn't hear that."

"No way that just happened," Matt calms his laughter, looking at the way your cheeks burned red and smiling. He knew you were embarrassed but he didn’t want you to be, it was cute.

But in hopes to make you feel better, he quickly changed the subject.

Turning to grab the golf balls, he walks over to throws an arm around your shoulder and pulls you close. "C’mon, let’s go winner." You jokingly poke his side that makes him flinch and it makes you both laugh, "you’re such an idiot."

—

It had maybe been a half hour later and more smiles and small touches had been shared over some cinnamon churros. The sky was pitch black now and the air was colder. The amusement park was becoming more packed with teenagers and college kids instead of the typical families with their small children.

You could tell that Matt was more comfortable around you now in comparison to when he first picked you up. Conversation was easy with him, talking about anything or anyone and still finding it interesting. You learned more about the sports he played and his family and friends.

The conversations never expanded any deeper than casual and it was actually a relief. For some reason you wanted to find things about Matt through time and peeling back layers the more you got to know each other. You liked it better that way because it was real to you.

"Oh look! There’s a photobooth,"

Matt’s eyes looked away from you to glance at whatever you were pointing at in hopes you didn’t catch him staring and was thankful for the colourful string lights scattered above you that cleverly hid his blush. His fingers brushed softly against yours when you walked side by side, itching to touch you.

He had been stealing shy glances at you all night and kept thinking about how he could ask you out again after the night was over. But all night his anxious mind had tried to betray him and things like holding your hand needed a lot of courage to do despite the relieved feeling afterwards.

"You wanna go?" His hands twitched at his sides and when you look back at Matt with a smile, his mind went blank when you grabbed his hand this time with such ease. "C’mon," you dragged him towards the empty photobooth, quickly dodging the crowds of people in your way in hopes it’ll stay empty. "Excuse me! Thank you!"

Your hand was still holding his when you looked past the beige curtain and down at the tiny seat that was supposed to fit the both of you. "Oh."

Matt entwined his hand away from yours to slip past you and sit on the seat, manspreading and tapping his lap. "Come here," you watch in awe and the low tone of his voice gives you no choice but to lower yourself down on his thigh, fiddling with the ends of your skirt shyly. "Is this okay?"

Matt didn’t answer and just pulled the curtain shut and leaving you both under shitty, dim lights and away from everyone’s eyes.

"Are you okay?" His voice soft when he looks back at you, glancing at your lips and back to your eyes. Your heart races from the closeness and you just let out a strangled hum, "mhm." You nod.

Matt just gives you a cocky grin, "good." The heat between your legs throbs when his arm wraps around your waist and rests on your bare thigh to toy with the bottom of your skirt. He leans over to touch the screen, tightening his grip on your body and you could barely focus.

You were convinced he knew what he was doing and the worst thing about it was that it felt right. You didn’t want anything like this to happen tonight, if anything, nothing sexual at all with Matt because you were scared of losing something you never had.

But whatever this was felt different.

"You ready?" You blinked at him, an arm wrapped around his neck when he just looks at you. A look so simple that made you feel so much. "Yeah," you try to disregard your thoughts for the next five minutes of happiness.

Matt caught you by surprise when he squished your face for the first photo and just before the light flashed, you squished his face too. The two of you trying to smile at the camera with your hands wrapped around each other’s faces.

"Funny faces?" You suggested for the next photo, blissfully unaware of Matt’s hand coming over your head when he nods in agreement. The second shot is with Matt sticking his tongue out and looking at your cross eyes and your pout, trying not to laugh at the bunny ears.

Afterwards, you both just laughed together.

"Hey, look at me," Matt whispers and gently grabs your jaw to pull your face towards his, the small smile on your face disappearing when your eyes meet. Your skin turned hot when his fingers began stroking up and down your thigh lightly, making your skirt shift further up your hips. "Yeah?" You felt breathless.

Neither of you realise the camera just took another shot because all Matt could focus on was the need to kiss you. He was already half hard in his jeans just from you sitting on his lap and he could feel the cotton of your panties rub against his thigh. You were driving him crazy.

Matt really did want to kiss you more than anything and he knew you did too with the way you leaned closer and fluttered your eyes but he just couldn't. He had no idea why and it was frustrating, he felt like a complete coward. Why can't he just kiss you?

Your face drops when Matt lets out a frustrated sigh, dropping his hand and leaning his head into your neck to close his eyes. "You're so beautiful," he whines softly and you can feel him leave a quick peck to your skin which makes you feel weak so you look down at him in confusion. "Is something wrong?" You ask lowly.

When Matt looks into your eyes, you could see how his pupils were blown out and it was captivating. For a moment you're convinced he's either going to tell you what's up or kiss you when his lips part but nothing happens and you feel confused. "Matt?"

The loud speaker of an AI voice cuts you both off to let you know that your photos have been printed and to leave the booth. You let out a sigh when Matt immediately stands up, gently pushing you off his lap and pulling the curtain back open. You couldn't even focus on anything else when you follow after Matt like a puppy.

"Matt?" You call after him when you see that he was walking away, "Where are you going?" Pulling back his tattooed arm to make him look at your frown and you notice the strip of photos of you both in his hand. You couldn't figure out what he was thinking with the way he was looking down at you. "I thought we were having a good night."

In reality, Matt felt embarrassed. His mind was working in overdrive and wouldn't blame you if you thought he was an asshole. He was angry at himself for leading you on like that because that was never his intention. He really did want to kiss you and touch you without worrying constantly about little things.

"Let me take you home, yeah?"

Matt spoke softly but didn't wait for an answer from you before walking through the carpark and you once again had no other choice but to follow after him. You didn't want to end the night like this. You refused to.

"I don't want to go home yet," Matt hears you whisper and feels your hand pulling on his arm again so he turns back around to glance down at you. He sighs when he sees the dejected look in your eyes but the touch of your fingers trailing his tattoos makes his head spin and now he could only think about one thing.

"Get in the car."

The low hum of Matt's playlist was playing quietly when he drives into an empty carpark, surrounded by nothing but trees. Since the Photobooth incident, neither of you have talked and you're pretty sure Matt hasn't even looked your way. "Where are we?"

There’s a pause that makes you look at Matt properly. You knew he wanted to say something with the look on his face and you felt bad. It was like one moment the two of you were having the best night ever to being in awkward silence.

"I’m sorry."

You didn’t know why Matt was apologising to you because there was nothing to apologise for, not really anyways. You weren’t that much of a bitch to get angry at him for what happened earlier because it was clear there was more to it.

"You don’t have to say -

"I like you, okay?" This catches you off guard - even after all of the hand holding and longing glances tonight - it doesn't stop the fluttery feeling in your gut from hearing it out loud.

"I really really like you." Matt's voice breaks in desperation and you look at him staring at his front wheel like it's the most interesting thing ever. The light in the car was dimly lit so it was hard to read Matt's expression from the angle you're sitting at.

Matt doesn’t give you a second to reply, "and every second of this night has been like heaven and now i feel like such an asshole for leading you on like that because that was never my intention. I would never do that to you."

Finally, your eyes meet.

"I really did want to kiss you." The needy tone in his voice was driving you crazy and your body slowly gravitated towards his over the console. Matt never took his eyes off of you, eyes glancing at your lips when you speak. "It’s okay."

The way you’re looking at him now was enough for Matt to grab your face and bring your lips to his. You can feel the coldness of his rings on your skin when his tongue slips into your mouth and it makes you whimper, clenching your thighs together and reaching for Matt.

A strangled groan escapes his throat when he feels your hand pulling on his hair and he has to stop himself from dragging you on his lap. The low music playing in the background is drowned out by your lips smacking together and all of the pent up feelings Matt's had all night has just rushed straight to his dick. He had to pull away.

"Fuck." Matt mumbles and you watch him try to adjust his jeans, lifting his hips and pulling on the waistband. Your lips are plumper than usual and you slowly wipe them with a small smile when Matt looks over at you, "You're driving me crazy."

You know Matt's hard when you glance back down but you're taken by surprise when you really see how big he is. His rushed attempt of tucking it into his waistband was a failure. Matt knows you've seen how hard he was and it makes him blush. When he feels your hand trailing up and down his arm, it makes his breath hitch and that makes you smirk, "You're so cute."

"Shut up." He's smiling when he kisses you again and it does in fact shut you up. The kiss turns from sweet and tender to rough and needy in a second. Once you feel Matt's hands trail from your face and down your body, you're the first one to initiate more when you grab his hand and guide it between your thighs.

Matt pulls away and with half-lidded eyes, he looks down to see your legs spread and your flipped skirt covering his hand. "You're so wet," he chuckles softly when you moan, eyes rolling back when his fingers touch you through your panties. "This is what you do to me."

"Do you-" Matt stops mid sentence when you begin to kiss down his neck and pulls away to look at you properly, "Do you wanna go in the backseat?" You notice how blown out his pupils look and it makes his eyes darker in the dim light and you imagine looking at them every morning as you both lay together with the warm light reflecting through the windows.

Matt gets nervous at your silence.

"We don't have to, I don't expect anything from you if that's what you're wondering." He reassures, not wanting to say the wrong thing and scare you off. In all honesty, Matt didn't expect anything like this to happen when he kissed you but this was in the moment and for some reason it felt right. But he'd never make you do anything you weren't comfortable with. "I can just take you home if that's -

"I want to." You cut him off.

"Yeah?" Matt sighs with relief and he smiles when you nod. "Yeah." You mirror his smile and with a quick kiss to your lips, you watch him unbuckle his seatbelt and climb into the backseat with such ease that makes you wonder if he's done this before.

"C'mere." Matt taps his lap and you glance down at his dick once more before climbing over the seats to go to him. In your perfectly awkward fashion, you end up practically tripping into Matt's lap and he quickly grabs the back of your thighs to steady you as you both giggle quietly together. "Sorry." You whisper.

"You really are beautiful," The way he looks up at you feels so intimate and sincere that it makes you think that nobody has ever looked at you like Matt does and that realisation was scary yet so endearing. "I bet you say that to all of the girls you seduce into the backseat of your car," You joke with a playful eye roll and it makes him laugh.

"I really like you."

"I really like you too."

You can't wipe the grin on your face when Matt leans up to kiss you, his hands trailing around your body. "And you're the only girl I've ever seduced into the backseat of my car," he whispers against your lips before kissing you softly, the both of your eyes fluttering closed.

Your hands wander down his chest to the bottom of his shirt when your tongues swirl together and you can still taste the sweet cinnamon on his tongue from earlier. When you feel Matt's hands moving up your thighs slowly, you begin to tug off his shirt and he pulls away from the kiss to take it off and throw it on the floor.

"You too." Matt whispers and his hands are playing with the hem of your dress, looking up at you to make sure if that's what you want. Your heart is pounding when you lift yourself up off Matt's lap to take off your dress that leaves you in your matching lace set and when you see his eyes light up, it makes you feel better.

"Is this okay?"

"More than okay." Matt reassures softly and his touch feels ten times hotter now you're half naked that it makes you feel goosebumps. He leans up to kiss your chest and his hands find themselves back between your thighs and it all feels so overwhelming in the best way possible. "Can I touch you?" The way he asks makes you melt.

"Mhm, please." You beg with your head nodding and grinding your hips into his hand. "Please touch me, Matt." Your desperateness makes his cock twitch and he ignores it with a smirk, gently pulling your thong to the side and running a finger through your folds before finding your clit and that makes your thighs twitch when you drop your head on his shoulder with a whine, "Fuck."

"You’re so needy for me." He says so smugly, easily slipping two fingers in you and feeling how wet you are. You reply with moan, riding your hips when he curls it upwards and he can feel you squeeze around him and Matt can’t wait till you’re doing the same thing around his cock.

When Matt starts rubbing his thumb against your clit at the same time, you’re moving your hands down to his clothed crotch and feeling how hard he is. He groans lowly when your hand wraps around his print, "and I’m needy?"

"Don’t tease me." His fingers slip out of you to grip onto your thighs tightly and you begin to undo his belt and jeans. "Let me show you how much I like you, okay?" Matt lifts his hips up to pull down his pants when you drop to your knees, staring up at him through your lashes and playing with the waistband of his boxers. "Okay."

Matt lets out a moan of relief and throws his head back when you finally pull them down and take his dick in your mouth. He didn't think you could get any prettier but seeing you like this was heavenly – it was like all of his 14 year old fantasies coming true.

"Oh my god, sweetheart." You feel Matt's hands grabbing your hair and gently moving it out of your face so he could really look at you. You hum with his cock in your mouth and when he moans from the vibrations, you try to go deeper and you can feel his tip at the back of your throat and the salty taste of his pre-cum makes you choke. "Fuck. You don't have to do that."

"I wanted to." You smile sweetly and look up at Matt, watching the way he licks his lips when you rub your thumb against his swollen red tip and a strangled noise escapes his throat. Your knees are beginning to hurt but just before you could wrap your mouth around him again, Matt is holding your face and pulling you back up to his face.

"I really want to fuck you." Matt whispers lowly when he leans up to kiss your neck and just before you straddle him again, his hands are pulling your thong down your legs and toying with the lace on it. "Let me ride you." You whisper and Matt feels his heart race at the way you're looking at him as if he had no choice but to let you.

A small squeal leaves your throat when Matt pulls you on his lap abruptly and you both chuckle lowly before you're grabbing his face and kissing his lips as if your life depended on it.

His hands come up to undo your bra and when it comes off a few seconds later, you definitely know he's done this before. You grind your hips so you can feel his tip rub against your clit that feels so good that you pull away from the kiss to moan.

Matt's breathless when his hands grip your hips, helping you grind against him and feeling you get wetter by the second, "I don't have a condom." When he says this, you don't really think it through stupidly enough and just shake your head. "It's okay. I'm on the pill." This moment felt too nice to just stop and Matt just went along with it – obviously thinking with his dick.

When Matt finally thrusts up into you, the stretch stings and you've really underestimated how big he is because he already feels so deep. It was one thing having him in your mouth but when he's fucking up into you like this felt so much more intense and you couldn't tell if you were just really cock drunk or completely in love.

Probably both.

"Fuck, I swear this pussy was made for me."

Definitely both.

"It's yours." You moan when you ride your hips on his dick, pushing him down on the seat and Matt is in amazement when he looks up at you with flushed cheeks. His hands are trailing up and down your body, wanting to touch everywhere all at once when he leans up to try and kiss you. "All yours." You whisper and his lips are on yours.

The kiss is messy, hot and passionate all at once and when your movements gets faster, you're practically moaning into each other's mouths. The car slowly moves with rhythm and you subconsciously pray nobody can see from outside even if it's dark because it's really obvious with the steamed up windows around you both.

Matt notices the way your thighs begin to shake and the way your bouncing becomes quicker, "Are you gonna cum?"

You let out a mix between a hum and a moan, nodding your head when you feel your legs begin to burn. But just as you feel the familiar tightness in your tummy, Matt's holding your waist tightly and thrusting up so hard into you, it makes you cum instantly and you gush around him.

The music playing softly in the background is drowned out by your loud moans and Matt has a smug smirk on his face when your eyes roll back and your orgasm takes over until he feels his own. In all honestly, he was ready to bust the minute he was inside you but he had to make you cum first. It was a priority.

In your post orgasm haze, you don't even feel Matt lifting you off his dick until you see his cum spurting out onto his hand and tummy. "Mhm, fuck." Rolling his head back, Matt groans lowly and it makes your pussy flutter when you watch breathlessly.

The two of you are covered in a thin layer of sweat with flushed skin and neither of you care about the smell of sex surrounding you from being too high off of the pheromones. A part of you is shocked that you've just fucked someone on the first date but the other part is okay with it because it's Matt.

Matt. Matt. Matt.

"Did you really mean it?"

You blink to see Matt looking down at his hands on your body, tracing shapes on your hips gently. "Hm? What?" You swallow and he gulps, slowly looking up into your eyes, "Did you mean it? When you said you're all mine?" You can tell he's nervous when he asks this, almost afraid of your response, and your hands fall on top of his. "Yeah."

He hides his smile and you speak up again, "Did you want me to mean it?" Matt locks his fingers into yours when he nods, "Yeah."

You smile happily and lean in to kiss him softly, being careful of the mess between the two of you. It was a sweet kiss with a lot of feelings shown behind it, the type that makes you feel butterflies and never forget for a long time because it really meant something.

"'Good. Because I really want to do this again." Even after that kiss and the hottest sex you've ever had in your life, you're still nervous to bring up the idea of a second date but Matt's face just lights up. "Oh I'm definitely taking you out again. Don't worry about that."

He sounds cocky and it makes you laugh, running a hand through his messy hair and making it even messier. "I'm really looking forward to it." Matt pokes at your blushing cheeks with a small smile, appreciating the way you sound so sweet and genuine talking about seeing him again.

It felt hopeful.

There's so much Matt wants to say but now he knew there was more time. This definitely wasn't a one off thing and deep down he knew this wasn't just a crush either. He's not even sure if it ever was just a 'crush' because how could anyone just have a crush on you?

That was impossible.

"Does this mean you'll seduce me into the backseat of your car on the second date?" You joke playfully, holding back your laughter with a silly grin and when Matt laughs, so do you.

"You're an idiot." There’s a pause.

"But if you're lucky," He says lowly once you both stop laughing and you just tilt your head in response, "You'll end up in my bed."

"Is that a promise?"

"Yep."

#matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fic #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fluff #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #nick sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #–stargirl fics

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seiwas · 8 months

Text

₊˚⊹｡ i'll be good to you | nanami kento

wc: 1.5k

summary: nanami’s half-hoping you call a fourth time.

contains: implied f!reader but no mention of pronouns, exes, mentions of alcohol, swears, reader wears makeup and heels, drunk calls, a bit angsty and a bit hurt/no comfort but it isn’t all that sad i think

a/n: this ran away from me again! but this is a brainchild from me and @augustinewrites, with song inspos: you were good to me, tequila, bourbon, and already gone

part of the in's and out's new year/birthday event | request prompt: calling your ex drunk at two a.m. with feelings still stuck in your throat

you are here -> part 2

Nanami moves in numbers.

It comes with his personality—practical and efficient, forward thinking.

Predicting deals from 9-to-5 looks a lot different from dealing deaths by a ratio of 7:3, but the tactics remain the same, the stakes still high; every move is precise and calculated, analyzed to be accurate.

So he’d known—the day he decided to pick up his blade again was the day he’d deal his final blow—at you, and the relationship you built together.

A strategic takedown of something he deemed doomed from the start.

That’s what he wants you to think, at least.

When his phone rings three times—the first in the middle of lecturing Yuuji, the second while going overtime underground, and the third just moments ago, bleeding out on a bathroom counter, Nanami realizes that the probability of him ever speaking to you again, alive and breathing, is a number he can’t predict.

So he waits, linen pants and a cotton shirt while sporting a drink by his kitchen counter.

Strangely, he’s full of hope, half-good and half-bad—that you’ll call back; that you won’t. The line between the two blurs.

It always has with you.

A friendly face—that’s all you were supposed to be; his work neighbor a few cubicles down his. It started with polite nods, a few casual waves, maybe even small smiles on a good day. Your schedule was terrible, much like his—one of the first ones to arrive and the last ones to leave.

Then, you finally moved past just a friendly hello; something about bread, he recalls, an attempt to exchange recipes on sourdough. It started then, with you leaving a cup of coffee on his desk and he saving an ‘extra’ sub for you.

(Except, it’s never an ‘extra’ with Nanami; he’d never do anything miscalculated.)

Suddenly, you’re the first face he looks for in the morning, and he’s the last person you check on before clocking out at night.

For a while, he didn’t know what to call you—a coworker? Friend? Someone he has dinner with at 12 midnight?

You set it straight after the seventh ‘date’.

Now, when his phone rings the fourth time, he picks up.

You’re cursing on the line, the sound of metal clinking on tile muffled in the background.

He waits for you to talk, half-hopeful and half-nervous at hearing you speak.

You always used to drop your keys by his door—your haphazard way of looking for his amongst five of yours.

“Shit,” you grumble, the lock finally clicking open.

He hears your footsteps, the sound of your heels landing as if they’ve been hastily kicked off.

A party, perhaps? Or a night out?

There’s a funny feeling that sits in his stomach when he thinks about you coming home from a date, one he knows he no longer has a right to.

It should be good, he thinks, you’re moving on.

He stares at his glass, liquor blurring into ice—brown edges fading into something lighter, near transparent. For a moment, he wonders if this was a mistake, if you hadn’t meant to call him at all. He’s considering putting the phone down to save you the embarrassment.

But—

“Finally,” you spit out, clumsy and a little too honest.

To anyone else, you’d sound normal, but Nanami’s known you for years, has loved you for just as much, and this sounds a lot like the version of you that’s lost track of how many you’ve had to drink—the same one he’s had to tuck in bed, with your arms clinging onto his neck while dragging him under the covers with you.

He takes a sip.

“Was starting t’think you died or sum’in.”

It’s impossible for you to know the truth, he’s made sure of that—it’s why he let you go in the first place.

“Someone offered to buy me a drink t’night,” you mumble, wood scraping against your floorboards. The exhaustion in your voice is palpable.

He has no idea why you’re telling him this.

“I asked f’r bourbon,” you breathe, shaky, “on the rocks, because—”

That’s what he always got, what he introduced to you when you asked him why he likes it so much. 2 ounces of bourbon for a ball of ice, with time as an aid, mellowing its intensity to flavors of smoky caramel, vanilla, and a touch of spice.

He gives a lowly hum, swirling the drink in front of him.

“Was it good?”

(The drink, the date. The potential new guy.)

There’s silence on the other end of the line, too long to be considered thoughtless. His watch counts the seconds.

“Not as,” you finally answer.

Another bout of silence.

He wonders what you look like, if you’re wearing that lipstick you know is his favorite; if you still smell like the closest thing he’s ever had to a home. Do you still keep an extra handkerchief in your purse? That obnoxious cow print he now uses to remind him of the life he used to know?

You sniffle.

“You fucked me up, Kento.”

He knows.

“How c’n you say this… is what’s best f’me when it hurts this much?” you hiccup, a sob caught in your throat.

When Nanami ended things with you, he gave himself 30 minutes. Any less, he would have regretted it, and any more, he would have taken it all back.

“Y’re so unfair,” you breathe out shakier than the last, broken more than anything, “din’t ev’n ask me what I wanted.”

He knows.

And he supposes he deserves this, aching at the way you fall apart on the line.

He takes another sip, longer and fuller, dragging out his gulp.

“I still love you,” you weep, voice unsteady, “and I f’cking hate you for that, y’know?”

Your words burn more than the alcohol down his throat.

His eyes start to sting, brown glossing over. There was a time when your ‘I love you’s’ gave him reason to wake up in the morning; when they got him through the day and lulled him to sleep at night.

But this one, this time, he knows, will haunt him for the rest of his life.

(He’s never wanted anything more than to say it back to you, right now.)

“I apologize.” the words come out stiff, squeezed out as he puts down his glass.

“I know,” you scoff, managing a chuckle while sniffling, “like that’ll do ‘nythin though.”

Nanami clenches his jaw, fingers tightening around his drink. You always were the perfect bite to his snark, acknowledging things straight up, as is.

And you always had a hunch of how things would end up.

You know that this call is pointless, that he won’t take you back by the end of it. You also know that each and every one of his decisions comes from a series of calculated predictions, that once he makes up his mind, there’s no changing it. You know how Nanami works, that he moves in numbers.

Except, you never know his reasons—that the truth of all this is that he’s sworn to himself that he’ll be good to you. There’s no point being with an empty man, and dragging you into the dangers of sorcery would be cruel, even more unfair to you.

The line is quiet for a while, filled only with your attempts at steadying your breathing.

“Did you drink enough water?” he asks, a little out of nowhere but completely in place.

You snort, pushing back your chair, “Shouldn’t say things like that,” your footsteps are picked up by the mic, “makes it sound like y’care.”

He hears you gulp a glass down on the line, lips curling into a sad smile.

“D’me a favor?” you slur, followed by a yawn.

He hums.

“Stay on ‘til I fall’sleep?”

And for once, he doesn’t think so hard about it. This small thing can’t possibly skew the damage he’s already caused you.

“Okay.”

A creak sounds from your end, the sofa you both used to spend your weekends on; it’s been thoroughly broken in, love seeping through each crevice and dip. It’s selfish, but he hopes you still feel him through it—giving you a safe place to rest, soft and tender in keeping you close when he can’t.

You shuffle, pillows muffling the microphone as you move around; then you mumble, sleep-laden, “Don’t forget to turn the lights off.”

It shouldn’t affect him this much, but the reminder calls back every instance you’ve ever said it to him: whispers over his shoulder, while dragging your feet away from his home office; a peck to the tip of his ear before nuzzling his neck while he reads; a shout from your bed, for him to hear within the echoes of the bathroom walls.

You both have terrible sleep from odd hours at the office, but nightmares have always persisted with him more. Turning off the lights was a reassurance, a quiet ‘I love you’—a reminder that it was okay to fall asleep, you’d be there when he wakes.

His eyes zero in on the light switch to his right, humming his response.

The call runs for 31 minutes.

a/n: other tidbits i wasn't able to include—reader is able to hold liquor well, and used to drink with nanami often but doesn't understand the appeal of his preferred drinks; reader is able to go head-to-head with nanami's personality but is also a lot more vibrant and loud; reader also doesn't know about the jujutsu world (in case it wasn't obvious). i also envision nanami becoming less himself towards the end of their relationship, which is also when he starts considering going back to sorcery.

thank you notes: big thank you to @augustinewrites for half-mothering this fic 🥺 what would i do without your sad ideas and songs to match!! and to @mysugu and @soumies for ofc!! listening to me talk abt this all the time lol

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #kento nanami x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #kento x reader #nanami x yn #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #nanami kento x yn #nanami kento x you #shotorus.writes #shotorus.events #in's and out's event

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mikashisus · 6 days

Text

HSR MEN WITH AS IT IS SONGS !

PAIRINGS: dan heng, aventurine, sunday, jing yuan, blade x gn!reader

CWS: angst

NOTES: all of u can blame gwen and jun for the dan heng section. anyw ive been so hyperfixated on as it is lately bc they just announced they’re coming back from hiatus and RAHHHH IM SO EXCITED, ive been waiting so longgg i missed the pookies sm <//3 ermm this is not proofread sorry for any errors !!

WC: 1.1k

THE FIRE, THE DARK — DAN HENG

“she’s all i want, now that i’m on my own, now that she’s really gone” …

on the days where his mind wasn’t occupied with the data bank or memories of his past life, his thoughts always drifted to you.

you, who always kept him warm with your body heat. you, who always filled the express with constant laughter and chatter. you, who never failed to distract him from his work. your smile that could light up an entire room and your joyful presence that beckoned others to you.

but he let you slip through his fingers. and now, his bed was cold and so was he. his room was quiet, almost devoid of life except for his soft breathing. the parlor car was empty, except for welt and himeko’s occasional whispers. breakfasts weren’t any fun anymore, not when you weren’t there to rile up march and shout “food fight!”

his life was dull without you, the fire that kept him going. now there was a different fire, but it didn’t burn as bright as you. it never would. now that you were gone, traveling elsewhere in the cosmos, you were all he ever wanted.

DIAL TONES — AVENTURINE

“i’ll mend your heart and break it in the same breath, all we ever share are dial tones” …

another night of the same shit. you had been waiting for the inevitable ringtone that always sounded when he called you.

same time every night without fail. sometimes, he wouldn’t call at all. he’d blow off your dates and then gift you things you didn’t need to try and make up for it. but all you really wanted was to spend time with him.

you waited, cuddling a plushie he gifted you to your chest. the clock struck midnight and still no call. you were just about to give up and call it a night, when your phone screen lit up and the caller id displayed his name. you eagerly sat up, reaching for your phone, when you suddenly paused.

he was going to recite the same words. you could feel it. you let your hand drop back onto your bed and sighed as you turned your back to your phone. you wouldn’t answer. not tonight.

when you woke up the next morning, his side of the bed was still empty, but a small note rested on his pillow. you picked it up, only to see the same lame half-assed apology he always gave. you crumpled up the piece of paper and grabbed your phone, dialing his number.

THE HANDWRITTEN LETTER — SUNDAY

“i need you when i’m bruised, i need you when i’m broken” …

he fell from grace. he was no longer the esteemed head of the oak family. he was now… a fallen angel. a fugitive of penacony.

and yet, he came crawling to you for help again. even now, when he knew that involving you meant you would be a fugitive too. but he needed you— needed your smile, your laugh, your presence, your embrace. everything about you.

you always healed him when he felt broken and bruised. you always welcomed him into your home without question, tending to his broken state of mind and allowing him a moment of solace from the outside world.

he knocked thrice, waiting for the door to the shop to swing open like it always did. but there was no answer from the other side, no sign of life. he knocked again, only to realize the sign in the window. the shop was closed, and sold.

you were gone. you didn’t tell him you were leaving. why didn’t you tell him? why didn’t you stay when he so clearly needed you?

he fished out his beaten up phone and sent you a text, only for it to not go through.

THE TRUTH I’LL NEVER TELL — JING YUAN

“how long's it been, it must be months, i swear this time I meant to keep in touch, like always” …

how long has it been? months? years?

he swore he’d keep in touch with you even after you moved to the yaoqing, yet he never took that one step to sending you a text or dialing your number.

it was slowly getting harder for him. his mental health was getting worse. all of his past friends were showing up again, all of them completely different from the people they used to be. they were familiar faces, yet he didn’t recognize any of them.

you were the only one thing that stayed constant in his life before you also left. you moved, and you slowly changed, just like everyone else.

he wondered if you moved on, found a new partner, had kids…

he could easily text you, or call, and ask to catch up sometime. but he was scared. you’d ask about his wellbeing, and he wouldn’t be able to tell you because he didn’t want you to feel disappointed. he didn’t want you to feel guilty for leaving him by himself.

you sent him texts. he read each one. he’d reread them when he missed you terribly. yet, he couldn’t find the courage to reply. you sent him letters once in a while, yet none of them told of how your own life was going. you always asked about him. how he’s been, how yanqing was doing, how fu xuan was faring.

you asked about dan feng once, and that was the only time he responded, telling of his reincarnation. that was the last and only time he replied.

PATCHWORK LOVE — BLADE

“i won’t forget you, i won’t regret through the pain, the years i gave to you” …

he knows you used to love him, but you don’t anymore. you loved who he used to be.

yingxing was the man you fell in love with once upon a time. it’s been years since then. did he even remember that time? you did. you oh so clearly did.

whenever you reconnected, you’d bring it up. you’d talk about all the things you two used to do, where you’d go, the holidays you spent together. it seemed as if your head was filled entirely of memories from the past. as if your heart still beat for the man he used to be, when all he used to do was smile. when all he said to you were words of love and encouragement.

but it’s been years since then. and he was not the same man you knew. he was mara-struck, his mental health unstable and teetering on the edge of insanity at every moment.

yet, you seemed to be the same. somehow. you’d text him now and then, and he knew you felt guilty for what happened, even though it wasn’t your fault in the slightest. he never blamed you for anything.

you’d ask to meetup, and when you did, he saw how you were almost the exact same as you used to be. just, now, your eyes were duller, no longer filled with that wonder he always loved the most about you.

you talked of how your life was going. you were faring well— way better than he was. you had kids. they were all grown up with families of their own. your heart no longer beat for him. it seemed as if you finally moved on.

he wouldn’t ever forget you. he swore he wouldn’t. not when thoughts of you kept him sane. although the past you shared was no more, he still felt himself again when he was with you. as if nothing changed.

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luvrsux · 1 year

Text

“Obsession”

word count: 3.8k

summary: you started off as a bartender at some rundown club until a mafia group infiltrated your job unexpectedly but the leader himself grows quite keen to you

cw//tw: nsfw!! shooting, mentions of murder/killing, creampie, oral, praising, obsession

disclaimer: im in no way romantizating mafia/mafia gang organizations. this is for entertainment purposes only

On a rather lustful, midnight weekend, you were working as a waitress at a night men’s club, minding your own business serving customers while they gawked at the skimpy dancers on steel poles. The club was a rather expensive one, where people of riches and fortune could express it by merely breathing. Despite the town, your job paid you a terrible rate. You’ve grown to hate your job. Sure, security helped and protected the slim dancers on the poles with precision but it, unfortunately, didn’t apply for you. Your body would get catcalled and often groped unwontedly. You lost track of the number of bruises and nosebleeds you gave the disgusting men that lounged in your workplace.

You then heard a blood-curdling scream in front of the dimly lit building. The sheer amount of terror on the feminine shriek made your heart drop miles into the Earth’s core, watching a half-naked woman running out of the building flailing her arms before a bullet spiked straight there her skull.

Whatever beverage stood on your black tray immediately crashed into the carpeted floor upon watching the horrid scene. People pushed past you to escape the chance of ending up in the poor woman’s shoes. Your total shell-shocked state was the very reason you crashed onto the ground by the taller, broad bodies colliding with you. You winced in pain when your body landed in a not-so-comfortable position causing your ankle to sprain.

Before you knew it, the building attracted more corpses when the culprit watched the population pour out of the building. The person sure was trigger-happy. Tears swelled your eyes but you still managed to trace the figure of the man now holding a pistol.

“That’s enough, Yasopp” A voice, that was oddly soothing. Your heart pumped out of your chest once you eyed the man now approaching you. He had two other men sprout behind him like a plantation.

“What do we have here?”

He crouched to your level, analyzing your figure. You held your now unavailable foot, completely defenseless. Even if you tried to run, the man now named Yasopp would shoot you down with his eyes closed. You gulped.

“You’re cute” You saw a grin appear on his lips, as well as bright crimson hair. He had an index finger and thumb pull your chin up to his face. Pure terror overcame you.

“I know you hate this shitty job, love. Why don’t you come with me and I’ll show you an entirely new world”

Now here you are

It was a dark, midnight rainy night on Friday. The building you were being driven to was laying in only the most expensive city in the country. There were blinding lights all around, nearly suffocating your vision. The window tints only helped so much.

What made this specific Friday night so different was you were approaching the head of the Red-Haired Mafia group. This was a weekly thing, every night you’d be escorted in a rather ominous sleek, black limo quietly to his grand mansion for a quick “meeting”.

You wore a tight slim dress that provocatively opened at your chest. It barely reached the middle of your thighs, the hem that is. Your neck glistened with the jewels the boss kindly gifted you. The giant fur coat covering your shoulders was also a generous token from the redhead, making it especially sacred considering he delivered it to you not only in person but on your birthday. Your sugar-coated gifts were usually left at your door to avoid being detained by the federal authorities, so the coat was something you’d cherished.

You’ve grown attached to the boss and everyone knew you were his weekly fling. As you admired the bright lights springing past your tinted window, a slim glass of champagne in hand, you traced back to the very first time you met. Your first impression was pure terror, but as time passed when you realized this was now your life, you’ve gotten accustomed to it.

Shanks, the boss you were fucking every weekend and in an oddly intimate relationship with, did turn your life upside down. It gave you whiplash with how fast he bought you a new house, jewels, and prizes for simply existing in a way he appreciated. You wouldn’t praise the life you were currently living, but you definitely didn’t complain. If it weren’t for Shanks, you’d still be living in that run-down, rugged apartment and that hell of a job for as long as you can remember.

You knew Shanks would kill anyone who dared to wrong you, it’s happened before. Your “favorite” was when you were at a club with the man himself. He had an arm rest around the top of the cushioned seat, underneath being you sitting there pretty as ever. Your seating was in a secluded, VIP area where absolutely no one was allowed into. Of course, you and Shanks recklessly made love in the room several times before and everyone would know.

A random extra wanted to converse with Shanks himself, putting the passionate rough lovemaking on hold for now. To this day, you wondered how a guy can be so dumb as to blatantly hit on you in front of the man himself. Not wanting to get his hands bloody and off of you, he had one of his crew members suffocate the air out of his body in a blink of an eye.

“Get rid of the body, the lady doesn’t like it” Shanks immediately ordered once the body let out a croak. His mates nodded immediately, thus having the body leave your field of vision faster than a snap of the fingers. Shanks had his remaining hand cup the side of your face to turn to him.

“You only belong to me, and I’ll gladly get rid of anyone who decides to intervene, princess,” He said with a cold smile. His demeanor did something wrong to you, but it felt so terribly right. You appreciated the way Shanks’ heart had a rope tied around your own. You knew Shanks wasn’t lying, and he kept his word ever since, even before then.

Now, usually, Shanks would greet you in the limo inside to “prepare” you for what’s to come, not only simply sharing a few drinks. Upon getting into the seats and seeing his absence, you realized how much you longed for his presence.

Shanks - 12:34 PM

Sorry for not being there, princess. I have a few things to do first xx

Was the text Shanks left you a few moments before entering the fancy vehicle. You were growing antsy about meeting him as pure usual. He’s given you the best nights of your life for as long as you can remember being in his palms. Each week you’d only have your hopes set on Friday.

You finally arrived at your destined destination. You heard your chauffeur speak on his phone, alerting your “partner” about your sudden presence. You waited patiently for someone to open your door for you to waltz out elegantly. You’ve grown used to the prissy, princess treatment. You have been letting Shanks fuck your brain out for roughly a year and some change now.

“She’s here, boss” Is all you heard before the door swung open for you to flood out. Your heels make a firecracker sound upon impact once you stood up from your seat.

“You’re a doll, Roux” You cooed, receiving a pleased smile from the bigger guy that once escorted you to the grand building before you.

You approached the front steps, passing by the grand fountain in front that spurted water in several directions—a rather perfect centerpiece for the mansion. You eyed the security guard up front.

“Where is he?” You asked.

“On his way, ma’am”

“Always keeping me waiting…”

You grumbled, stepping foot on the steps. Your stiletto heels hadn’t stopped making that fire-cracking pop sound with every preppy step. You finally gazed upon a toned, broad body appearing in front. His draped trench coat draped over his body while he wore a loose white button-up and black slacks to match. He had a pleased grin at your mere presence. The redhead snaked his hand to grab yours, placing his lips on the surface of your hand. You felt his stubble tickle your skin, making you giggle.

“I missed you, princess” He cooed, pulling you close to his body.

Shanks wrapped a prideful arm around your shoulders, the fuzziness of your expensive coat tickling his veiny, toned arm. You smiled happily.

“You say that every time, dear”

“How could I not?” You felt Shanks breathe and caress your neck through the fluff. A chill slithered down your spine.

“You always make me feel good~”

You felt his eager lips collide with your own. He proudly smudged your glossed lips when the two lips synced together passionately. Shanks didn’t care if he was in the middle of the massive foyer, he thrived nothing more than publicly proving to everyone you belonged to him—and him only.

Your arms latched around his neck, only making his hands grope the fats of your ass through your slick, black dress. Your lips parted ever so slightly, giving the eager crimson-haired man to slither his tongue to dance with your own. At this point, you two were heavily breathing in each other's mouths. You clearly longed for his touch, and it didn’t help that Shanks reciprocated that same feeling. You felt his lips detach from yours, leaving a slight feeling of disappointment lingering in your body.

“Let me take you to my office, doll” He smiled. You felt arms bring your body upward to latch around his torso. The sudden movement made a giggle escape your lips.

Shanks slammed your rear on his pricy, wooden desk that was scattered with files and papers of his targets—but who was paying attention to any of that? You two were going at it in each other's mouths, not parting to breathe for a single minute. Shanks's scarred hand tore off the fur that coated your body with ease, tossing it wherever in his office room.

You released a small moan once you felt his hands travel mindlessly around your body. His hands tugged down the hem of the dress that covered your chest. Your breasts poured out like a tsunami to Shanks's entertainment. A hungry hand latched onto it with force, letting yet another moan travel out your mouth.

“Fuck, princess…” Shanks breathed in your mouth from pure pleasure. His arm, without a single hesitation, cleaned everything laying on his desk to create space for your body all for his pleasure.

His thirsty lips traveled to your open neck, painting the entire canvas with bruised marks made by his mouth and teeth. Each mark made a whimper escape your now smudged lips. Your hand stroked through his crimson locks with each passing second he was on your neck.

“Lay down, baby” His voice was muffled by the marks he was mercilessly making on your body, recharging the ones that were beginning to fade from previous “meetings”.

Your back made contact with the now bare desk, fully aware of the consequences that’ll occur if you didn’t oblige. Shanks moved his hands to your lace to peel them off with complete ease. To no one’s surprise, your slit was already wet and ready for Shanks's body. He chuckled, always enjoying the view of your throbbing cunt before he completely tore through it.

Shanks didn’t even bother taking your dress off from the sheer anticipation coursing through his sadistic veins. He just crinkled it upward to make a better opening. Your head was thrown back when Shanks grabbed your thighs to lay on his broad shoulders.

All you felt was a moist tongue graze along your lips and sensitive bud with one swipe and the slight sensation of stubble. Your long moan made Shanks chuckle, sending vibrations in your body.

Shanks went back into devouring your cunt while knowing exactly where your sensitive spots lay. His tongue made sure to explore each and every crevice like it was the last meal of his lifetime. The room was filled with your messy moans and the sounds of slush slurping by Shanks’ hungry mouth.

Shanks flicked his tongue over your bud, sending a mountain peak of pleasure through your core. You shrieked, suddenly feeling that tight knot begin to snap.

“Sh- aah aah~! Im about to cum, Shanks~!” You cried. Shanks only chuckled at your, what he can only describe as pathetic, reaction, sending those vibrations through your body once more.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck~!” You cursed, spurting out your secretions all on Shanks’ stubbled mouth. Shanks pulled away with a grin and a complete log in his pants while you watched him wipe the moisture off his face with an arm, all through completely distorted and blurred eyes. Your session was far from over though.

“Your turn?” You breathed heavily from your massive orgasm. Shanks still had that, as you like to describe it, sexy grin while he unbuckled his pants that were on the verge of bursting from his member.

“You know me so well~” He cooed, watching your sluggish body peel off the desk. You bit your lower lip and brought your body down to your shaken knees, your body still not fully recovered from your previous orgasm.

You saw Shanks’ member spring into your face. The intimidating size always caught you off guard each time he recoiled it onto you. You eyed the small number of sticky secretions spewing out of the hole from his arousal. You wrapped your hand around the base of it, making Shanks sharply hiss by your mere touch. You could tell he was longing for you ever since he saw you leave his place in your last appointment.

You placed a gentle kiss on the tip of it, making Shanks lightly jolt. He knew you were teasing him and he didn’t like it. Shanks’ excitement was getting way too much for him, and you were only making it worse.

“Open your pretty mouth, (F/N)” He ordered. You didn’t think he’d catch onto your sly antics so quickly. You obeyed submissively, extending your mouth agape in front of his throbbing, hot member.

You felt a hand rest on the back of your head, and it was the exact thing to push your mouth forcefully onto him whole. You let out a small yelp, followed by several sloppy gags by his girth and length. Shanks let out a long groan.

“Thaaaats it, doll~”

You began to bob your head back and forth along his size, gagging each and every time. Your hands gripped his pants, trying not to lose your breath in the middle of the session you impatiently longed for.

As soon as you looked up at Shanks with those “dumb” eyes, like he would call it, he felt like he lost all control. He used the hand that simply rested in your locks of hair to mercilessly skull fuck the air out of you.

Tears streaked down your face, completely smudging and ruining your makeup, but he didn’t care. In fact, he loved the way you’d look after he’d shove his cock far, far down your throat with his own hands. His groans and grunts became more consistent now that he was showing you zero remorse for your mouth and lungs. You tried every fiber in your body to fight through it.

“Yeah, take all of- mmmph~..! All of it in your mouth, princess” He breathed out. You didn’t stop looking up at him with teary, blackened eyes when he shoved every inch into your wet mouth faster than you can comprehend.

Shanks felt his long-awaited climax reach up to his core. He released a loving grunt when he slid your slobbering mouth off his member, a string of saliva connecting your plump lips with his dewed cock. He chuckled, completely in love with your distressed state and how quickly he ruined your caked face. You had saliva trickling down your chin and your chest expanded rapidly while you were catching your own breath.

"Your mouth is pretty with my cum and all, but I wanna dump it somewhere else, doll~"

In a blink of an eye, Shanks threw you back on that dark oak, glossed desk. Your bare breasts and stomach made direct contact coldly, making you shiver and flinch. His calloused hands grabbed the fats of your hips as handles. Your dress was still scrunched up to reveal your lower half—perfectly demonstrating the vast amounts of eagerness Shanks had for you when he laid his eyes on you at the doorway.

You felt the rose tip of his member caress your drenched opening, causing a whimper to leave your slobbering lips. Shanks hissed when the sensation of his hot member made contact with your cunt. Nothing, absolutely nothing, restrained him from him nosediving himself inside of your velvety walls forcefully. Shanks pushed a shriek out of your lips.

“Scream as loud as you want, princess~” Shanks cooed shakily, massaging your bruised thighs caused by the crimson-haired man completely breaking your mind with his cock. Shanks’ thrived on showing you off. Whether it be leaving marks, having you wear the jewels and gifts he gave you, or fucking your brain out in rather populated areas so people can hear your submissive moans and his hungry groans.

Shanks bucked his hips back and forth at a slow pace. He exhaled, feeling entirely pleased now that he finally got to feel your insides from a long, gruel week of waiting. You were all Shanks could think about, besides his rather gruesome occupancy, every week. He’d find himself teasing his wood through his pants at the mere thought of you and always contemplated invading your home just to release his urges. From the sheer obsession, Shanks had for you, an undercover bodyguard would look after you whenever he wasn’t there with you.

Shanks’ speed increased faster than you anticipated. After every stroke, you were rewarded with a sexy grunt or groan by the boss himself. You, on the other hand, were a moaning mess. You felt your own cervix being obliterated by Shanks’ merciless thrusts by the second.

“Oh, doll, you wrap around me so well” He groaned. His heavily scarred hand grabbed a handful of your now entangled hair. He yanked your head up to stare at the entire, fancy, well-kept room and the shut door.

That same door released a knock that was slightly suffocated by the sinful noises coming from both of you. There was no possible way the person behind the door couldn’t hear what was occurring in that office room, not with how loud you were moaning and how loud Shanks was pounding your body.

“Boss? We need the case file of our mission” A voice said from behind the door. You heard Shanks grumble.

He didn’t stop going crazy on your body while he searched the floor that carried scattered files of his targets he wanted dead. They all had one thing in common, but that didn’t matter right now since you both were only focused on climaxing.

“Im-.. fuck~.. Im busy!” Shanks yelled. Not a word was said after that, aside from your messy moans.

Your voice began to crescendo when that knot that was tightly built in your womb was beginning to snap. Your body was quivering before Shanks and he watched with a devious smile.

“Gonna cum, baby~?” He asked, knowing good and well what the answer was.

“Yes, sir… Mmmmph, Im gonna cum~!” You yelped.

Shanks admired your love juices spurting on his pelvis, knowing that he, yet again, made you climax hard and made your brain run blank. It was practically a talent to him.

“Good girl~” He praised, massaging your lower half while he let you ride out your hard orgasm. Shanks didn’t stop, though. You were bound to lose your ability to walk when he was finished with you but that wasn’t newborn at all.

Luckily, Shanks’ own climax was tailing behind yours. How you knew that the crimson man was about to dump his load was when his grunts would become breathless and he’d lightly chuckle from the amount of euphoria you gave him. He’d release one last loud groan, while it being slightly wobbly, and filled your hole past the brim with his seed.

“Fuck, baby~!” He shouted after his last pounding thrust, letting you feel the warm liquid flood your insides. You finally got an opportunity to catch your breath into your shriveled lungs and now worn-out throat.

You felt Shanks pull his huge girth out of your entrance, causing the waterfall of cum to pour out like a waterfall. You let out a long, soft moan when you felt all of the stuffing trickle down from your cunt to your leg.

“Let me get you cleaned up, princess” He smiled. While you were too busy trying to gather your consciousness together, Shanks buckled his pants and wiped off any remaining secretions lingering.

You rolled on your back to lift yourself up once your brain rebooted after being broken silly. Your hand lifted the fold that was scrunched down to cover your breasts and you cleared your throat.

“I’m gonna do my business. You think you’ll be alright being here while Im off?” Shanks himself tried to catch his breath while he picked up the scattered papers on the floor. He threw them beside you on the desk, them now at your reach.

“Of course. Don’t get yourself killed” You giggled. Your statement made Shanks chuckle.

You watched him barricade you with his arms by resting them on either side of the desk you were lovingly displayed on. Your hand was placed under his chin and then trailed to remove a red strand that lingered over his eyes.

“You worry too much, doll” He cooed.

You hummed and had your hand grab the files of soon-to-be deceased victims. Your eyes analyzed the pictures and your expression dropped. Shanks watched, entirely pleased like he wanted you to see what was in that cream-colored folder.

That one thing that they all had in common was that they all wronged you one way or another. Thanks to Shanks’ trusted undercover agent, he was able to pinpoint each and every person, entirely for your pleasure.

“Shanks…” You muttered. You couldn’t tell if you wanted to be flattered or astonished by the files presented before you. You saw the boss pull away and search in his desk drawer.

“I have a gift for you, my sweet (F/N)” He cooed, pulling out something you couldn’t quite make out yet. You expected a new necklace or diamond earrings, but not a glistening gold ring of the iconic gem that was now shining before you.

“I want to marry you. So that now you’ll officially be mine”

His words turned your mind upside down. What was a weekend fling soon turned into an intimate bond that was now formally being promoted to newlyweds. You hadn’t felt this content and safe with someone for as long as you could remember, and it was rather obvious that Shanks had an undying infatuation with you since the incident at the men’s club. Your words immediately birthed the word Shanks anticipated.

“Of course, boss~”

all licensing and ownership belong to eiichiro oda

#op x reader #fanfic #x reader #one piece #shanks #red haired shanks #shanks x reader #red haired pirates #mafia au #mafia #op x you

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kritischetheologie · 5 months

Note

for the trope mashup - dystopia x coffeeshop

Since you didn't request a ship I'm trying my hand at galex for you! Worldbuilding cribbed from that one movie I haven't seen where years of your life are literally money or whatever.

1. George doesn't have time to stop for coffee on his way to work. He really, really, doesn't have time for it. Going to Eton cost him forty years, which was nothing to his classmates, born with lifespans into the four-hundreds, but. But George was born with eighty years to burn, into a family that believed he could beat the clock. Imperial college cost him another twenty, and four actual years of his life, to boot. He'd have died if he hadn't worked those summer finance internships. Half the time, he has to take a payday loan to make rent on his Mayfair apartment, or when he picks up the tab for a work dinner, to keep from zeroing out before his next deposit hits. All the time, he keeps his cufflinks carefully buttoned, watches the number on his arm tick toward zero, and counts the days to his next paycheck. Plus, his first meeting of the day is at 7. He doesn't have time to stop for coffee.

2. Alex's mom was given the choice between five years in prison and a twenty-year deduction. Alex can't blame her for choosing prison, except-- except he had to drop out of school to take care of his siblings, since she couldn't. Except he couldn't get a scholarship, without A-Levels, so he never went to Uni. He'd wanted to study mechanical engineering. Maybe he still can, someday. Life is long. His dad left him a hundred years when he died, and the rent in his shithole apartment is cheap, a couple days a month. He doesn't mind the coffee shop for now, though. The people working there are nice, a lot nicer than the asshole kids he grew up with.

3. George stops in for coffee every day, anyway, even though he doesn't have the time. What's a couple more minutes when you might as well be bleeding out? Alex makes the best latte in town, not that George knows that. He just likes his soft brown eyes, his perpetually bleach-fried blonde hair, the little jokes he makes when George is ordering. Alex wears frayed t-shirts for punk bands George hasn't heard of over long-sleeved thermals, or else under his beat-up denim jacket, and keeps the AC in the shop cranked to near freezing temperatures. Of course George wonders what's on his arm, but it would be impolite of Alex to show it off, a cheap way of guilting people into tipping more. The waiters in the fancy restaurants George takes Carmen to, for birthdays and anniversaries and to celebrate promotions, are told to roll their sleeves at the elbow, so you can see how well-paid they are. The first time someone with five more years than George took his order, George ended up throwing up in the bathroom.

4. When Alex writes his phone number on the paper cup he hands George, it takes George two whole weeks to call him. He shows up every day, and Alex takes his order with the same cheer, makes the same jokes, like it's all the same to him. It makes George not want to call him at all, but then Carmen's best friend gets engaged, and George gets dragged out for celebratory drinks, for her and her fiance, and of course neither of them are going to pick up the check, and of course he can't ask Carmen to do it, and suddenly there's three bottles of champagne on his tab, like six fucking days worth of champagne, and George is getting paid on Wednesday but it's Monday, and he's got three left days on his arm and half an hour before the waiter comes to their table with the check it's past midnight, none of the payday lenders will open until morning and George has to find a solution, fuck, so he goes out for a cigarette-- "babe, you've gotta quit, those thinks will kill you someday," Carmen chides, and everyone giggles, and maybe George should just let this night be the thing that kills him, fuck-- and calls the only person he knows who has any chance of having any connection to the criminal underworld.

5. "Georgie!!" Alex says, sounding surprised and delighted and maybe a little drunk, or high, or-- George doesn't have time to think about what else could make his vowels so smooth, his voice so calm. George doesn't have time. "Fuck, Alex, I'm so glad you picked up, I've got a friend in a bit of a scrap, you know, and I'm wondering if you might know of anyone who could get him some off-market time. Exchange rate's not an issue, and he doesn't need very much, it's not for anything illegal, I swear, but--" "shit, George, this isn't the type of thing you can just call a guy about. Do you have any idea how illegal this is? Fuck, are you a cop? Is this about my mom? Who even told you? What the hell kind of s sick joke is--" "--OK, I lied," George interrupts, because he has to, fuck, he'll die if he doesn't. "It's not for a friend. It's for me. And I only need a week or two, but I need it now, like, now now, or you're going to be short a regular tomorrow. If you. If you know what I mean." He hears a deep inhale on the other end of the line. "I'll transfer you two weeks, right now, if you promise not to ask questions," Alex says, and George is too relieved not to cry as he accepts.

#haha and then what #galex #trope mashup ask game #listen the best thing about galex is the inverse class politics #boxboxlewis

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setyourfireonme · 24 days

Text

fic recs that feature sex worker dean for free space @spnficrecfest

✨💖✨

trade by chinablue (John/Dean, Dean/OMCs, 771, E) (part 1 of tradeverse)

You'll hide from mirrors until the marks fade away.

quiet room by chinablue (John/Dean, Dean/OMCs, 1.9k, E) (part 2 of tradeverse)

This is what love looks like.

love is by chinablue (Sam/Dean, John/Dean, Dean/OMCs, 2.3k, E, Rape/Non-Con)

Love is all you are.

halo (in reverse) by poisontaster (Dean/OMCs, Dean/OFCs, 4.9k, E, Underage)

Adulthood has a taste.

the black line below me by smilla (Dean/OMC, 4.1k, M, Underage)

It's not about money

march madness in carson city by egipci (John/Dean, 1.5k, Not Rated)

Dad just saw him, he’s pretty sure.

pragmatics by deadlybride (Sam/Dean, Dean/Others, 4.3k, E, Underage)

Dean tells Sam about the work he used to do; he hopes Sam understands why he did it.

it's a mile from here to glory by ivyfic (Dean/Others, 7.6k, M, Underage) (part 1 of after school special)

John found it when he was doing laundry. When John dug into the bottom of Dean's duffel to get the last of the dirty socks that had been sitting in there, probably, since the last time John had caved and done the laundry, he found a roll of bills. Tens and twenties, mostly, held together with a black binder clip. It was close to five hundred dollars.

dear lovey hart by ivyfic (Sam/Dean, 5k, M, Underage) (part 2 of after school special)

"People I've fucked," Sam said nonchalantly. Dean almost did a spit-take. "I have had sex with eight people. Lifetime total." He waved his hand in the air over his head, probably trying to show the number eight on his fingers, then gave up and let his arm drop like a rock back to his side. He scrunched up his face like he was thinking hard. "Make that nine…no…eight and a half." Dean rolled his eyes. "Your turn," Sam said.

hitchhikers by glorious_spoon (795, T, Underage)

Some ugly facts about life on the road.

monsters are out there by connivingophelia (Dean/OMCs, 4.6k, E, Rape/Non-Con, Underage)

When Dean is ten-and-a-half, he learns men will fall for his pretty mouth, his fuck-me eyes. When Dean is twelve-and-a-half, he discovers how to use this information. Dean longs to be a hunter like Dad, to bring monsters to their knees. This isn't what he had in mind.

feel like i should have said something by karaokeburial (John/Dean, 1.3k, E)

John's come home exhausted from a long hunt, and they're broke. Dean, thankfully, is always good for making a little bit of money down at the hunter dive.

so goes the song by aeli_kindara (Dean/Lee, 21.7k, E) (+ jackalopes)

The first time Lee meets Dean Winchester, it’s courtesy of a chokehold.

the landscape after cruelty by hearthouses (Sam/Dean, Dean/Others, 16k, Rape/Non-Con, Underage)

Dean leans into Sam's touch, instinctive, too exhausted to fight the part of him that enjoys the attention Sam gives him, a shameful dirty secret, how much he loves letting Sam do this, when it should be the other way around. No one else would ever take care of him like this. OR Five Times Sam Took Care Of Dean In The Aftermath + 1 Time He Got Revenge On Those Who Hurt Dean.

there are worse things i could do by amiwritesthings (John/Deanna, 5.2k, E)

It’s cold and windy, the bite of first snow in the air, a strange yellow glow in the sky that tells Deanna winter is coming and it’s coming soon. Her breath billows in a cloud of white, and she pulls the thin leather jacket tighter around herself, rocks on her heels to keep the blood flowing. It’s a little past midnight, and the streets are quiet—too quiet—for all of them to get to the other end of the night with some cash in their pockets. It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last, but she needs the money tonight, for a hot meal and a fix and maybe a new jacket that isn’t more holes than fabric.

discovery by reapertownusa (John/Dean, 1.1k, E)

After a hunt John is looking for a release and finds it an unlikely place.

+ the rest of the past is a foreign country verse (John/Dean, Dean/OMCs, 13.1k in total, E, Rape/Non-Con)

as if we'd never met by thatotherperv (John/Dean, Dean/OMCs, 6.7k, E, Underage)

AU. Dean Winchester was kicked into the foster system when he was 4 years old…when he was 14, he kicked himself out of it. Bottom line is, men enjoy fucking little boys all across this great nation. Dean figures if he's gonna spend the rest of his life with sick fuckers staring at his mouth, he'd better be making some cash.

sharp teeth of the one you love by vintagedean (John/Dean, Dean/Others, 2.3k, E)

The ogre at the corner table right by the door has been eyeing Dean all night. John watches the way the beast’s eyes track Dean as he works different patrons at the bar with no luck. Dean tries for a shifter and a vampire before he starts flirting with a human man playing pool by himself, but John knows there’s no way his boy is unaware of the behemoth of a creature tucked into the shadows behind him. He’s been moving slowly in his direction, never engaging or tossing a smile, but angling his body with every interaction with someone else so that his ass faces the monster. Dean’s a professional, and he’s good at what he does. John keeps to himself and lets his son work as he nurses his beer and thinks through what he’ll need to have ready for after Dean’s done his job. Ogres have relatively small dicks for their size, but they’re usually barbed at the tip. It means Dean’s going to have some internal damage when he’s through, but not too much if they use enough of the right kind of lube. It also means they can charge a small fortune. Dean knows this, so John’s not worried about needing to intervene. His kid can handle it. He is, after all, a professional.

first night as the prince of hearts by karaokeburial (John/Dean, Dean/Jean Renault, 1.9k, E)

John's made the drive all the way across the border from Twin Peaks into Canada, coming to visit his eldest on his first night at his new job.

#spnficrecfest #rt #fic recs #once again not a conclusive list but way longer than i thought it'd be <3 #fics that are straight up AU are at the end but otherwise they're in a random order

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kingofthe-egirls · 1 year

Text

LUFFY x Y/N (part 3)

brothel au

part 1 part 2

Requested by @partyanimal167

(a/n: sw, stripping, weed, nipple play, sex)

Summary: A continuation of Y/N’s first time at the esteemed pirate-brothel, named Lavender Gardens.

(im obsessed)

***

Luffy slumps against the bar. He’s given a lot of lap dances so far, the clock just striking past midnight. Sapphire air filters in from the open front windows, lavender curtains flowing in the dark coastal breeze. He sighs. His feet hurt, and none of his customers had been fun. All off-putting pirates with jeering laughs and grabby hands. Zoro had had to escort a guy out of the brothel, at one point.

Now, Luffy pouts, drawing a frowny face in a puddle left from someone else’s drink. At least he has half a joint still left up in his room.

And Y/N is coming today.

At least, he hopes you’re coming over today. He’d invited you, sending a lilac-printed post card (stolen from Lavender-sama’s desk at mealtime) to the place she had told him you work at. He wonders what job you do, anyway.

Can’t be as fun as here.

He purses his lips, dragging his finger through the puddle of condensation. It’s still really only the beginning of the night, but he still can’t stop the butterflies trembling in his gut.

Will you show up?

“Luffy?”

He whirls around at the sound of his name, sweetly caressed by your little bird’s voice, and launches himself at you at full speed.

“Y/N!!!” He giggles, rubbing his face into your chest like an excited puppy. “You’re back!!!”

“Yep!” You huff a laugh, petting his black hair, “I came back!”

He grins up at you from in between your cleavage. “Didja wanna come tonight, too?” He asks it with a gravelly, suggestive tone, and you blush, harshly.

“L-Luffy!” You protest, finally prying him off of you. It’s not easy, with his arms rubber wrapped around your waist. You frown. “You’re a devil fruit user?” You ask, “I didn’t know that.”

“Yep!” He grins, stretching out an arm over six feet to grab a bottle of rosé from behind the bar. “You like this, right Y/N?? Let’s go to my room!”

And with that, you’re bounding up the stairs on Luffy’s heels, your hand firmly grasped in his.

***

“I’m so glad you’re here!” Luffy giggles, rocking back and forth on his bed with his legs crossed. He’s in denim shorts today, a yellow sash tied around his waist. Other than that, he’s shirtless. You bite your lip.

“Me too!” You try to match his enthusiasm, straightening the fabric of your dress. Tonight, you’re in a little black number that hugs your curves and makes your belly stick out. The sweetheart neckline swoops below your cleavage, which Luffy keeps openly ogling. He licks his lips.

“Wanna cum?” He asks, outright, setting the bottle of wine on his bedside table. You’re holding the chilled glass he poured for you earlier. Luffy turns to the oil lamp on the small wooden table, and lowers the dial. It casts the room in long, navy blue shadows.

He bounces up and down, obviously hyper. You wanna put your hands on him, if only just to slow him down. But it is kinda cute, you have to admit.

Especially since he’s so excited to see you.

“Maybe in a bit,” you hedge, taking a sip of your drink. It tastes like peaches, tonight.

Luffy frowns. “Was I not good enough?”

Your eyebrows shoot halfway up your forehead in disbelief. “What?!” You splutter, spilling your wine, “Of course you were, you’re amazing!” You nervously swat at the drops of rose-gold liquid dotting your breast. A little got onto your lap, too.

Luffy leans forward, licking a stripe up your chest. He catches the drips of wine on his tongue, then presses up to kiss you. He mashes his tongue inside your mouth, letting you taste the sweetness for yourself. “S’good,” he groans, so obviously horny for you.

Well, who are you to deny him?

“W-wait,” you push him off of you, holding him by the shoulders. You start rifling through your wallet, kept in the small black clutch you wore over your shoulder tonight. Your cheeks are warm. “I haven’t paid you, yet.”

Luffy noses into your cheek, shaking his head and distracting you from your task. “Don’t want ya to.”

You freeze.

Slowly, you look up. You regard him with furrowed brows, confusion and nerves roiling in your belly. He didn’t mean—he couldn’t mean—

“Lemme make you cum,” he whispers, his nose still pressed against your face. “Please?”

You swallow, the taste of wine still sweet on your tongue. “Don’t—isn’t it? Unprofessional?” You ask, stumbling over your words. “I’m not trying to scam you, or anything…”

And you definitely don’t want the madame upset with you. Or with Luffy, for that matter. He’ll probably face worse consequences than you, for giving things out for free.

“I’m off the clock!” He grins, bouncing in his seat. His feet are bare, having kicked off his sandals the moment he entered his room. You wonder if he sleeps here. If the mess is any indicator, you’d probably guess that he does.

“Sooo,” he continues, poking at the mound of your breast, left open and firm from the tight fabric of your dress. It’s soft velvet, tight to your body and seductive. It’s the nicest thing you own. Your high, strappy black heels are also left unbuckled and discarded on his floor, right next to his own kicked-off sandals. You curl your toes into the blanket, heat blooming up your throat.

“Unless you wanna dance, your night with me is free!” He scoots closer to you, eager face beaming inches from yours. “D’ya like me too, y/n? I really like you!”

You’re nodding before you even know you’re doing it.

“Yes,” you breathe, winding your arms around his neck, “So much.”

You haven’t been able to stop thinking about him, in fact. And when his little, lavender-scented postcard showed up at work, you’d been thrilled. His handwriting had been scrawled and messy, but he wrote in all caps, which you think is cute.

He leans forward, and kisses you.

“Mmph,” you groan, carding your fingers through his raven hair. His lips taste like wine. “Are—,” you gasp, breaking away, “Are you sure you won’t get in trouble for this?” You search his face for any sign of regret or discomfort.

He shakes his head.

“Nope! I worked the early shift, so I’m off for the rest of the night. Besides, it’s my room. Lav-sama lets me have friends over if I want. But don’t tell Sanji about the bottle,” he eyes the wine behind you both, and you laugh. The tension eases out of your shoulders.

“Okay, okay,” you brush your hair out of your face. You left it down, today. “That’s good to know!”

“Mhmm!” He nods enthusiastically, then pounces forward to kiss you again. “I like your dress,” he growls against your lips, and tugs at the thin straps over your shoulders. “Take it off?”

You nod, breaking away long enough for him to slide the straps down your arms, and then helps you shimmy your way out of it completely. He lets it fall to the floor, eyes already glued to your now-exposed body. He reaches out to take your breasts in both hands, kneading them gently.

“Been thinkin’ bout you all week,” he confesses, then ducks his head to take your nipple between his teeth.

You moan, arching your back into the touch. Shadows flicker on the ceiling.

“Me too,” you agree, hands still buried in his hair. You’re obsessed with his hair, marveling at the dark, silken locks. “I like your hair,” you tease, before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. He hums, his mouth still working magic on your tits. He switches between them, going to rub the other with his thumb. He meets your eyes with blown pupils. Oh—

He really likes you.

You moan, teeth biting hard into your bottom lip. “I—,” you start, catching your breath, “I really like you—ah!—we should—mmph—go out to dinner some—fuck—time!”

He giggles, amused at your distracted string of words, and pops off your breast with a satisfied smack. “Okay!” he says, back to kneading your tits with both hands. “Want Sanji to bring us room service?”

You flick an eyebrow, and he laughs.

“Shishishi, not like that! I want ya to myself, tonight.” His voice pitches lower, and he tugs on your arms. “Cmere,” he whispers, and leads you backwards so that he’s lying down, and you’re straddling his hips. You wiggle your ass against his clothed cock, and he starts in pleasure. “Fuuuuck, y/n! Ya got me so hard already,” he whines up at you, bucking his hips. You reach down to undo the button of his shorts.

“Take these off,” you command, and he complies.

***

Sex with Luffy is like riding a rowboat in the middle of a hurricane. He’s fast, chaotic, and merciless at times. His pace and rhythm are either completely matched with yours, or hypnotic and sporadic in their stuttering movements.

Also, he takes a long time to cum.

Like, a really long time.

You’ve been fucking for hours, Luffy now kneeling behind you while you’re on all fours, hands pressed into the wooden floor (he’d fallen off the bed at one point, and you’d decided to just roll with it). He’s moaning and whimpering, rutting into your oversoaked pussy like a cat in heat. You've lost count of how many times you've cum.

Luffy rasps out a whine, and finishes inside you with a stuttering thrust. "F-fuck, y/n!" He drawls out your name like a prayer, and your eyes implode with rainbow sparks. You meet his thrusts hard and fast, trying to reach that edge one more time, his cum spilling inside you filling you with unbearable heat. One more, one more--

"Here, sunshine," he whispers, leaning forward to rub at your clit with rubber hands. He presses into you with a few more shallow thrusts, slapping gently against your ass, until you're moaning out in much-needed release.

"Fuck," you grunt, pulling off him with a lewd, wet schmack. He giggles behind you, flopping back onto the ground with his limbs splayed out, starfish-style. You moan out another curse, and shakily get to your feet. Your legs wobble, jelly and boneless after the hours of cumming. You slowly get your balance, standing on two feet with your hands on your hips. You scan the room for your cast-off clothes.

"Now what?" You ask, scooting through the messy laundry for your dress.

Luffy sits up, his abs flexing. "Uhhh...," he looks around, scratching his head, then looks back up at you. He giggles. "Wanna go on a date?"

"Yeah," you smile at him, black dress in hand, "Yeah, I'd really like that."

***

#dumpster dive #my writing #one piece fanfic #luffy fanfic #luffy x reader #luffy x you #luffy x y/n #luffy smut #one piece smut #brothel au

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misdeliria · 1 year

Text

The Same Coin (1.4k)

Following the Racoon City incident, Leon met you in his drill squad. You gave him the cold shoulder from day 1.

"I know your history, Kennedy," you sneer, leaning back on your hip. You're both still in your gear, caked in mud and reeking of sweat, but Leon can't get through his drills when you're not communicating with him.

It took less than a week for him to call you on your pettiness.

"You got real lucky once, and they considered you qualified. Some fucking bullshit." Taking long strides towards him, you shove your helmet into his chest. "You're gonna get yourself, and the rest of my team killed."

You must've felt bad after you shoved past and left him holding your helmet (or you were caught and reprimanded) because your communication skills notably worked for him the following day. You were stern and unforgiving in tone whenever you gave orders, but Leon performed well and kept quiet about your standoffish personality.

A few squad members tried to vouch for your character once the tension became noticeable, but Leon didn't experience any changes until his first assignment.

It all went to shit, but it had nothing to do with your team and everything to do with misinformation about the situation. The original directive was abandoned almost immediately as your squad members got picked off by the hoard of undead monsters.

Leon took a moment to respect your quick adaption and headshot precision once realization settled in through his adrenaline. You looked as familiar as he felt, and within hours of your deployment, only three of you were left. You, him, and Sergeant Hendy.

"Fuck!" You spit angrily, covering your flank as the sergeant was briefly overwhelmed. "Pick it up, Sarge!"

Leon felt the urge to grab the soldier's collar and drag his ass back, but you bark 'Negative, Kennedy." You even go as far as dropping your gun to run for it with Leon in tow – effectively using the sergeant's death to your advantage.

"We could've saved him," he murmured bitterly once the danger was gone and you were waiting for exfil. You had been silent since abandoning Sergeant Hendy, communicating only when necessary and relaying information from the radio.

"He was compromised," you respond, void of emotion and attachment. "It was him or us."

"He wasn't bit-" Leon started to snap back, but you silenced him with a look. An expression mixed with anguish and fear that you tried to cover up with a steely gaze, and Leon could see right through it.

"You can blame me all you want, but I made a call." You turned your head away from him, and he couldn't see your face, but he could hear the lump in your throat. "And I'll have to live with it, but- It could've gone a lot worse if we did anything different."

He earns time off after that mission, accepting a luxurious apartment stationed in D.C. for the time being until his skills are required again.

It's nearing midnight when Leon gets a phone call from an unknown number. He's cautious when he answers. Who would be calling him this late?

"Kennedy. Want to grab a drink?" Leon almost drops his phone when your voice echoes in the receiver.

"You realize how late it is?" He runs his free hand over his face as he glances at the digital clock at his bedside. He could hear your environment in the background and deduced you were already a few drinks in, stretching his legs over the edge of the bed until his feet met cold hardwood.

"Did I wake you up?" You didn't sound apologetic or even curious, like you knew the answer. Leon kept quiet, hoping to move past the question as he threw on jeans and a clean shirt, but he heard you hum in drunken amusement. "Thought so. At a bar on West Marshall. I'll let you know when you get here."

You don't, but it's a pretty dead area, and there's only one bar at the end of the street. It doesn't take Leon much effort to locate you by yourself in the corner, fiddling with a shot glass and a half-empty bottle of rum.

"Kennedy, let me pour you a shot." You're quick to serve a hefty amount, but Leon carefully declines.

"I'll take a whiskey," he tells the bartender while sliding into the seat next to you. He's tempted to stop you when you shrug and toss back the shot like water, but your actions are smooth, and you don't look very drunk. "What's the occasion?" Because there has to be a reason you're getting shitfaced by yourself and randomly calling him up, but Leon's smart enough to keep that insight to himself.

"We're celebrating," you drawl, voice cracking as you shake while pouring your next shot. Leon notes how unfocused your eyes are and the beads of sweat forming along your hairline. "As of today, I am officially a Federal Agent."

You roughly knock your shot against his glass before downing it without flinching. Leon takes his sip, but his eyes never leave your face. He can't read anything.

"This is all I've wanted for ten years." Your voice is wavering, and your eyes are suddenly glossy. A scoff makes your shoulders bounce, and you're a little too loose when you fall forward, but you catch yourself. "All it took was my whole fucking squad."

You tilt the bottle back and take large swigs of rum, and Leon decides to stop you there. His arm reaches out to take your wrist, but your other hand smacks him away.

"I could be blacked out and still kick your ass, Kennedy." You end your statement with a hiccup, followed by giddy-drunk laughter, and Leon chuckles gently at your mood swing.

You're drunk, he confirms to himself, watching you pat your pockets until you locate a worn-out box of cigarettes. You pluck one out before hesitating, warily glancing at Leon. You hold the box out to him in a silent question.

Leon shakes his head.

"Not for me."

"Good for you," he hears you murmur against the stick between your lips. Leon's not sure if you meant for him to hear, but he'll take your verbal hazing over the awkward silence. "Where is my- Fuck, there it is." You pull a lighter out next, and Leon imagines you smoke a lot off-duty.

You take a long drag, looking over the table before dragging an ashtray closer by your fingers.

"I owe you an apology," you say after an apparent moment of hesitation. You tap your cigarette against the tray, interested in watching the ash crumble away. "I've been an asshole."

Leon fails to stifle his laugh, earning a sour side-eye from you. "An understatement."

"I just- I hated you. I worked my ass off my whole career to even be considered for a task force. And the second I get it, they assign a rookie cop with almost no field experience to me."

"Yeah, I wasn't too thrilled about it myself," Leon agrees, taking a swig for solidarity.

"I thought I was getting set up to fail when they assigned you to me," you tell him, suddenly serious. "But I don't think I would've made it out alive if you weren't there. So, thank you. And I'm sorry."

You turn in your chair and hold your hand out to him, and Leon wonders if you're aware of your actions now. He smiles when he takes your hand, and you shake it for good measure.

A spark of interest flickers over your face before you pull away and hold your bottle to him to toast with.

Leon laughs as he satisfies you, bumping the bottom of his glass against yours and taking another sip. He eyes you the whole time, gulping down the last of the bottle with a pained sigh once it's finished.

"There, you drank on it," you point out, and Leon looks at you curiously. "We're settled. Shook on it, then drank."

"That's a thing?" Leon frowns as you bob your head up and down. "No, it's not."

"No, it is," you insist, gently drumming your hands against the counter. "It settles disputes better than knocking the other person's teeth in."

"Oh, really? Who the hell told you that?"

"My grandma."

Leon nodded, grateful he decided to take you up on your offer for a drink. "She sounds like a smart woman."

"Yeah," you hum with a dopey smile, reaching for your pockets and signaling the bartender to pay. "She would have liked to meet you."

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x you #resident evil x you #resident evil imagine #mary on a cross - diana #not beta'd

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 5 months

Text

Star-crossed in the Crosshairs (John Price x Reader)

Epilogue: Choosing My Confessions

Fic Summary: This mission is the pinnacle of your efforts for the past three years. Your whole team and yourself have worked countless hours, slaughtered hundreds, risked life and limb for scraps of intel, and now it all boiled down to pairing up with another taskforce to get this job done and dusted. An unexpected spanner in the works comes in the shape of your former best friend, now also a Captain and somehow resurrected from his KIA status, John Price.

You can’t afford to let feelings - old and new - get in the way of your purpose. No matter how much you’ve missed, wished for, loved him, and no matter how much he might feel the same

AN: Mild spoilers but this is the hurt/comfort aspect. If you'd rather hurt/no comfort, then leave it at the previous chapter.

Chapter 10 // AO3 Version // Masterlist

Weighed down by a worn-out fleece, John Price dragged himself into the lift of his apartment building, hitting his floor button with one knackered pointer finger, his other hand refusing to drop his bag until he was inside his bedroom. Tomorrow, he’d spend half the day soaking in a hot bath with a flannel on his head, air heavy with condensation and the smell of cedarwood. What a welcome for the new year. He counted each of his breaths each level he was taken above. His toes were stiff with chills in his boots, wriggling to get some warmth in his bones before the stroke of midnight.

Sliding in between the doors, he grunted whilst fidgeting in his pockets. At last, his key came free and it slid into the door - awkwardly, so he made a mental note to oil it later into his shore leave. The door slid open. John instantly withdrew his pistol, using the muzzle to push the door open further. A quick evaluation showed the additional cylinder lock still functional.

Abandoning his bag outside his door, John silently prowled into the front room, expecting anything: unturned furniture, ransacked drawers, an identical gun pointed straight at him, anything.

Except for the large lump he spied tucked up on the couch.

The maroon throw blanket that usually rested over the back of the sofa was curled around a sleeping body. John pivoted around, his gun still raised until he saw the face poking out the blanket’s edge. Then his arms slacked, the gun still safe but loose in his grip by his thigh as he laughed under his breath.

He reached across to the side table and flicked on the lamp. Its golden glow highlighted the scar on your cheek, a new one gained in the nine months since he’d seen you last. Your chest was rising and falling with little snores accompanying each motion.

Once he’d retrieved his bag, John slung it to the floor beside the almost identical one at your feet. He debated over what to do next. Eventually, he landed on clearing his throat.Your head lifted instantly, your soporific gaze meeting his equally tired one.

“Hello, stranger,” He said, his voice hoarse yet kind.

“Hi,” You replied, rubbing your eyes before waving a hand at the front door, “Sorry, I waited an hour before I picked the locks.”

So you had gone through the motions of getting his address but not his phone number. Not for the first time in his life, John questioned your train of thought. Then he remembered what he put you through for a decade and decided that hypocrisy was not the goal of the evening.

“Waited longer than I would’ve,” He huffed then used his foot to carefully nudge your overnight bag, the onehe knew you could live out of for a fortnight if push came to shove.

You didn’t notice, or chose not to, instead asking, “What time is it?”

“Uh,” John checked his watch before taking it off, “Half eleven.”

You nodded in acceptance but made no further effort to talk, looking down at your hand fidgeting with the throw rug in your lap.

Sensing you didn’t wanna get into the reason you were sleeping in his sitting room yet, John offered you a helping hand, “You can take my bed. We can save the shop talk for tomorrow.”

Your hand in his, hauling yourself up, grip tougher than it looked, you moved past him, leading the way to the bedroom, “Thanks.”

John didn’t ask how you knew which door it was behind. Rather, he sought refuge in his en suite, shedding his clothes and finding the energy to bother separating them into his divided laundry baskets. It was all he could handle not to fawn over you being in his home and your reason. You always were a curveball in his life, keeping him on his toes. Opting against the effort of shaving, he washed his face and pulled on his pyjamas.

Somehow, the image of you slotting in your earplugs and seeming stiff in the middle of the ice cold bed tilted John’s world off its axis all the more. You whispered a good night to him, which he returned, then he moved away, out and onto the couch just as you had done. His feet poked out onto the armchair, but he didn’t bother covering them in the throw. Instead, he focused on the ceiling, flat and smooth with boring white paint.

Sudden cheers caught his attention, echoing from outside. Faintly, he could make out the numbers descending.

The bellowing of “zero” brought flashes of red and yellow lights slipping through the gap in the curtains. They irritated the white paint with splashes of unpredictability. John’s mind switched up, despite his deep breathing, and he swiftly closed the blinds behind the curtains, shutting out any sign of the new year from his sitting room. Slipping back under the blankets, his body tensed against the few echoes of explosions that made it past the double glazing. He despised every second his body betrayed his intentions, putting him in work-mode in the comfort of his home when he could normally flip the switch without a second thought.

After about ten minutes, John pushed to sit up and groped around the sofa cushions for the remote. Grounding himself amidst the sounds with the images of the sparks showering around the Thames had to be easier than this.

Outside, some drunkards singing Auld Lang Syne clashed with the sporadic and delayed fireworks and the arid display on his TV set. It did little to convince his amygdala that he didn’t need five exit strategies on top of the ones he already had in place. The only reassurance was that, if something were to happen, this would be a nice place to go – with you nearby.

A dim shadow in the screen turned John’s head to see you and how you’d found his dressing gown, donned it accordingly.

You spoke before he could. “Can’t sleep. Where’s your tea?”

When you held up your hand to his attempt to get on his feet, John began pointing out the cupboards needed for your quest. His twisted spine didn’t complain; you brewing for two nondescript mugs was far more fascinating than whatever revelries were going on in some London stadium or recording studio. A soft thanks crossed his lips as you passed one mug to him over the back of the couch.

“Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year. What you watching?”

“BBC concert. Wanna watch with me?”

“You’re so fucking-” You let out a huff, then you hit him lightly with the dressing gown’s cord: “Polite.”

With a short yet deep belly laugh, John patted the sofa cushion beside him, “Never been called that in my life.”

“Don’t make me do it again then.”

Still, you moved around the couch and sat in the space offered to you. A healthy distance cushioned between John’s legs and yours.

Temptation to ask about what you’d been doing the past nine months blended well with the milk and tea – it was “tomorrow” after all. The words were on the tip of his tongue, ready to fall out in such a casual way to mask the impact of your reply, whatever it would be. You couldn’t just be here and not have something to say.

Your earplugs, nudged neatly in place, protected you from the stray fireworks outside and from noticing John’s runaway train of thought. It was almost peaceful to watch Rick Astley and Rylan (of all people) bop about on stage with warmth in your hand and at your side. Just enough to settle your stomach, you sipped your tea and absorbed the warmth through your palms.

In a move categorised under “high risk, high reward”, John unfolded the blanket he had been sheltered under and held up the corner in your peripherals wordlessly. You tried not to let this action derail your intentions as you tucked in closer to him to lay that portion of the blanket over your lap.

Three inches of suffocation between the two of you yet goosebumps extended from your arm hairs to feel the hum of his blood beating through his veins, like your body needed proof you were really next to him and not just a daydream you’d conjured up each time you debated if you regretted your choice or when you’d revisited the situation in therapy numerous times. This feeling was no doubt mutual. John Price had the patience of a sniper, but you were dangling him off a precipice whilst he waited for you to explain yourself.

Knocking back another sip of tea like it was whiskey, you asked, “I’m not keeping you up, am I?”

“No. No, you’re all good.” John told both truth and lies. Yes, you were fine being here. But you’d kept him up many nights, not just this one.

He zeroed in on your wrist as you leaned forwards to place your mug on the only other coaster on the coffee table. A new tattoo of a lit match sat beside his callsign’s artwork, the flame’s linework a nice contrast to the helmet’s bold yet fading black. So much of John’s attention was on the inked pairing that he almost missed what you said to him as you sat back into the couch.

“I think I’m ready to try and work things out with you.”

John wasn’t the kind of man to double take at something shocking. His body was built for earthquakes, absorbing all shockwaves, no swaying, sturdy and reliable. But the phrase he’d hoped to hear all those months ago sent tremors off the Richter scale. Twice glancing at your complicated expression, your words sank into his head with a sluggish pace he was unfamiliar with.

“What?” He asked, his heart beginning to pound and pine for confirmation.

You gave him the privilege of looking right in your eye as you repeated yourself, as steady as before:

“I’d like for us to try working things out. I’m ready to move on from that and I’d like to do that with you, like you asked me to back in March.”

A lot of Nerve was needed to pull this stunt off. Good thing you were known for it. The old times, so far away, waved to the new ones you’d just told him could exist.

Eyelids pressing shut to stave the mist that filled them, John’s chin met his chest as his head gave into gravity. His voice had gone AWOL. Maybe you were gonna be in the habit of making his speechless, but he wouldn’t care if you did if it meant what you said was God’s honest truth.

Meanwhile, you were starting to tremble with the effort you’d made to come here in the first place. All the decisions you’d opted for, rehearsals with your therapist and in your head, led you to sit in front of him and say with the integrity of your soul bared that, after months of absence, you were willing to try properly. And you were met with a stoic stern man sniffling.

“Am I too late?” You said quietly.

John sighed, drawing himself back up to show you the smile breaking out on his face, “Never.”

First time in years, your tears were not brewed in agony and his presence hummed in your veins. Reaching for your hands, John’s snapped together with yours like magnets. It wasn’t enough. Almost instantly, you had climbed into his lap and wrapped yourself around him until you could strangle each other with your iron grips. You felt nauseous with relief. John’s nose stuffed into your neck, his entire body bloating as he breathed you in with his burly arms firm against your back.

The smallest gap between you so that he could look you in the eye. His thanks fell from his lips over and over, like water tumbling down a fissure, for giving him another chance. Through his gratitude, he could see in the glass of your eyes how much you’d worked to get to here – to him, for him. Because of damage that he’d caused. The best thing anyone had ever done for him, and he didn’t deserve it. But he would take it in this rough reunion, too overcome to do more than just sink into one another.

Far from the same, from before, from a normal steady relationship that would survive under normal circumstances, especially considering you’d be shipped back out to Urzikstan in three days. But God, you knew you’d made the right choice coming back at this point in time. You’d take every second with him now that you could.

---------------------------------

AN: And that's it! I finally finished writing a fanfiction series. Thank you for reading and engaging with it on here and AO3. I really appreciate everything. Thank you again also to @mockerycrow for the original concept and allowing me to write this inspired piece of writing. Onwards, to the next fanfic!

Tag-list: @mockerycrow and @algor-babe

#john price x reader #john price fanfic #captain john price x reader #captain john price fanfic #john price #captain john price #cod #cod fanfic #cod x reader #cod x you #my writing #series #r: gn

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leafs-lover · 1 year

Note

y/n and Freddie in btpdg is one of my favorite couples to ready about. have you thought of doing a blurb or something where Freddie comes home from a roadie and wakes y/n up in a ✨spicy✨ way? like, maybe when ollie was a baby because sleep is precious when they have 4 little monsters.

Series Masterlist

This is set before YN and Fred have had conversations about getting together but it’s painfully obvious they both want it so like figure it out already? You also don’t have to have read the entire fic to make sense of it, this is a stand alone piece

Warnings: swearing, smut (fingering and p in v), a slight dominance link, I didn’t proofread or edit so if you see any spelling/ grammar mistakes keep them to yourself

Fred’s least favourite thing was leaving.

Ollie learned what the duffle bag meant and would whine every time he saw it, you of course knew what it meant and would also whine about it. Only difference was he could reason with you. He’d always promise you a date once he returned and you’d always prop yourself on your tippy toes, wrap your arms around his neck and pull his face down, growling “why wait?”

Oliver was walking and talking, a handful with every step, leave him alone for more than a minute and every toy was thrown across the living room, or he would have the pantry open tossing boxes onto the floor. He kept you on your toes and you both felt uneasy leaving him even if only for a few minutes. So you would wait, but that doesn’t mean you’d make it easy on him. You would constantly send pictures, snapchats, answering his FaceTimes while wearing practically nothing. You knew exactly what you were doing and it drove him crazy.

Typically the Pens would fly the team back early in the morning after a road trip and since giving Fred a key you tended to wake up and find the living room full of laughter, Oliver wearing only a diaper as he terrorized the couch cushions.

This particular road trip ended in Philly and it was a very quick flight home. The team ventured back to Pittsburgh after the game and Fred set out for your apartment. He made good time, it was near midnight and the roads were empty.

Not a single light was on, not even the blue glow from a TV to alert him to your presence. It’s quiet, but not an eery quiet, it’s peaceful.

Fred drops his bag by the door and sets his keys in the bowl. His jacket is left on the rack and he starts to unbutton his dress shirt as he walks down the dark hallway. He stops at Oliver’s room and half expects the crib to be empty meaning a night with a sprawling toddler who kicks him seventeen times in the ribcage, but as the light from the hall filters in Fred catches a glimpse of the red locks on his tiny body. Like every night he spends with Oliver, Fred walks over to the side of the crib and takes a second to just watch his son. There is something about watching a baby sleep perfectly and peacefully that makes his heart swell - he doesn’t know how he went this long without it. He gently whispers goodnight and places a kiss to his cheek, then leaves the door as he found it - open a crack - before venturing toward you.

There is a copy of The Whispers cracked open on the mattress beside you, a cup of cold herbal tea lingers on the bedside table. The blankets are down low past your hips and one leg is kicked out - evidence you got hot at some point - your perky nipples protrude through the thin white cotton shirt you wore to sleep. The desire for baby number two throbs in his pants, if only that topic wouldn’t send you running Fred could bring it up.

He throws his pants over a chair, folds his shirt and places it on the seat and slips out of his socks. He grabs your “bookmark” from the night stand and lets his finger trace over the worn edges for a moment. It’s not an actual bookmark, but a picture taken moments after Oliver was born. Fred knew you were using a picture, but Oliver was almost one before he knew what the picture was, and that was the moment he knew there was a chance you’d come back to him. Because it’s not a picture of just you and Oliver, it’s one of the three of you. Sweat clings in your hairline, trapping baby hairs to your forehead, both of you have puffy red eyes from crying with the biggest smiles imaginable plastered to your faces, only thing is Fred is staring at Oliver and you are looking up at him. Even with the emotions of that moment, he can see there is more to the look you are giving him. You’re not staring at the father of your son, you are staring at the man you love. Fred is so happy he noticed that glimmer in your eyes and decided to wait you out, because he catches you looking at him like that countless times a day (even though you won’t admit it anytime soon). Fred smiles, like he does every time he sees this photo, and sets it inside the book, then curls up beside you.

He knows he should let you sleep, you have a very energetic toddler that loves to keep you on your toes, but that shirt is just a little to see-through and a little too tight and you sent one too many messages.

He starts slow.

His hand on your stomach and lips on your jaw. It’s soft, a kiss that goes unnoticed.

His calloused hand ventures up, finding one of those perfect breasts you spent a week tormenting him with and he begins to massage it, tweaking and tugging at your nipple. A sleepy sigh catches in your throat but Fred can tell it’s going to take more.

His touch is light as his hand drops, under the elastic band of his boxers you decided to sleep in. The pressure starts off gentle, slow circles being pressed against your heat. His lips trail along your jaw, over to the sweet spot on your neck. Instead of kissing he starts to suck, harder and harder, letting his teeth sink in. When he doesn’t earn the response he desperately seeks, two fingers toy at your entrance, coating themselves in your arousal.

“Hi baby,” Fred murmurs when you finally start to stir.

“Hi,” you mumble back, involuntarily tilting your head to the side, giving him more space to work with. “I missed you.”

“I know you did.” His fingers slip inside as far as they can go. Your eyes dart open.

“Shit baby.” Your legs kick out and back arches as he thrusts his digits back inside.

“You knew what you were doing with all those pictures you sent.” He chastises, thrusting his fingers back inside once again. “Knew what it was doing to me.”

“Of course I did.” Your voice is becoming strangled, the pressure starting to build.

“Then what did you expect?”

Fred shoves his boxers down your thighs and you feel his cock, rock hard and leaking excitement all over your hip. With a few more thrusts to get you wet and ready, Fred replaces his fingers with his member, and you both moan in unison.

“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” He probes, shunting you up the bed with one deep thrust. “What you wanted huh?” He punctuates with another thrust.

“I always want you.” You whimper, knowing he is waiting for a response.

Your fingers tremble when they feel the hard muscles of his back. You always loved his body and he’s always loved yours. Beads of sweat cascade down your neck and Fred smiles, his second favourite thing to lick.

“Only me right?”

He doesn’t mean it as a question, at least not in this moment. There will be a time for the hard questions, a conversation where he will make you admit to what you’ve been feeling (because he has zero doubt and knows you just need a nudge). This question is more about dominance, a reminder, because him practically prodding your cervix doesn’t do that.

“As if there could be anyone else.”

Fred hooks your left leg over his hip and finally brings his lips to yours. His mustache tickles your upper lip and his tongue works its way into your mouth. It’s sloppy, frantic, full of heat. Every time he presses his tongue in further your nails scratch along his back. And after every firm and direct thrust hits that spot deep inside, your moan gets caught in his mouth.

“You look so good with my cock inside you.” Fred grunts, punctuating his words with another thrust.

“You feel so good inside me.”

“Gonna feel even better with my cum dripping out of you.” Fred smirks as one hand snakes between your bodies and rubs at your clit. It suddenly becomes very difficult to concentrate on what he is saying. You can see his lips moving and can only imagine the filth spewing out.

You writhe beneath him as your pleasure reaches it’s peak. Your nails dig deep into the thickest part of his bicep and with one more punctuated thurst you come undone, warmth spilling around his cock. Fred’s cocky grin only grows even as his thrusts are sloppy and shallow, and just as your body relaxes Fred spills everything deep inside your cunt.

It takes a bit for your hearts to steady, it always does, Fred’s version of a “quickie” often leaves you feeling like you ran 5k.

Fred looks down at you, brown eyes clouded with lust and passion and leans back in, replacing the heated and heavy kisses with a soft one, full of warmth.

“Elskede.” He smiles sweetly, his cock soft inside you.

“Hmm.”

“Tease me like that again and I won’t wake you up as nicely next time.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” you shrug him off, a hint of insolence in your voice. His cock twitches. You being bratty always did turn him on.

Taglist: If you are in this list you have expressed interest in the series, either through likes/reblogs or by asking. If you would like to be removed or added to the list send me an ask:

@mandypants95 @c-tangerinene @puccbunni @hockeyinaussie @hockeypuckspost @0kikina0 @sixmapleleafs @hockeyunitsyunits @localcalumhoe @starswin @je-ne-regrette-rien @mollybirk @daniellepulice72 @callsign-denmark

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galadae · 8 months

Note

“kissing your lover's forehead, then bending down to meet their lips” for calien? 🫶

this took me so long lol, thank you for sending this dani 💕

Before Dawn | ~950 words | mid ENW spoilers under the cut (and vague mentions of ranged role quest stuff, but nothing major if you haven't done it)

Calantha wakes to find the space beside her cold and empty.

"Hien?" she whispers. She blinks sleep from her eyes. How long has he been gone? It's some odd time of the night, far past midnight but not yet dawn. The room is dark and quiet but for the wind gusting against the roof. She rises to her feet, feeling around in the dark for her haori and boots. He must be outside.

They've both slept fitfully in the nights since her return. With the blasphemy's last appearance, terror and unrest simmer under the surface of all in the enclave and beyond, threatening to mutate into something far more deadly.

Calantha had kept watch for the blasphemy the first night, too on edge to sleep, her mind replaying the memory of the sky falling over Thavnair. A disaster she'd set in motion, despite her best intentions. But the intentions made no difference now. She’d locked up her guilt and fear in favor of action. She hoped her actions would be enough.

Perhaps it was selfish, coming back to Doma now, when the whole world needed her. But she couldn't ignore his request for aid.

Now she dresses quickly and steps from the room. Despite the new number of those taking refuge within, the Kienkan is silent. She finds no sign of him in other rooms, or anywhere out in the streets of the enclave.

Her ground search fruitless, Calantha takes Giles into the air. She guides him above the river, going over any places Hien likes to visit in her mind. None of them seem likely. The moon is high, almost full, bathing everything in a soft, cool light. A fitting cold sky for the chilly wind.

After half a bell of telling herself not to worry, the sight of his yol resting on the abandoned moon gate platform floods her with relief. Giles lands with a sharp "kweh." She slides from the bird's back and lands softly on her feet.

Hien doesn't seem to have noticed her approach, or at least, he doesn't acknowledge her. He stands a few feet from the stark drop of the wall. His gaze falls on the flooded ruins of the castle. He still wears only the loose smock and trousers he slept in. She doesn't see his sword anywhere.

"It's chilly without you," she says. Calantha steps up next to him, boots crunching on the old stone. She clutches her haori around her, fighting off a shiver.

He says nothing. He's been quieter, more reserved in the past few days. She doesn't need to ask why.

"You've barely slept since you arrived," Hien says, finally. He doesn't look at her. "I thought you might prefer to not be woken again. I do seem to steal the blankets when I toss." A hint of a smile lifts his lips, but doesn't reach his eyes.

Calantha rests her hand on his shoulder. "That's kind of you," she says. "But I would prefer having you next to me. I sleep alone enough as it is." She doesn't say her next thought. How else will I keep you safe?

He turns his head to offer her another weak smile. "I shall keep that in mind."

She studies his face, relief at finding him and worry for his well-being conflicting inside her. The cold moonlight does him no favors. He looks washed out, haunted. Far too tired. "Hien... Are you all right? I came to offer company, but if you'd rather be alone, I can go back."

Hien sighs, a long slow breath. He looks back out over the river. "I thought myself in need of time to clear my mind, but it has solved nothing. I would not begrudge you for returning to bed, but if you wish to stay–"

"Of course I do." Calantha slips her arm around his shoulders.

She brushes a hand against his cheek, tucking a free strand of dark hair behind his ear. He meets her eyes.

"Do you want to talk? Would it help?"

"I am...unsure." His brow furrows. He looks down at his feet. "Forgive me," he murmurs. "I do not mean to make you worry." He wraps an arm around her waist. "You have enough cares as it is."

The weariness of the past days is plain in his voice, dragging his words down like an iron weight. Try as he might, he can't hide it from her.

She cups his cheek, pulling his gaze back to hers. "My worries for you aren't your doing."

She presses her lips to his forehead, willing the kiss to take his cares away. He sighs and closes his eyes as she lowers her face to leave a small, soft kiss on his lips.

For a moment the wind calms to a gentler breeze. Hien rests his head on her shoulder. His arm is warm around her. She wraps her other arm over his shoulder, holding him close. They stand in silence. The river is a distant roar mingling with the near, soft sounds of their breath.

"Come back to bed," Calantha says. "Daylight will be here before we know it. Let's rest while we can."

The wind picks up again, sending a shiver through her. Hien leans closer, hiding his face against her neck.

"It will be warm inside, at least," she adds.

"You are right," he says, with a tired huff. He steps back, but he still holds onto her hand. "I’m glad you came to me."

"You can thank me by sharing the blankets," Calantha says. She squeezes his hand. "Let's go."

By the time they fall back onto the futon, huddling close for warmth, birds are singing just before the dawn. Calantha closes her eyes, trying not to think about the days ahead. Everything is uncertain. Everything could go to ruin in a moment, with her helpless to stop it. But for now Hien is safe, asleep, and warm against her. She can take some comfort in that.

#ffxiv #hannah words #replies #lavampira #kiss prompts #calantha/hien #endwalker spoilers #fighting for my life with the pacing on this one. but i am simply tired of looking at it so. it's done now lmao #also. idk when the role quests are supposed to happen in enw #i just think cala would've stopped to help him if he'd asked even in the middle of everything. kinda problematic of her but w/e #so this is vaguely after vanaspati i guess

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kariachi · 7 months

Text

Have finished playing Monster Hunter Stories 2. My 'it's half-past midnight let me live' thoughts

These fuckers need to stop making me cry, it's rude

Final squad was made up of a Rathalos, Lagiacrus, Pukei-Pukei, Mitzutsune, Barioth, and Nargacuga

Once again the good guys in games are nicer and more forgiving than me, also rude

They dropped a monster I swear I hadn't seen before in front of me on my way to the final boss, this is illegal

The pickle wasn't bad enough they had to add Bazelgeuse to the game too

We would have had a lot less problems if I was allowed unrestricted use of my bow, I'm just saying

Pukei-Pukei are wonderful, if you don't agree you are wrong, I switched to mine so often that the call 'Lao~sin, get in here' is indelibly etched into my brain

Supposedly this is a 35 hour game. I took 83. Make of this what you will.

I overleveled but also used like no channeling or supplements or anything so I think it evened out

For the second game in a row they gave us a final boss I want to ride into battle and did not make it ride-into-battle-able, rude

For some reason the audio in my cutscenes didn't work like 80% of the time, it'd just be all out of sync

Despite this and the fact that I audibly growled over my cutscenes and cussed out many characters like they'd beat my dog in front of me, I really did enjoy this game and heartily recommend it to anybody into turn-based rpgs and/or critter collectors

Hopefully your brain functions better than mine because dear gods the number of times I switched in a monstie on the wrong corner of rock-paper-scissors because my brain threw out the corner I should be gunning for before it finished thinking it needed to know what to gun for and that just threw my everything off

The baby monsties are adorable, especially the Nerscylla, and yet I cannot just keep them small as like little pets. Truly the rudest and most illegal thing of all.

#achi plays #monster hunter stories 2

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maria021015 · 23 days

Text

Zaida knew what she was doing was illegal, but her heart raced for an entirely different reason as she pressed her foot down harder upon the accelerator of her car. Her hair whipped around her face as the cold night air rushed through the half-open windows. The streetlight and trees outside blurred past as she sped through the suburbs, headed straight for the Stilinski household. The glowing numbers on the dashboard read well past midnight, and she hoped that meant that the majority of the cops on duty would be at the station and not on the streets.

“Stiles!” She breathed a short sigh of relief as he answered her second attempt at calling him. “What’s going on right now? And don’t even try to tell me ‘nothing’, because I felt it.”

“Z-Zaida?” The boy’s shivering voice was a soft whisper interrupted by sobbing. He sounded pained and scared and it only pushed the brunette to push the pedal to the metal. Her car swerved in and out of the opposite lane as she struggled to keep control of the vehicle.

“Stiles, where are you?” She questioned, desperate to get to him. “Are you at home?”

“I-I don’t know…I don’t know where I am. My leg…My leg is bleeding.” The boy whimpered and a jolt of potent panic ran through Zaida. If he was injured, his movement would be limited. “My leg is bleeding. I can’t…Zay, I can’t talk. My phone’s gonna die. I have to go. Just...plea-please find me...”

“No, wait, don’t hang up! I need to know-” She cried out but the line already went silent as the call ended. With one hand gripping the wheel with tight knuckles, the other dialled Stiles’ number on her phone in her lap once more, then pressed it to her ear.

“Come on, Stiles, pick up!” She hissed, sucking in a deep breath in an attempt to wash away the heavy dread that had settled in her chest, but it did nothing to help. That feeling was relentlessly clawing at her insides but she knew this time it was all her own. She’d woken to that very same feeling of crippling anxiety and fear, only for the connection between her and Stiles to swiftly drop out once more. She didn’t know what was going on, but no matter how hard she’d tried to reach out and find him, his door in her mind was locked shut. No amount of pounding against the wooden structure made it even so much as budge.

The phone call did not even ring out and Stiles’ voicemail buzzed in her ears as she groaned loudly, throwing her phone onto the passenger's seat in frustration. The first time she’d called the line had been occupied, and now it appeared his phone was dead. She knew it meant that it was no longer possible to track the device.

“Fuck!” Slamming her hand down on the wheel, her nerves jittered as she took a sharp turn onto the Stilinskis’ street. She didn’t bother parking properly - one tyre was up on the curb and the other stuck far out from it, but Zaida couldn’t give a damn.

Her heart sank even more when he noticed that the boy’s powder blue Jeep was missing from the driveway of the house, slimming her already abysmal chances of finding him here. Launching herself out of the vehicle, she ran up the driveway and pushed on the front door only to find it was unlocked. It complied against her touch, swinging open and allowing her inside the house. That couldn’t be good.

“Stiles?!” Screaming out his name into the darkness, she took the stairs two at a time, not caring if his father would be woken up by her. She’d been too frantic to even check if the man’s squad car was parked out front. “Stiles?!”

Rushing into his room, her feet came to a complete stop when she took in the state of the place. Stiles’ murder board was overflowing from its borders, covering the room with pictures and articles pinned with dozens of lines of red string all converging in the centre of his bed, tied around a pair of scissors that was stabbed deep into the mattress. “What the hell?” Zaida mumbled, her muscles stiffening in shock that overpowered the disappointment at Stiles’ absence from the room.

“Our question exactly,” A deep voice drawled from behind her. She whirled to find Aiden and Lydia standing beside the door.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Zaida’s eyes narrowed at the wolf, but her question was directed at her best friend. “With you?”

“Calm down, I was just using him as a model for my art project,” Lydia rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “You felt something happen?”

“Yeah, he was scared out of his mind.” Zaida nodded, dropping the issue for now. There were more pressing matters at hand. “You heard something?”

“Yeah, Stiles’ voice telling me to come find him.” The redhead pursed her lips. Their conversation was cut short by another two people entering the bedroom. Isaac stood with a confused frown on his face behind Scott, whose brown eyes darted between the three of them and the web of red string stretching all over the place in what appeared to be ordered chaos. Each line was placed with purpose and there had to be meaning in the strange and unsettling display.

“How did you know? Did he call you, too?” Scott asked them. Ah, so that was who Stiles was on the phone with when she couldn’t reach him the first time she’d called.

“I felt it,” Zaida answered in the simplest of terms.

“I heard it.” Lydia followed suit.

“Don't ask,” Aiden advised the boys dryly. “It gets more confusing when you ask.”

“Okay…” Isaac agreed with a nod and Zaida took the opportunity to step closer, inspecting the papers lining the walls to find that a lot of it was scrawled in Stiles’ messy handwriting. Some papers were recounts of strange recent events, and others were just a few words sprawled across the page.

Irritability. Sleepwalking. Insomnia. Night terrors. Blackouts. Hallucinations? Unable to tell dreams from reality.

“Not as confusing as this.” Lydia pointed out the scissors that acted as an anchor for the rainbows of red string. “He uses red for unsolved cases…”

“Maybe he thinks he's part of an unsolved case?” Aiden suggested with a lazy shrug.

“Or is an unsolved case?” Isaac added, stepping up beside Zaida to look at what she was looking at.

“You’re right. All of you,” Zaida answered all of their questions, gesturing to the different papers as she walked around the room. “These are all his symptoms…things that have been happening lately - unexplained things. Like the appearing and disappearing key, the glowing chemicals, the message on the board in his handwriting telling Barrow to kill Kira, the prank on Coach matching Barrow’s shrapnel bomb.”

“Hold on - is he still out there?” Lydia whirled to face Scott. “You don't know where he is?”

“He said that he was in an industrial basement somewhere.” The werewolf explained what was said on the phone call.

“We came here to get a better scent,” Isaac added, then glancing at Zaida expectantly. “Can’t you find him?”

“No, it’s like he’s shut me out,” She shook her head sombrely, a stab of pain twisting her guts at the loss of connection to the boy. “I can’t feel him anymore.”

“What else did he say?” The redhead asked Scott, hoping that more context might give them some clues as to where he could be.

“Something's wrong with his leg - it's bleeding.” He grimaced and Zaida felt as though she was going to be sick. Stiles was out there somewhere, injured, and she had no way of checking that he was even still alive. What if that was why his door was stuck shut? Had he fallen unconscious from the blood loss? There were too many questions and not nearly enough answers for her liking.

“And he's freezing.” Isaac chimed in once more, but Zaida didn’t need the wolf to tell her that for her to know it was true. If Stiles was out there barefoot and in just a t-shirt he could already be hypothermic.

“Tonight's the coldest night of the year.” Zaida was caught off guard when Aiden actually sounded genuinely worried. “It's going to drop into the twenties.”

“What did his dad say?” Lydia wondered if maybe the Sheriff had a way of finding the boy that they hadn’t yet thought of.

“We kind of...We didn't tell him yet.” Scott winced, knowing the reaction he was about to receive.

“What the hell?!” Zaida exclaimed loudly in outrage.

“Stiles is bleeding and freezing and you didn't call his dad?” The redhead stared at them with credulousness in her voice.

“He made me promise not to!” Scott defended himself, having not wanted to worry the man if it could be avoided. “We can find him by scent. If he was sleepwalking, he couldn't have gotten far, right?”

“You didn't notice his Jeep is gone, did you?” Aiden sighed and Zaida couldn’t handle the swirling anxiousness in her chest, resorting to pacing up and down to relieve some of her nervous energy. Five things…

“You promised you wouldn't call his dad - I didn't.” Lydia highlighted the loophole, reaching into her pocket for her phone. Four things…

“Wait, Lydia! Hold on - I can get more help. I can call Derek, Allison-” Scott listed names but neither of the girls in the room were impressed.

“Everyone except for the cops. Great idea!” Lydia scoffed. Three things…

“You guys remember she only gets these feelings when someone's about to die, right?” Even Aiden rose to the redhead’s defence.

“Don’t remind me,” Zaida let out a shaky breath, rubbing at her pounding temples to release some of the tension there. “Scott, I know you don’t want Sheriff to worry, but he needs to know. He can help us.”

“You don't have to call his dad.” Scott yielded, knowing they were all right about this one. “It's five minutes to the station.”

“We'll catch up.” Lydia nodded for them to go, volunteering to stay behind.

“What? Why?” Scott’s brows drew together in confusion.

“There's something here…” The redhead muttered, her green eyes still shifting from object to object across the room.

“Yeah, evidence of total insanity.” Isaac snorted and the brunette beside him knocked into him sharply with her hip.

“Not helping,” Zaida glared at the boy and he - smartly - shut up.

“We can figure out what's wrong with him after we find a way to keep him from freezing to death.” Scott attempted to get Lydia to come with them, but the redhead stood her ground.

“Go.” She insisted stubbornly. “We'll be right behind you.”

“You coming?” Isaac asked Zaida but she shook her head in response.

“I’m gonna stay with Lydia. Maybe she can find something here that’ll help us find him. Not much use at the moment, but I still have my brain.” She reasoned. “Please, just, keep me updated?”

“Will do,” Isaac pulled her into a tight yet brief hug before he and Scott left, able to easily pick up on how heavily this was affecting her.

“So what do we do? How do we trigger your Banshee powers to give us answers?” Aiden asked the redhead once the others were gone.

“We can’t,” Zaida answered for her best friend, who smiled at her gratefully as she took a seat on the edge of Stiles’ bed. “The only thing we can do is wait for it to come to her.”

“Anything yet?” Zaida huffed, looking at Lydia from where she was hanging upside down off Stiles’s bed.

"Maybe if you stopped asking me that, my answer would change," The redhead shook her head in frustration, still concentrating and hoping something would happen.

“What the hell is this?” Aiden lifted up a picture frame that was propped up on the boy’s bookshelf, flashing it to both of the girls.

“It’s a cake,” Lydia answered simply, blinking at the photograph inside. Zaida shot straight up at her words, hopping off the bed and crossing the room to see what they were talking about.

“It looks like a pile of shit,” Aiden wrinkled his nose at it and Zaida snatched the frame out of his hands with a sharp glower.

“It’s clearly a porcupine,” Lydia rolled her eyes at the werewolf and Zaida’s lips pulled into an involuntary smile when she realised that Stiles had taken a photo of the cake she had made for his birthday. Two slices were missing from the bottom left, telling her he’d taken the photo when he’d gotten home after school that day.

“It’s Chewbacca!” The brunette identified and they both stared at her as if she’d grown two heads.

“Gesundheit,” Aiden mumbled and she narrowed her eyes at him darkly.

“I didn’t sneeze, it’s a character from Star Wars you uncultured swine.” Zaida snapped, her heart melting when she looked at the image once more.

“Are you sure though? How can you really tell?” Aiden tilted his head horizontally to look at it from a new angle.

“Because I made it you jackass!” She whacked him across his bicep with the picture before placing it back where they’d found it on the shelf. “I can’t believe he framed this.”

“And I can’t believe you two still aren’t together yet,” Lydia drawled sarcastically, poking fun at her best friend.

“They’re not?” Aiden’s head whipped towards the redhead in surprise. “Then what was all that dancing about at Danny’s party.”

“Sexual frustration,” Lydia shrugged and Zaida’s face flushed red at the girl’s candor, her jaw dropping open.

“I think we all have more pressing issues to worry about than Stiles and I’s relationship - or lack thereof.” She raised a brow at both of them pointedly, her phone buzzing in her pocket distracting her from the discussion.

“You got the messages too?” Lydia questioned, already looking at her phone screen.

“Stiles’ Jeep has been found outside the hospital with the battery dead.” Zaida nodded, reading the first text aloud.

“Nothing at hospital. Derek headed to high school. Isaac going to find Allison." Lydia continued, swiping through her notifications. “...And, Scott's with the Sheriff.”

“And we're standing in a bedroom staring at the walls,” Aiden spoke dryly, running his fingers along one of the lengths of string before plucking it with a twang. Even Zaida couldn’t help but snort in agreement. She had faith in Lydia, but her powers were unpredictable at best. Waiting around when everyone else was out there doing something now felt a bit like a colossal mistake.

“What did you just do? Did you touch one of the strings?” Lydia whirled, her hair whipping about as she spun to face the wolf.

“...Maybe.” Aiden frowned as he stepped away, thinking that he had done something he wasn’t meant to.

“What did that sound like to you?” The girl questioned, green eyes widening in a manner that told Zaida she was onto something.

“...Like a string being pulled?” The werewolf answered with uncertainty.

“You didn't hear people whispering?” Lydia spoke softly, her head tilting as she slowly approached Stiles’ bed.

“I definitely didn't hear people whispering.” Aiden shook his head looking to Zaida for her answer.

“Me neither,” She confirmed in the barest of hisses, not wanting to disturb the silence while she watched Lydia pinch a red string between her fingers, pull it and then release it. The redhead leaned closer, pressing her ear towards it.

“You didn't hear that?” She asked, her lips pressing together in apprehension and slight fear of her own abilities.

“Lydia, I'm not sure anyone hears what you hear.” Aiden retorted somewhat abrasively.

“Lyds, what do you hear?” Zaida prompted her best friend to speak, her body stiffening in anticipation.

“They're whispering...Something about a house…” Lydia answered, her eyes following the string she had plucked to an image pinned on the wall.

“What house?” Aiden asked, but Zaida already knew the answer, even without seeing the image up close.

“Eichen House,” The brunette answered with a grim expression. Of course, there was yet another connection between Barrow and Stiles. “It's the mental health centre William Barrow, the Shrapnel Bomber, was committed to.”

“That's where he is,” Lydia stated confidently. “That's where Stiles is.”

“They’re here,” Zaida breathed a sigh of relief, hugging herself for more warmth as she waited beside Lydia and Aiden at the entrance to Eichen House. Three squad cars pulled up over the crunching gravel, blinding them momentarily until the lights and sirens turned off and Sheriff Stilinski climbed out of the driver’s side of one of the vehicles. Scott was right behind him as they hurried over to where they stood before the looming rusted iron gate to the mental institution.

“Lydia, I don't want to say, ‘are you sure about this’, but…?” The man winced as he addressed the girl. There was a desperation behind his eyes and concern in the lines of his face.

“No - he's here. I swear to God he's here.” The girl insisted and Noah nodded, leading them in through the gate, and then inside large wooden entry doors and over to the front service desk.

“I need access to all basement rooms in this facility.” The Sheriff flashes his badge to the man behind the counter, slipping a paper warrant through the gap in the perspex window separating them.

They were led by a man in what looked like a nurse’s uniform through dark and winding corridors. Eichen House looked as though it was once a family estate - a huge mansion that had been repurposed as a medical facility over a hundred years ago, based on the dated architecture. There was something about it that sent ghostly fingertips dancing along Zaida’s spine. Something that felt a lot like that night at Glen Capri. They walked silently past a winding staircase and through more hallways until they came to a corridor with a single heavy door at it’s end.

“It’s here. It’s right here.” Lydia urged them towards the dead-end. The worker unlocked it for them, and Sheriff’s Stilinski’s torch light beamed into the thick and musty darkness on the other side. They ventured within, quickly hurrying down the steps into the cold and industrial-looking concrete basement. It sounded like the exact place Stiles had described to Scott.

“Stiles?!” Lydia called out into the blackness, and they all shone their torches around the place, over box-filled shelves, an old, dusty couch, and an otherwise empty basement.

“Lydia...?” Scott looked to the redhead for answers, all of their hopes of finding Stiles here deflating.

“He’s not here,” Zaida swallowed thickly, her voice trapped in her throat as her insides churned and her chest burned. They were wrong, and they had wasted so much time - time they couldn’t afford to lose.

“I don't get it. This has to be it.” She muttered almost frantically, eyes glimmering with tears of frustration in herself.

“Then where is he, huh? Where is he?” Noah whispered, his face crumbling as his composure fell apart. He whipped around to face Lydia in a wave of anger, his volume rising. “Where is he?”

The redhead flinched, taking a step backwards instinctively as tears started to fall. Her heart ached with guilt at the sight of the man who wanted nothing more than to find his son. “It’s not her fault,” Zaida defended her friend, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “This stuff isn't really an exact science.”

“I'm sorry…” Noah shook his head at himself for lashing out, running his hands through his cropped brown hair, the same way Stiles would.

“There’s no scent,” Aiden pointed out from the other side of the room. “He hasn’t been here.”

“I don't understand…I’m so sorry, Zaida.” Lydia murmured to herself as the others began to climb the stairs, leaving.

“Don’t be stupid, I know you were trying your best,” The brunette shook her head at her best friend, appreciating that all of her efforts had been in an attempt to help. Zaida gave the room one final sweep with her flashlight before she turned away from it.

The redhead looked at her with hope that Zaida had found something they’d missed. “You okay? What is it?”

“Something's not right with this place…” The brunette shook her head, her voice echoing off the walls. Something didn’t feel right at all. There was a palpable energy that she couldn't explain.

“Guys!” Scott came rushing back in, holding the door open to urge the dawdling girls to pass through. “Mom just messaged - they found him.”

“Oh, thank God,” A shaky breath of relief escaped Zaida’s lips as the tension of the night left her body. Her shoulders sagged as Lydia gripped her hand, tugging her forward. They found him. He was going to be okay.

#teen wolf #teen wolf fanfic #stiles stilinski #teen wolf fanfiction #stiles #stiles x oc #teenwolf fanfiction #female oc #female original character #teenwolf

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happi-tree · 11 months

Text

midnight (close to you)

Taylor ❤️‍🔥 just now u up

Lincoln grimaces at the 03:27 in bold numbers across the top of his screen before swiping on the message and unlocking his phone to type out a quick reply.

Me Yeah.

Lincoln is no stranger to seeing Taylor up at weird hours, but as he glances at past messages (filled on Taylor’s part with lots of exclamation points and cutesy little emotes), he suddenly feels a bit more awake.

A chat bubble appears below, animated dots appearing and disappearing as he waits.

Taylor ❤️‍🔥 🕯️?

Me On it.

Or: Taylor has a bad night, and Lincoln tries his best to make it more bearable.

ao3

Swiftli time, lovebirds!!! Here’s my fic for day 5: demons/nightmares. Like days 1 and 3, this is part of the supernatural au @llumimoon, @kaseyskat, and I planned out together. Hope you enjoy!

(Title taken from "Sleep-walking" by Dreamcatcher).

Lincoln Li-Wilson is tossing and turning in a vain attempt at sleep when his phone buzzes.

Blearily, he wipes at his eyes as he focuses on the screen, wincing at the sudden brightness.

Taylor ❤️‍🔥 just now

u up

Lincoln grimaces at the 03:27 in bold numbers across the top of his screen before swiping on the message and unlocking his phone to type out a quick reply.

Yeah.

A chat bubble appears below, animated dots appearing and disappearing as he waits.

Taylor ❤️‍🔥

🕯️?

On it.

Lincoln pushes himself out of bed, making his way over to turn on his fairy lights (a joke gift from Normal, tiny pairs of butterfly wings casting the room in warm-tinted pinpricks of light) and opens one of his dresser drawers, pulling out the components he needs.

Next to go is the area rug, rolled up and pushed to the side to uncover the large pentagram painted into the floor, encircled by runes Lincoln had checked and double-checked, written in Taylor’s steady hand.

He places the red taper candles in the direction of each of the four winds, scatters coarse salt atop the inked circle (a formality at this point, but he can never be too careful). He fumbles with the lighter, trying a few times before remembering to shut off the ceiling fan.

Lincoln makes sure to crack the door open (the increasingly invasive questions from both of his dads had been downright embarrassing the last time they did this and he is not in the mood for a repeat experience). They won’t mind, he knows.

Besides, there are many worse things a teenage boy like Lincoln could be doing than ritually summoning a demon. Half-demon. Whatever.

At each point of the star, he places small offerings: an unopened box of strawberry crunch Pocky; a Garfield plush (which he deeply hopes Taylor will give back to him, since it’s one of his favorites); a room-temperature Ramune; a sparkly sticker; a homemade charm bracelet (no iron or silver, of course, warded for protection and serenity).

In the very center of the pentagram, Lincoln carefully places the Hatsune Miku keychain Taylor had lent him for this exact purpose.

Lincoln pricks his finger and lets a drop of blood fall to the outer edge of the circle, lets the sizzle of it drown out the soft mutterings of the incantation.

Five pinpricks of flame flare higher, brighter, and brilliant ribbons of fire spread outward to conjoin in the center of the circle. Lincoln watches warily as the ball of flame grows and grows, expanding outward and beginning to color with the reddish-magenta hue of his friend’s aura, casting the room in stark maroon shadows.

Before his eyes, the blaze grows brighter, burns hotter, practically pushing at the bounds of its ink-carved confinement, and Lincoln feels the heat lick at his face, warm against his cheeks.

As suddenly as it began, the light is extinguished, revealing the hunched pajama-clad form of Taylor amidst the embers and smoke, the faint cerise glow around him fading until he’s backlit by Lincoln’s fairy lights.

It’s an enchanting sight, normally, one that Lincoln cherishes, but not when Taylor’s glancing down at the painted floorboards with glossed-over eyes, trembling slightly.

“Hey,” Lincoln says, breaking the line of salt with a nudge of his socked foot, crawling forward until their knees touch.

A single, long strand of Taylor’s fringe is still aflame, so Lincoln leans inward and pinches it gently between his thumb and forefinger and extinguishes it with a hiss.

“Taylor,” Lincoln calls, voice hushed in the night but hopefully loud enough to get through to him. He tucks the midnight-dark strand behind the delicate, reddened point of Taylor’s ear.

When he doesn’t respond, doesn’t look up, worry settles further in his stomach, a leaden weight.

His hand cups his best friend’s face, carefully guiding upward until Taylor meets his gaze.

Glazed-over and deeply tired, Taylor stares blinkingly at him for a moment, eyes welling with tears.

“Hey,” Lincoln tries again, “what’s going o-” The air is knocked out of him in a quiet oof as Taylor lunges forward into his chest. He’s uncomfortably warm to the touch in such a way that would burn most people but only leaves Lincoln with a tingling sensation, kind of like sitting by a fireplace for a bit too long. He can feel the fabric of his sleep shirt growing wet where Taylor’s buried his face into his shoulder, and his arms come around to encircle his friend instinctively.

“You’re burning up,” Lincoln frets as he touches the back of his hand to Taylor’s forehead. It feels like stretching his hands out over a bonfire rather than a candle, like usual, and he frowns at the way the heat pushes angrily against his wardings, making his hand glow a barely-perceptible gold. He frowns even deeper when Taylor only wriggles further into his arms, making a sad, distressed sort of sound.

Lincoln notices the way Taylor presses his ear into the left side of his chest, pushing against him like he’s searching out his heartbeat, and something in him twists a little.

This floor can’t be comfortable for him, especially not when he’s shaking and breathing unevenly.

Lincoln looks behind him, opens more of the salt circle with his bare foot, knocks over a crimson candle in the process.

Whatever, he’ll clean it up in the morning.

“Gonna pick you up now, okay?” Lincoln murmurs, ducking his head so he doesn’t have to speak too loud and making sure to keep his voice slow and steady and reassuring.

Taylor nods against him, and Lincoln allows himself a shadow of a smile.

“Good,” he says, and adjusts his hold, sliding one arm under Taylor’s knees and another along his back (beneath his shoulder blades, just in case). Something thin and warm coils itself around his forearm and squeezes, and Lincoln doesn’t need to look to know that Taylor’s wrapped his tail around him for support as his clawed hands scramble for purchase on his upper back. The fabric of Lincoln’s shirt shreds a little, but as always, Taylor’s scratching doesn’t manage to break through the latent magic just atop his skin.

“Up we go!” Lincoln says, and Taylor clings to him even tighter as he holds his smaller friend aloft, carrying them both to his twin XL bed and depositing Taylor as gracefully as he can.

Which isn’t very graceful at all, since Taylor refuses to let go of him.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Lincoln soothes - or at least tries to. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I just need you to let me go, ‘kay?”

Taylor shakes his head, mumbling something almost inaudible into his chest.

“What was that?” he says, even though he knows he heard the muffled no, not again the first time.

“Can’t,” Taylor says instead, leaving Lincoln leaning awkwardly over the edge of the bed, feeling oddly cold despite the feverish boy in his arms.

“Okay,” Lincoln mutters, shifting his hold a little (because while Taylor is relatively easy to pick up, soccer has, admittedly, not done much for his arm strength). “Can I move my hand so you can hold it, maybe? So I can be next to you?”

Taylor hums in the affirmative, so Lincoln slides a hand from beneath his friend’s back, and Taylor takes it the second it’s offered, clutching it with clawed fingers like a lifeline as Lincoln climbs into the narrow bed beside him.

That doesn’t last long, though, because Taylor is quick to throw an arm across Link’s shoulders and drape his leg across Lincoln’s own in a strange, full body half-hug.

Lincoln hums a little in concern, worry pulling at his brow. Taylor really must not be feeling well with the way that every point of contact between them burns the tiniest bit, despite the layers and layers of enchantments and wards and immunities that have woven themselves into Lincoln’s cells.

Taylor’s head buries just below Link’s jaw, the way Normal tends to do when he’s feeling needy or sad and wants their pack’s scent around him. His horns, still growing by the day, clip against the side of Lincoln’s face harmlessly as he shuffles into him.

Lincoln takes a minute to marvel at the close bond he has with his friends that defies human description. To go from having nobody his own age to talk to, much less be around, to having three people who care about him - despite rocky introductions - who love him enough to call him family, to be pack, to choose him, to come to him for comfort and camaraderie, to want him… it’s a lot.

Sometimes, if Lincoln thinks about it too hard, the way his friends give him affection so freely - the way Normal nearly tackles him to the ground with the force of his hug and calls him by Name when the world gets to be too much, the way Scary leans into him without hesitation, the way Taylor curls into him now without reigning in his infernal traits - he could almost cry.

Taylor’s tail wraps around Lincoln’s waist, steadfast and needy, the spaded tip of it thumping irregularly against Lincoln’s side.

They rest like that for several moments that seem simultaneously like an instant and like they stretch on into eternity, eons passing with each movement of Lincoln’s fingers through Taylor’s sleep-mussed hair.

Since Lincoln can’t really look at Taylor without craning his neck awkwardly, he chooses a spot on the ceiling to stare at, reveling in the feeling of Taylor cuddling up against him and taking obviously deep, slow breaths so that Taylor can match them. The heat at his side slowly abates from almost-singeing to a comforting warmth, and just as slowly, Taylor’s breath evens out from where it fans against his neck.

Lincoln lets the relative silence wash over him, waiting.

“Link?” Taylor asks, voice slightly muffled.

(Taylor’s lips brush against the side of Lincoln’s throat in a way that makes his breath catch, sends his heart fluttering in his chest, but that’s not something he wants to think too hard about right now.)

“Yeah?” he responds quietly, and thankfully his voice doesn’t sound too strangled as he whispers.

“Thanks.” Taylor doesn’t look up, doesn’t let go, but he’s relaxed more fully into Lincoln’s side rather than grasping in a desperate panic.

“Anytime, man.” It’s amazing, the way Taylor’s presence can warm him from the inside out without even trying, without even factoring in his demonic abilities.

Lincoln doesn’t press for answers.

At this point, he doesn’t really need to. It’s become something of a routine for them over the past few months - whenever Taylor is left in an empty house and craves company, whenever Lincoln is feeling a little too cold, whenever sleep eludes them, the summoning circle is there, just to the side of Lincoln’s bed, and suddenly, things are a little less lonely.

Sometimes, Taylor wants to talk. Sometimes, he keeps to himself, and Lincoln tries not to let it worry him too much.

Anxiety meds are great for that, but the haunted look in his friends’ eyes is an unknown that Lincoln can’t protect them from, can only try his best to understand, fumbling and human as he is.

“I, uh. Had a bad dream,” Taylor starts, tucking his head out of Lincoln’s neck to face him.

Ah. Tonight falls in the former category, then.

“Yeah?” Lincoln hears himself say, though he had figured as much.

“Yeah. Really, uh. Really bad.”

Taylor’s voice sounds so small in the mostly-dark quiet of the room.

Lincoln squeezes their hands, still conjoined, a tiny, wordless reassurance.

“You’re safe now,” Lincoln tells him. “My dad’s warded this entire house like crazy.”

Taylor scoffs. “Yeah, like I could forget after the first time you snuck me in.”

“I thought we agreed we would never talk about that again,” Lincoln responds, mock-shuddering.

“You begged me not to bring it up, I promised nothing. Not the same thing.”

Lincoln likes seeing Taylor’s smile again, even if it’s just the barest flash of fang glinting in the soft glow of his distant fairy lights. Even when it fades a few seconds later.

Taylor’s tail squeezes around Lincoln’s middle, and Lincoln brings a hand to rest on his shoulder.

“Hey,” He murmurs. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, I won’t let anything hurt you.”

Taylor laughs again, but it’s a shaky, mirthless sound, this time.

“I know you wouldn’t,” He says quietly. Then, “You didn’t, in my dream. You, uh, died.”

“Oh,” Lincoln says.

“Didn’t wanna bother you with it, but you were awake, and it’s stupid, but…” Taylor’s voice trails off.

Lincoln exhales, holds his friend closer.

“I wouldn’t wanna lose you, either,” he says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head, just between his horns.

Taylor’s warmth flares in his hold, just a little bit, and the corners of Lincoln’s lips turn up a fraction. Even despite everything, his best friend is incredibly easy to fluster.

“There were… hunters,” he mumbles, looking down at Lincoln’s orange-and-black striped comforter, grasping for his hands and fidgeting with their loosely-locked fingers to distract Lincoln (and maybe himself, too) from the way his shoulders still tremble. “They were coming for us - Norm, Scary, Hermie. Me.”

Something in Lincoln’s stomach feels like it just twisted, and pressure builds behind his eyes - half-exhaustion, half-sorrow.

“Taylor - hey, Tay, look at me, please?”

Lincoln sees the way that Taylor’s downturned, red-tinged mahogany eyes brim with tears, threatening to spill over onto his cheeks.

Lincoln gently extricates a hand from Taylor’s grasp, brings it to rest under his chin, tilting it upward until they are face to face again and he can peer into his eyes.

Taylor’s eyes have a fire lit behind them, one he’s always noticed in the back of his mind before either of them were aware of his demonic heritage. It’s captivating, the way that they catch in the light, spark to match the bright burn of Taylor’s convictions. Again and again, they’ve drawn Lincoln in like a moth to a flame, crimson-brown-black and enchanting in an entirely different way than anything of the fae.

Lincoln thinks he would jump into the fire and set himself ablaze if it meant that he would never have to see the light behind his eyes shrink to the pinpricks that he sees now.

Hot tears stream down Taylor’s cheeks, silent except for the small hiss the droplets make as they hit the fabric of Lincoln’s bedspread.

Lincoln thumbs the rest away as Taylor leans into the affection, catlike, and the thing in Lincoln’s stomach writhes again.

“Taylor,” he says again, “Look at me.”

Dark eyelashes flutter open, and Taylor looks so, so tired, so haunted.

(Lincoln’s seen that look before on the face of someone else he loves, and he’d give anything to never see it on either of them again.)

“I need you to listen to me.”

Lincoln has… a hard time making eye contact, sometimes, but this is important, so he stares into his friend’s eyes, doesn’t back off or let his gaze slide away.

“You know my family wouldn’t let that happen. That - my dad - it’s his whole thing, you know?”

“Your dad wasn’t there,” Taylor says. “Just you.”

“Then I wouldn’t let that happen. You know I wouldn’t, if it came down to it.”

“I know,” Taylor replies, miserably. “That’s the problem.”

Oh.

“The jackass - in my dream, y’know - the guy that shot you, you know what he said? He said that it was a shame that he had to waste a silver bullet on a pesky human. That it was sad that we’d, like, magicked you into siding with us. Which was so fucked up and I - I couldn’t move, I was so angry. And scared, god, I was terrified, and Norm and Scary were, too, and then it all went black, and-”

“And you woke up?” Lincoln guessed.

“Yeah,” Taylor says. “Nearly melted my phone trying to text you.”

Lincoln frowns, scooches closer to him. Rests a hand on Taylor’s cheek, leans in to press their foreheads together.

Taylor’s horns poke uncomfortably against his skull, but Lincoln ignores it - besides, with all of the immunities he’s built up, the pain barely registers.

“I’m here,” Lincoln says.

“I know,” Taylor responds, and his voice is hoarse.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You - Link, you can’t just say that. I know you’ve got some weird, fucked-up magic shit protecting you, but you’re human, and I’m -”

“Half-human,” Lincoln reminds him, not unkindly. “You didn’t ask for this.”

“Well, you didn’t, either!”

“I know,” Lincoln responds. “We’re both new to this, and there’s horrible people out there that have it out for us, and we just gotta… live with that.”

“It’s not fair,” Taylor groans, resting his face in the crook of Lincoln’s neck again.

“It isn’t,” Lincoln agrees as he begins to card fingers through warm, dark hair. Taylor makes a soft, whispery sort of sound like the crackling of a campfire, resonating from his chest in the demonic equivalent of purring.

“You’re right. I’m human, even if I’m harder to mess with than most,” Lincoln says. “But I chose this, at least a little bit. I chose you, all of you. And I’m not gonna back out. We’re in this together, dude. As long as you’ll have me?”

“You say that like it’s a question. I’ll always want you. I’m a selfish bitch like that.”

“Hey, don’t talk about my best friend like that,” Lincoln teases, and presses another kiss to the top of Taylor’s head for emphasis.

He chuckles. “You keep that up, and people are gonna think we’re more than best friends.”

“Pretty allonormative of you, Taylor,” Lincoln snipes. “Plus, I don’t see anyone else here…”

“Well, then, I guess I can retaliate without an audience,” Taylor responds, and Lincoln can hear the familiar mischief in his voice.

“Retal- ah,” the air leaves Lincoln’s lungs as Taylor presses his lips against the side of his neck, purposefully lets a fang graze against the delicate skin there.

“Mm,” Taylor hums. Lincoln can feel the vibration of it against his throat, and the sound goes straight to his head, warm and sleep-fuzzed and more than a little deliriously dizzy.

“Sorry,” Taylor says, not sounding the least bit apologetic as he pulls away after a moment with a soft popping sound. “You were saying?”

Taylor’s tail sways back and forth behind him, giving him the appearance of a predator ready to pounce.

“Guh,” Lincoln responds intelligibly, trying to get his brain back online. “You’re the worst, sometimes, you know that? Like, I was going somewhere with that, and then - you -”

“I am pretty insufferable, huh,” Taylor says with a close-lipped grin, sounding far too self-satisfied.

“Guess I’ll just have to suffer you, then,” Lincoln replies with a small grin of his own, dragging Taylor down into his arms.

Taylor gives in easily, tail brushing against the side of Lincoln’s leg affectionately.

“Taking one for the team,” Lincoln says. “I’m pretty good at that.”

“Too good,” Taylor says, looking up at him from the circle of his arms. “I don’t need you throwing yourself into the, like, line of fire for me when I’m immune, yeah?”

“The dream wasn’t real, you know.”

“Could be, someday,” Taylor muses, and though the tear tracks have evaporated from his face, there’s still a twist of uncharacteristic melancholy in his expression.

Lincoln hums. “Well, in the meantime, maybe we can protect each other? And the others. That sound okay?” he asks. “Because I’m not gonna stop having your back anytime soon.”

“Same here,” Taylor says. “You’re ours, and anyone who comes at us can take you away over my dead body.”

“Possessive,” Link notes, pointedly ignoring the way his heart jolts. “And kinda morbid.” “Eh, it’s a demon thing, I think,” Taylor shrugs.

“Dork.”

“I dunno, I think it’s kinda hot.”

“Taylor, you’re part demon. Being hot is your thing.”

“Oh, so I’m attractive to you, huh? What are you gonna do, kiss me about it?” There’s a single fang poking out of Taylor’s smile, and Lincoln fails not to think about the way it felt brushing over his pulse.

“Maybe. If we both go to sleep after this.”

Taylor blinks lazily at him. “Sleep sounds nice,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Think you could keep the nightmares away?” His eyes, as tired as they are, are so deep and dark and beautiful.

“I’ve got a few charms for that,” Lincoln answers, pointing around the room at bundles of herbs and twine and rune-inscribed parchment that Marco had strung up along corners of the ceiling.

“Link, I was trying to be flirty.”

“Oh,” Lincoln says. Then, “So if I kiss you, you’ll go to sleep?”

“Mm, that can be arranged,” Taylor agrees, his tail snaking around to tap against Lincoln’s nose affectionately before wrapping around his waist.

“Good,” Lincoln breathes, and he leans in to meet Taylor halfway.

In the end, Lincoln loses count of how many lazy kisses they exchange in the faint glow of the fairy lights before they succumb to slumber, but when he wakes, Taylor is still in his arms, a faint smile on his face in his sleep.

Lincoln can feel his face mirror the expression as he wipes a bit of Taylor’s drool away with the back of his hand. He leans down and ghosts his lips over Taylor’s temple, tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear, filled with an uncomfortable-yet-comforting warmth wherever their bodies overlap.

Lincoln basks in it as he closes his eyes again, resting against the pillows, and knows that whatever dangers lurk ahead, they’ll face them together.

#ah. swiftli my beloveds <333 feels good to post them again!!!#ideally. i would've posted day 2/4's fic yesterday for More Context purposes but alas 😔 the eepy got me and we have a schedule to keep #i don't think it's toooooooo hard to read between the lines for this one? v light to nonexistent detective work here methinks #but i'll let y'all be the judge of that!#anyway. the li-wilsons have made me particularly unwell in this au and i will be abnormal about them FOREVER #anyway uh. boys cuddling and kissing perhaps queerplatonically. what then 😳😳😳#tbh you can read this anyway you like! just know that neither of them are completely allo in my head (happy belated ace week)#and also. there's a couple little nods to link having autism here and there <3 bc i am an autistic link truther #and an autistic taylor truther too btw it's just not as obvious here #okokok now for actual tags #dndads #fic #swiftli #dndads halloween week 2023 #happi scribbles #bat and wolf #happi rambles

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