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thepowerofswayze · 5 months

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Crush

originally on ao3

pairing: mike schmidt (2023) / afab reader [gender not specified]

word count: 3K

warnings & info: 18+, first time together, mostly smut, oral sex (both receive), you're abby's babysitter, reader wears a bra, compliments like "pretty"

summary: Abby can't help but tell you all of Mike's business- specifically, that Mike has a crush on you. Luckily, the feeling is mutual.

☆

You were tucking Abby into bed when you caught her staring at you, brows furrowed. “What’re you thinkin’ so hard about?” You asked, tapping her nose.

The girl scrunched her face. “You’re really pretty,” she said, burrowing herself into the blankets. “It makes sense that Mike has a crush on you.”

Not sure you heard her right, you blinked, then laughed. “Very funny,” you sighed, giving her an eye roll and a smile.

“It’s true!” She was sitting up now, undoing all the work you’d put into tucking her in nice and tight. “He’s, like, extra weird around you, like, super fidgety and staring at you. And he fixes his hair before he opens the door every time you come over. And he’s all smiley on the phone with you. He’s never smiley.”

You tried not to betray the way your heart fluttered and instead put on a face like you're deep in thought. “Hm… Well, I’m not sure you’ve convinced me. But how about we talk about it when I’m back tomorrow? Right now, you should be fast asleep, girl.”

Abby was obviously not buying that you’d be willing to talk about it later- and, in fact, you were hoping she’d forget the conversation- but she yawned and lay back down, allowing you to re-tuck the sheets. Her eyes were already dropping as she said, “I’m right, you know.”

You gave her a nod. “I’m sure. Goodnight, Abby.” With a kiss on her forehead, you stood from her bed, turned out the lights, and slipped out the door.

As the door softly closed behind you, you made your way into the kitchen and started cleaning up from dinner. Abby’s words didn’t leave your head. Sure, kids loved misreading things or teasing their siblings, but Abby was a smart kid. She didn’t usually tell you lies. You shook your head, smiling a little at how the butterflies in your stomach stirred. Getting this worked up over intel gathered from a ten year old was silly.

That didn’t mean you thought about anything else as you worked, washing dishes and straightening the living room, picking up stray clothes and tossing them in their rightful places, sweeping the floor when you were done and still restless. An hour or two later, you collapsed on the couch, TV remote in hand. The only things on were Late Night, a rerun of 90s movies, and the infomercial channel. Seth Meyers tempted you from the NBC channel, but when you saw Clueless would start playing in 10 minutes, you settled on the movie reruns. You turned the volume up, just enough to hear it from the couch, then lay your head on the arm rest, doing a terrible job of keeping your eyes open.

It was like you blinked and the room was suddenly dark. In reality, it was hours later. You heard rustling, watching the figure in front of the now switched off TV turn toward you. “Mike?” You asked, knowing already from his posture and the way his hand ran through his hair that it was him.

“Sorry,” he said, mouth quirking up as he watched you stretch and yawn. “I was gonna let you sleep.”

You shook your head sitting up and patting the spot on the couch next to you. “‘S no problem,” you managed as he sat, letting your shoulder press against his. “How was work?”

Mike made a noncommittal noise, ducking his head as you turned to look at him, eyes adjusting to the lighting. The purple under his eyes wasn’t extreme, but it was there. Along with his permanently disheveled hair and week-old scruff, he looked the way the noise sounded. The exhaustion did nothing to hide how handsome he was, though, and you felt the usual rush of adrenaline as you kept studying him. “It was work,” he replied, hands fidgeting in his lap. “How were things here? I see you and Abby cleaned.”

You snorted, and you could swear he smiled genuinely. “Yeah, me and Abby.” You were fully awake now, eyes falling on his restless hands then flitting away to the blank TV screen, still warm. In your mind, a checklist appeared and you involuntarily checked ‘fidgety’ and ‘smiley’ off. “We worked on her homework. Oh, and we ate your leftovers… Sorry...”

He was looking at you now, one eyebrow raised as you gave him a grin that definitely didn’t convey any remorse. “I’m sure you’re so sorry,” he scoffed, eyes leaving yours but scanning your face now. ‘Staring.’ Check. God, this wasn't going to leave your mind, was it? “You didn't have to clean, you know. Thank you.”

Now it was your turn to make a noncommittal noise, accompanied by a shrug as you looked away. “No biggie. Helps me think, anyway.” When he ran his hand through his hair earlier, was that normal? Or was that a ‘fixes his hair when you come over’ occurrence, right in front of you? Suddenly his shoulder touching yours was all you could feel. You couldn’t live like this. “Abby said something funny, actually.”

You watched out of the corner of your eye as he hummed. “Yeah? What’d she say?”

Well, no point in dancing around it. “She seems to think you have a crush on me.”

You could swear Mike’s breath caught. Your shoulder left his as you turned to watch him now, eyes trained on his face. He glanced over at you, then focused on his fidgety hands. No way. “Oh.” There was no way. Your eyebrows raised as he wiped his hands on his jeans. The seconds ticked by. He was too quiet. “What, uh.” Another beat. You watched as he swallowed hard, throat bobbing. “What d’you… think about that?”

Mentally, you pumped your fist, and thanked the universe that kids were so committed to spilling everyone's secrets. “I dunno,” you responded. His obvious nerves were weirdly soothing to yours. Maybe it was the near confirmation that whatever this was, it wasn’t one sided. He was looking at you now, eyes a little wide at how close you two were, faces really only inches away. You could smell his cologne and the coffee on his breath. “I don’t think it’d be all that bad.”

“Yeah?” He barely breathed the word, and it sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes dropped to your lips, and yours did the same to his. “Well.” His voice was low and thick, like he couldn’t believe what he was saying. “I guess we’d probably have to do something about that.”

It was a slightly awkward, very Mike type line, but it might as well have been a Shakespearean proclamation of love the way your stomach did flips. “Probably,” you whispered back. “Definitely.”

His hand moved, pushing a lock of your hair behind your ear, and you were barely breathing now. You leaned into the touch, his hand cupping your cheek, his calluses rubbing against your skin. The look in his eyes was going straight to your head, and you leaned in, tilting as your noses brushed.

A second ticked by. He whispered your name. “Are you… you’re sure?”

“Mike,” you breathed, eyes half closed already. “Kiss me.” And he did.

His lips were a little chapped, you thought. He was kissing you gently, and the friction of his stubble against your face was actually kind of nice. His free hand was gripping your waist now, sure but gentle, and your own hands traveled from your lap to his chest, where his heart was beating so hard you vaguely thought he might have a heart attack. As one of your hands moved to the back of his head, tangling in his hair, he let out a noise and the air shifted.

It wasn’t anything crazy- a rather content sigh was all- but it went straight to your stomach. Then lower. You shifted, a hand on his face to guide him as the kiss deepened, while the other tugged at his hair. He reciprocated eagerly, and you faintly registered how sweet he tasted. Another noise escaped, not a little gasp or sigh like you’d both been letting slip, but almost a whine in the back of his throat. You weren’t gonna manage to pull yourself away at this rate.

He chased your lips as you pulled back, just a bit, for air. “Mike,” you murmured. His responding ‘Hm?’ was so eager, you almost dove back in right there, and his thumb on your hip bone just under the hem of your shirt wasn’t helping. But you wanted something else. “If you wanna… We should go to your room.”

His eyes were wide again, and he stood almost abruptly. “Yeah. Yeah, we- cmon.” He took your hand, leading you through the hall as if you weren’t at his house every weekday.

You’d been in his room before, but you’d never been on his bed. You’d never sat with your legs tucked beneath you as he kissed you, his hands now on your waist under your shirt, your hands pulling at his loose curls in ways that made that throaty whine come back. He was gonna be the end of you.

He tugged at the hem of your shirt, and you smiled into the kiss. “Okay,” you murmured, pulling back to take your shirt off. His breath was trembling as you threw the garment to the floor, immediately working on getting his shirt off, too. It joined yours, the start of a pile, and you barely had a moment before his lips were on yours again, his hands back on your waist, on the small of your back. Yours played with the top of his jeans, your thumbs hooking into his waistband. He shivered beneath your touch. “Off,” you murmured, working on his button and zipper. He helped you get them off, helped you get your own pants taken care of, so you both sat there in your underwear.

You looked at the tent in his pants, then back up to meet his gaze. He was looking at you with wide eyes, glancing from your face to your chest. Lower. He took it all in with the same awed expression. His hand traced your side, and you took his face in your hands and kissed him.

Mike’s hands loved to roam. He ran them over your hips, over your thighs, up your back to the clasp of your bra. He fumbled before it released and slid off easily. The air was cold, but his hands quickly came up to replace the fabric, thumbs brushing over your nipples gently.

He pulled back momentarily. “Can I…” The tremor in his voice was too good. It took everything in you not to interrupt him with another kiss. His voice was low, pleading. “I don’t have any condoms. But I can still eat you out.” Then, quickly, “If you want, I mean.”

‘If you want,’ he said. Was he crazy? “Yeah.” You kissed him gently- once, then again. “Yeah. I want that.”

You lay back on his pillows, which smelled overwhelmingly like him, and watched as he climbed over you. His mouth met your neck, kissing gently, trailing down to your collarbone, your breasts, your stomach. He hooked his fingers in the waistband of your underwear and you lifted your hips to let him tug them off.

Mike’s face was ridiculously reverent. Heat overtook your skin at the sight of him between your legs. He dragged a finger down the slick pooling on you, and your breath quivered. A kiss to your inner thigh. Then to the other one, stubble scratching the sensitive skin. Then his mouth was on you.

The feeling of his tongue tentatively lapping a stripe up your core made you squirm, breath ragged. He did it again, making sure to linger on your clit, then again and again. “That’s good,” you huffed out, and he sped up, the praise spurring him on. One of your hands found its way to his curls, while the other came to rest over your mouth. He sucked on your clit, and you let out a cross between a gasp and a moan. “Fuck, Mike.”

He answered with a groan of his own, obscenely pleased with the reaction he was getting from you. As he continued, one of his fingers slipping inside and pumping in time with his tongue, you bit one of your own fingers in a weak attempt to muffle yourself. His mouth was hot against you as he whined like this was just as good for him. Another finger slipped in, and your head pushed back. You gripped the sheets, chest heaving. “Just like that,” you gasped. The sound of his fingers plunging in and out of you and his mouth sucking on your clit filled the room, a vulgar combination. With his own muffled moans and your gasps added on, you were sure you’d lose your mind.

Your hips rolled up, just about riding his face and fingers. He let you, his free hand moving to cup your ass, his tongue still sucking and working even as he let you choose the pace. “Shit.” You could feel it now, the familiar sensation in your stomach. “Shit, Mike, I’m-” A gasp. “‘m so close.”

“Come on,” he murmured, not even pulling away, his voice reverberating against you. “Please.”

How was he begging for you to come? You glanced down at him in disbelief, and wow. He looked good like this. His head bobbed eagerly, his hair a mess where your hands had been, where one hand still was, his face flushed. You gripped his hair and he made a noise so indecent, it had your mouth falling open as your orgasm crashed into you.

He stayed on you as you rode out your high, slowing down his ministrations, fingers slowly pulling out of you. When you released your grip on his hair and he lifted his head, you were speechless. His face from the nose down was shining from the mix of your slick and his own spit. He brought his fingers up to his mouth, licking what was left of you off, and you all but growled as you pulled him up for a kiss.

He huffed as your hand traveled to the front of his boxers, feeling the wet spot he’d left and his fully hard dick underneath. You smiled into the kiss, continuing to feel him out. He made little noises into your mouth, and you drank them in hungrily. “Fuck,” he murmured, and you stopped.

Mike whined, his eyes searching yours as you pulled away. “Don’t worry,” you reassured him, just as out of breath as he was. “C’mon. Your turn.”

He just about scrambled to comply, switching places with you so he was lying where you had just been. You climbed over him, straddling his hips and leaning down to brush your lips. You traveled down to his neck, kissing and sucking, leaving marks that had him downright whimpering under you. Then, down to his boxers. You kissed him through the fabric before pulling it off with his help. He took in a breath as the air hit him, and you wrapped your hand around him immediately.

“Shit,” he breathed. You wasted no time stroking him, slowly at first, watching him squirm. Then, just as you sped up, you put your mouth on the tip.

Now it was his turn to put his hand in your hair. He was gentle, not quite pulling to the point of pain, but you could definitely feel how much he was enjoying you bobbing your mouth down his length, anything not in your mouth clasped in your hands. If his hand hadn’t been in your hair, he was vocal enough that’d you’d still have a very good idea.

“Fuck,” he babbled, whispering your name followed by a particularly desperate moan. “Fuck, you’re so pretty. It feels so good, so-” He cut himself off with a whimper, holding his hips down so he wouldn’t buck into your mouth, afraid he might hurt you. He was close anyway, and he told you as much in between breathless grunts and groans.

You removed your mouth and he whimpered at the loss before your hand replaced it, keeping up the rhythm as he dropped his head back. He stopped holding his hips down, bucking into your hand shamelessly. “Go on,” you encouraged. “Give it to me.”

He rambled on, your name on his lips as he climaxed and released into your hand. You kept going, guiding him through it as he came down, chest heaving. God, he looked too pretty with that hazy look he was giving you. You told him as much, and he flushed with a sheepish smile, pulling you in for another kiss.

You stayed that way, kissing him as his hands squeezed your hips, until he pulled back smiling. “I should clean us up, probably,” he murmured. At your protesting whine, he shook his head and shimmied out from under you. “If we keep this up I’m going to stop caring about our lack of condoms.”

He disappeared into the connecting bathroom, leaving you with your mouth open and a new throbbing between your legs. He was right. If you two didn’t slow down, you were maybe a couple touches away from also throwing caution to the wind, which wouldn’t work out in either of your favors.

He returned with a damp washcloth, already cleaned up himself. You held out your hand and he wiped it off, then your thighs. He tossed the cloth in the hamper in the corner of the room, then rummaged through his drawers, pulling out a shirt and turning to you. “I, uh. This should be better than nothing, yeah?”

You held out your hands and he tossed it at you. “Thank you.”

He pulled on a pair of fresh boxers while you tugged on his shirt- it smelled like him, his cologne and something that just screamed ‘boy’. You watched as he made his way back to the bed and you scooted over, letting him climb in next to you, pulling the covers over you both.

“You… you are staying. Right?”

You grinned, nodding at him. “Yeah. I’m not driving home right now.” You pressed a kiss to his temple, and he all but melted. “Besides, I wanna hang around with you longer. I like you, in case I hadn’t made it clear.”

Mike huffed a laugh, his hand sliding under what was now your shirt- you were never giving it back to him. Not until it stopped smelling like him, anyway. “Good. I like you, too. A lot.” He kissed your forehead, and you hummed, nestling into him as his thumb made lazy strokes on your hip. “Goodnight,” he whispered into your hair. You drifted off to the sound of his breathing.

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt #five nights at freddy's movie #fnaf movie #ao3 #my writing #mike schmidt smut #fnaf smut #mike schmidt imagine #jhutch #josh hutcherson #zee writes

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mxmmyprentiss · 27 days

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Bad Mom

Summary: Emily has always been better at this mom thing than you are. Sometimes, you actually envy her for how good she is at it. She was a natural while you’re a disaster. And maybe your daughter knew that. Genre: Fluff Pairing: Emily Prentiss x female reader Warnings: none Word count: 1.6K

A/N: Just some little fluff piece I wrote to get back to writing. It's not proofread so forgive me for mistakes and errors. Likes, comments and shares are welcome. Enjoy! :)

AO3

You and Emily Prentiss have been married for over five years now. You dated for two years prior to your marriage. And in those years that you’ve been together, both of you have gone through ups and downs together. Emily has never left you to deal with your problems alone.

Except today.

And that problem was your 3-year-old daughter having temper tantrums at breakfast.

“I don’ wike t’is!” Eleanor, your daughter, slammed her tiny hands on the dining table. She was clearly furious at you for trying to feed her vegetables instead of her requested chocolate cereals.

In your defense, it’s all she wanted to eat lately and you just didn’t want her to be diabetic early (or at all).

“Ellie, please. This is yummy and healthy, baby. You can have cereal again tomorrow.”

Ellie shook her head and continued slamming the table. Her face was flushed from yelling and arguing with you for the past ten minutes or so. “No, mama! Ce-yals today!”

You sighed weakly. Ellie was such a good, easy kid most of the time but can be a real pain in the ass when she wants to be. And in those times, only your wife can get through her stubbornness. After all, she is Emily’s daughter too.

“Mommy will be mad. Do you want mommy to be mad?”

“Mommy not he’e!” She pouted.

“I know, but she will be mad once she finds out you’re giving Mama a hard time.”

Ellie folded her arms to her chest and displayed a sulky pout. “I wan’ mommy!” She fiercely yelled at you. “I wan’ mommy he’e!”

“I want mommy here too, baby, but she is fighting bad guys and she will come back to us soon.” You tried to offer her another spoonful of mashed vegetables. To your surprise, Ellie grabbed the spoon and tossed it to the floor. “Eleanor Prentiss!”

“Mama bad! Bad!” Ellie screamed before storming off to the living room and played with her puzzles.

Your eyes fell to the mess your daughter made on the table and the floor.

God, you wish she was here. Emily has always been better at this mom thing than you are. Sometimes, you actually envy her for how good she is at it. She was a natural while you’re a disaster. And maybe your daughter knew that.

After cleaning up the mess, you gave up and fed her cereals instead. It’s still better than Ellie not eating anything at all.

Your phone buzzed and it was from your wife.

Emily: Hey, babe. Just got back from Chicago. How are you and Ellie?

You: Ellie and I are enemies at the moment. She’s not eating her veggies and she’s asking for you.

Emily: I’ll be home in 30. Just have to finish this last paperwork then I’m out.

You: See you later, babe. I love you.

Emily: I love you too and that little self-willed kid of ours.

You have no doubt about that. In all the years that you’ve known each other, not once did Emily make you feel that you didn’t matter to her. Even when she had to leave you for days or weeks to travel to different states for her job. She never made you feel that her job was a priority over you; it’s just something she had to do. Emily would call you every night to check on you. Most times she would have food delivered at your door or at your workplace so she’s sure that you’d eaten. And when your wife comes home to you, a bouquet of hydrangea - your favorite flower - would be found on your bedside table.

But when you and Emily decided to adopt Eleanor three years ago, everything changed.

Emily was just promoted as BAU unit chief six months before Ellie’s adoption while you stayed home for a while to take care of your newborn. Your wife managed to spend less hours in the office and made a strict rule to not be interrupted during her off days. During some of these days, you would caught her teaching Ellie different languages and the then two-year-old girl was just staring at her wide-eyed.

Your wife had made sure to spend her annual leaves with you and Ellie. Emily would take you and Ellie to Disneyland and other theme parks she researched about. She would never bring her family to places she deemed unsafe and family unfriendly, especially places the BAU has worked abduction cases with.

Long story short, the change in your routine was all for the better.

Emily is a great mother, the best even. And she is just as great as your wife.

The problem lied with you though. You can’t seem to get through to your daughter like Emily did. It feels as if Ellie didn’t like you, or just liked her other mother better. Of course, you still loved that kid to death and you would do anything for her. But sometimes, at times like this one, it feels like you’re a failure of a mother to her.

Ellie was still ignoring you and your attempts to play with her. If you had a bingo card of her mama no’s, you would have won by now.

Maybe your daughter hated you.

You settled on watching your daughter have a tea party with her stuffed animals. Her dark curls tangled with the golden plastic crown she wore and her dark brown eyes focused on her white bunny. She was doing her best in re-telling them the bedtime story you told her last night.

The front door opened and Emily entered the living room, holding a big bouquet of pink and lavender hydrangeas and a tiny bouquet of white lilies.

“Queen Emily has arrived!” Emily announced, referencing the last story she told Ellie the night before she left for the case. “How’s my lovely sunshines?”

“Mommy!” Ellie exclaimed and ran to Emily. The little girl tightly hugged her mother’s leg. “Miss you, mommy!”

“Aww, I missed you too, sweet cheeks.” Emily knelt down to kiss her daughter’s cheek. She handed her the small bouquet. “This is for you, baby girl.”

Ellie jumped in joy and hugged Emily. “Thanks, mommy! They pwetty!”

“Yes, they are. Just like you, little one.” Emily playfully pinched her nose. When Ellie ran back to her tea party - boasting to everyone about the pretty flowers that her mother got her - Emily turned to you. “Hi, beautiful.”

“Please, I’m a mess.” You said, smiling faintly.

“Oh, you could be wearing a trash bag and I’d still find you the most beautiful woman on the entire planet.” You couldn’t help the blush that crept on your cheeks. Damn, this woman. Emily planted a kiss on your lips then handed you your bouquet. “This is for the best wife and mom in the world.”

You gratefully accept her gift. “Best wife? Yes. Best mother? Hmm, you’ll have to ask Ellie that.” You kissed Emily’s nose. “Your daughter hates me.”

“Our daughter,” Emily corrected you, slightly offended that you would ever say otherwise. “She doesn’t hate you. She’s just a stubborn little girl.”

“Wonder who she got that from.” You teased, earning an eye roll from your wife. “I made breakfast for you in the kitchen. You should eat.”

“Best.” Emily pecked your lips. “Wife.” And another peck. “Ever.” And another.

“I better be ‘cause I’d be the only one you’re getting for the rest of your life.” A smirk formed at your lips.

“One and only, babe.” Emily winked at you.

You and Emily spent the entire day playing with your daughter - having tea parties, dressing up her barbies, Emily making up silly stories about your family running an entire kingdom of stuffed animals. Eventually, your wife made sure that Ellie eats the mashed vegetables you prepared for her, proving only a stubborn could get past another stubborn.

Later that night, you and Emily tucked your daughter in. Emily was carefully brushing her hair while you set up her starry night light. Like most kids her age, Ellie didn’t like sleeping in the dark.

Ellie looked up to you. “Mama, pwease tell me ‘nother stowy?”

Your eyes met Emily’s. She smiled softly and nodded at you to go along with your daughter’s request.

You’re about to grab a book from Ellie’s cabinet when she stops you. “Don’ wan’ books. Wan’ mama and mommy stowy.”

“Our story?” Emily clarified. Little Ellie nodded. “Oh, mama, she wants to know our story.”

“I’m telling this one because we cannot trust mommy to tell the whole story, right?” You giggled as you tickled your daughter. “Okay, where do we start, hmm?”

“Start when you saw me across the room and fell in love with me.”

“I think that was the other way around, honey.”

“Touché.” Emily carried Ellie on her lap and hugged her. “Mama’s just so pretty that mommy cannot help but fall in love with her.”

Ellie giggled. “Mama pwetty!”

“That’s right, she is.” Emily smirked. “Mommy’s lucky.”

“Mommy, you pwetty too!”

You grinned. “She is. And you are our pretty little baby, Ellie.” You leaned in and kissed her forehead. “I love you so much.”

Ellie reached out and hugged your neck. “Wuv you, mama.” She planted a kiss on your cheek. “Sowwy I stubbo’n ‘bout veggies.”

Your heart swelled with love for your daughter. Emily squeezed your hand when she noticed the tears pooling in your eyes. “It’s alright, honey.” You said.

After telling your daughter more of how her mothers met, with a little too much protests from your wife about the inconsistencies about your story, Ellie eventually fell asleep hugging her stuffed giraffe.

“I told you she doesn’t hate you.” Emily spoke once you’re both in your bed, snuggling from behind and wrapping her arms around you. She planted a kiss on your exposed shoulder. “Don’t ever think that you’re a bad mom. Ellie is lucky to have you, and so am I.”

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you relaxed in your wife’s embrace.

And you believe her.

#jaye writes #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss x y/n #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss fic #emily prentiss fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #emily prentiss

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ceilidho · 9 months

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prompt: Soap being a funny, goofy flirt with his barista whenever he's on leave back home….super cocky and charming, then a couple months go by …. and he comes back sort of rougher around the edges after Las Almas. less trusting. a bit meaner when he talks to her….. [soap/reader] 2.5k; nsfw (on ao3)

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

He’s back again. It’s not a usual occurrence, but when it happens your heart kicks into overdrive. He appears like clockwork every couple of months, and then back to back over a quick succession of days. Like he’s in town one week and then gone the next.

You look up from where you’re organizing the muffins in the display case to find him grinning down at you from the other side. His hair is freshly shorn on both sides, the stripe of hair down the middle likely barely long enough for him to work his thick fingers through it. He’s got a cocksure grin spread across his lips. A fresh cut over his right eyebrow, a butterfly bandage over it.

“Hi John,” you say. It’s almost a struggle to say the words. Your hands shake a bit where they’re extended out amongst the pastries, fingers pressing into a carrot muffin a bit too hard. It dents beneath your fingers. You pull them out, rest the tongs behind you on the countertop.

“Hi kitty cat,” he purrs, folding his arms over the pastry case, leaning as close to you as he can. If it were anyone else, you might be tempted to scold them for smudging the glass. It’s you that’ll have to clean that up later. “Not Johnny anymore? Have I been gone for too long?”

Charm like butter spread thick over freshly toasted sourdough, already melting into the bread, dripping onto the plate between the pockets of air. You know he could ruin you if he wanted to, if you let him in.

You know it won’t be long until you fold. He hasn’t been subtle about it. “Sorry, Johnny, we’re all out of scones.”

“Aw, that’s how you apologize for tossing up my morning?”

You twiddle your thumbs. “Sorry.”

“‘Have to do better than tha’, kitty cat,” Johnny says, lips drawn into a faux pout that has your heart skittering in your chest like it’s been let loose from the stables for once. “I was waiting for those scones for near a month."

“We have cream buns,” you offer. He snorts.

“Not in the mood for anything cream filled just yet.”

There isn’t a shade of red deep enough to describe your face. “Pardon?”

“Ye fancy going for a bevvy tonight?” Johnny asks instead, evading the question.

You probably look as gobsmacked as you feel. It’s not like you haven’t been asked out on dates before, but Johnny is leagues away from any of the men you’ve dated. He’s cockier, back straight and chest out, flaunting the muscles strapped across his chest and arms. You think it’s reasonable that you’ve chalked his flirting up to habit, something he does with everyone; whatever distance you’ve put between yourself and your inevitable nervous breakdown has been built on assuring yourself that Johnny surely didn’t mean for you to take his flirting seriously.

Apparently, you were wrong.

“You want to take me out?” you ask, sounding a bit dumb.

“‘Course I do.” He cocks an eyebrow, leveling you with an obvious look. “Haven’t been shy about it; s’a bit tough when I’m all over the place these days, but I’m in town for the next two weeks, so we’ve got some time. When you getting off today, kitty cat?”

Johnny leans farther over the countertop, towering over you now that you aren’t standing on the raised platform by the pastry case. Palms spread wide over the granite; when your eyes flit down, you can’t help the way they’re drawn to the dark, livid tattoos crawling up his forearms. Dark ink like they’re new trophies on his skin.

His attention is always like the sun; your whole body burns under his gaze. There’s something about being stared at so intensely, blue eyes raking down the front of you, that makes you unsure.

He buys a croissant instead, tenner pressed gently into the palm of your hand. You're tempted to deflect, tell him you aren't interested.

“Seven,” you whisper instead, hands shaking when you hand him his change.

His hand closes around yours, callused fingers rough against your skin. “Got it. Pick you up seven sharp.”

When he leaves, you barely hear the jingle behind him, the blood pounding in your ears. You have a date.

Your chest is tight for hours, thinking about your date later that evening. He picks you up after your shift, just as you’re locking up; you thought you’d have a couple minutes to head back to your apartment and freshen up, but you find him waiting outside the coffee shop for you, clad in a black hoodie and the same jeans as earlier.

He’s as slick and gentlemanly as you might’ve anticipated, walking you to the pub with a hand nestled against your low back. You talk for what seems like hours tucked away in the corner. Johnny makes good conversation, but sometimes it feels a bit like an interrogation. He’s talkative, but there’s a faint edge underlying everything he does; he makes you wait for him at your table while he orders for the two of you at the bar, taking the seat facing you so you’re ensconced in his shadow, hidden from anyone else in the pub.

He insists on walking you back to your place, boots splattering through the puddles accumulating between the cobblestones. He makes sure you walk on the dry side. Every light you pass under sweeps across his face in a golden arc, illuminating the corner edge of his jawline, the plush spread of his lips, the furl of his ear like a nautilus shell. Brows that slope over deep set eyes.

When he leaves you off at the door, Johnny’s hand curls in the hairs at the back of your neck and tugs you up for a kiss that goes scorching hot. Fingers tangled in your hair, other hand coming up to cup your cheek, holding you in place. You feel trapped, helpless against the onslaught of him; a hot tongue flicks into your mouth and he groans, making your head spin. You feel it resonate through you.

“Johnny—” you mumble when he pulls away for a second, cut off when he leans back in to suckle at your bottom lip. His beard is bristly against the soft skin around your mouth.

You feel him smirk against your lips. He nips at the lower one. “I’ll see ya tomorrow, a’right, kitty cat?”

Johnny only looks the slightest bit disheveled when he pulls away. A thumb traces your lower lip. He briefly looks regretful, like he wants to bend down again for another one—you feel the intention when he presses his thumb ever so slightly past your lips—but then he pulls back, walking backwards down the street away from you. A hand raised in goodbye.

Then the next day, he’s gone. Vanished into thin air. You glance up whenever the wind chimes over the door jingle, but it’s never him, always someone with a different hat, a different face.

You thought he promised you two weeks this time. Your chest collapses when the door opens and someone else walks in. Apparently he spoke too soon.

Two days go by; you’re fighting the desperation to know. It oddly never crosses your mind to think that he’s ghosting you. Maybe it should. You hardly know him outside of the brief interactions you have every other month when he’s back from wherever he works (and you know that it’s all top secret, hush hush, you’ve seen the military tattoos and kept your questions to yourself), but it doesn’t feel—and you think this with no small degree of irony—like something he’d do.

On the walk home, you often catch yourself looking for the familiar shape of him. Wandering past the shops closing up for the night, people piling into the bars, raucous voices tumbling up into the smoky sky; you stand on your tiptoes on the other side of the street and peer in, looking for the broad shape of his back.

You never spot him. There is a cold gap in your life that goes unfilled. It smarts at the root of you; you didn’t think you could miss Johnny. You thought you could feel a twinge of regret every now and then for not indulging his flirting a bit more, but you had honestly shelved him higher than you could reach in your desires. Until he took you out and listened to you ramble on, listened deeply with his attention rapt, his cheek pressed into his fist as he leaned against the table towards you. Until he whisked you safely back home and held you in place while he sipped kisses from your mouth until your lips were swollen.

It’s months later when you hear it.

“Hi kitty.”

Your blood goes hot at the sound of his voice. When you whip around, Johnny’s on the other side of the counter like he never left. Black shirt that clings to the curve of his biceps, old jeans with fades around the knees and thighs stretched around his thighs.

When you meet his eyes, they seem charged, steadier than usual. Flat lips turned up just at the corner, one side only. Johnny’s not usually so still, so grounded on his feet; there’s usually a frenetic undercurrent to him, like catching a live wire. You don’t know what he’s like out in the real world, but in your world he looks like he paces and runs to work himself free of all the extra energy. Maybe other forms of cardio.

“Johnny, you’re—” You catch yourself before the words tumble out, before you make it known that you’ve been tossing and turning late at night wondering where he went. Blue eyes sparkle like they hear it anyway, the faint note of desperation seeping into your voice like a hoarseness.

“Fancy going for a bevvy tonight?” he asks you again. Less of a question this time.

You feel pulled to him on a string. He doesn’t leave you in peace this time. He waits you out, sits at a table in the coffee shop facing you. Customers you’ve known for years seem entranced by him, and how could they not? They don’t make them like him often—tall and blue eyed, roguish; ruggedly handsome when the mood strikes. Pretty boy until he turns the full weight of his stare on you and you’re forced to contend with the fact that he is, in fact, all man.

Your amity turns to enmity when someone stares at him for too long. Placated only because Johnny never so much as turns their way.

Dinner is a long, drawn out affair. His conversation is rougher than usual, punctuated by bouts of silence. His eyes are murky waters. Something’s changed, you think, salad speared on your fork, hovering just in front of your mouth, studying him. Something happened in the months that he was away. Whatever it was, it’s left Johnny a bit more calculating, less trusting. He sits facing the door this time, eyes flicking up whenever it opens on the other side of the restaurant.

“Sorry, angel, don’t have it in me to be sweet and gentle anymore,” Johnny says when he walks you to your doorstep. “‘Fraid it’s gonna be rough for you from now on.”

His words make you tremble.

The kiss at your doorstep doesn’t end there this time. Maybe this is all an extension of that moment months ago, the natural endpoint. You were never going to end up anywhere else but flat on your back under him.

“Pure gaggin' fer it, aren’t ya, kitty?”

Johnny’s voice is rough, barely a rumble over the sound of your own keening. Your whole body slides up the bed every time he ruts into you, thick cock spearing you open. Your hands slip over his shoulders where a layer of sweat has built up; your bodies slide together like you’ve been at it for hours, rather than just the thirty minutes since Johnny bodied his way into your place and made you guide him to the bedroom, shucking his clothes the whole way there.

“No, I would’ve—” You gasp on a particularly rough thrust, teeth clenching together, “—I would’ve w-waited. Oh god, oh god.”

“Haud yer' wheesht, bonnie, quit whining,” he grunts. “Dinnae act like you weren’t asking for a big cock in this cunt. Could hear her purring behind the counter. Needed it for months, didn’t ya?”

You knew this was in him somehow, this penchant for dirty talk. He’s always moved like it was in him. You feel swept away by it, scorching under his hands and tongue and dick. Tightly wound. Only capable of holding on, one hand clenched now in the lowest part of his mohawk while he ducks his head to suck your nipple into his mouth. When he gives it a mean bite, you squirm and cry out.

“Never thought you were s-serious,” you admit, whimpering when he nips again at the tender spot there.

Johnny draws back onto his haunches, still deep in you. There are scars across his chest that you didn’t notice before. New skin frosted over, deep gouges across his arms; what you think looks like a bullet wound. Your eyes go wide. It’s impossible to think what he must have been through.

He looms over you, hand coming up to curl delicately around your throat. Just enough to let you know that he’s there, that he’s got you right where he wants. Johnny smiles wide, wicked, white teeth stark in the darkness of your room.

“Oh, I’m very serious, kitty,” he laughs, deep and throaty. He thrusts languidly into your heat now, drawing it out.

He makes a show of it when he comes, fingers tightening around your neck. Your breath hitches in your throat. It strikes you in the moment that you let him in bare, trusted him despite months of absence and no real excuse for it. When he pulls out, you feel it leak from you. Frustration boils under your skin because you haven’t come yet; you feel almost betrayed, a whiplash reaction that has tears welling up in your ears.

“Don’t worry,” Johnny coos at the sight of your pinched face, “you’ll get yours, bonnie. Gonna treat this kitty real nice.”

You struggle against his hold when he forces your legs wide and slots himself between them, making his way down the bed. He tongues deep into your cunt to lick his own spend out. Your thoughts dribble out of you, head empty; there’s nothing left in you except bone-deep exhaustion and the feel of his bearded cheeks scraping against your inner thighs.

You flinch like you’ve been shocked when he sucks at your clit, hypersensitive. He laughs when you do, doubling his efforts. His hot mouth on the place where he still drips from you might make you lose it completely. The most wounded sound bubbles out of you. Your hand trembles in his hair, torn between pulling his mouth closer and pushing him away.

He doesn’t relent until you’ve come twice, your face flush with blood. When his tongue flicks over your clit again, it’s for the pleasure of seeing your legs spasm.

“Johnny, please—can’t anymore,” you beg, trying to press your foot against his shoulder to push him away.

His chin glistens with your juices. When he runs his tongue across his bottom lip, plump and swollen, you drag in a harsh breath. Maybe you could go again.

“Kitty, I’ve had a rough couple weeks,” he says, voice light but for where it descends into a memory, deep and dark. “Just let me eat your cunt and we’ll talk about everything later, okay?”

Your fingers tingle like they’ve fallen asleep in his hair. When you give in, it feels inevitable.

#cod mw2 #ceil writing #cod soap #johnny soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #soap x reader #soap/reader #soap mw2 #soap cod #cod x reader #soap call of duty #soap mactavish

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holycryptid · 1 month

Text

Tears of Blood

König x AFAB!reader (no pronouns/gendered language).

Explicit content (18+)

Word count: 3.0k

Tags/warnings: unprotected sex, light choking, mentions of murder/blood (look who we’re working with), mentions of ghostsoap (yay!), explicit language, some fluff, dry humping, friends with benefits…? (let me know if anything was missed!)

Summary: König reveals a very compelling detail about himself while you prepare him for tomorrow's deployment—also inspired by this post/ask and bluegiragi’s art <3

Notes: this has been posted on AO3 for over a year and i just straight up forgot to post it here, too…oops

The barracks are eerily quiet after curfew. So quiet, in fact, that a ghost couldn’t even float around without being heard. Sometimes there is one, he’s just not of the conventional sort.

You’ve learned that Soap gladly let’s his room be haunted most nights.

König never says a word about it. If he did, he’d be a hypocrite. Especially now, as he drifts to the door of your room: after curfew.

By now, you know to leave it unlocked for him. You don’t know when it started becoming habit, but it did. A mindless gesture that makes his lips quirk under the hood when he turns the knob and feels the door give in with no resistance.

You’ve grown used to seeing his figure loom in the doorway, but sometimes your brain forgets it’s just him, and your heart instinctually stutters a beat out of fear as you see the shadows from the dim lighting hug around his broad, towering form—just as imposing and threatening even without the gear.

You’ve mentally noted that not everyone that casts their gaze, usually a fearful and watery one, upon him lives to do so again. But you are fortunate. You never let yourself forget what he’s been trained to do—what he does. He doesn’t like to indulge in it much, if at all, and his hesitance to do so makes you think it’s better if you don’t know the complicated details anyway.

KorTac has quite a different reputation than the 141. König helped make sure of that.

You finish folding the rest of your civvies, tucking them away in their small drawer, and toss a look over your shoulder to the man lingering in the doorway. “See any ghosts?” you muse, prompting König to step in and lock the door behind him.

A breathy chuckle fills the room. “Didn’t see anything, but I wish these rooms were soundproof.”

“Oh, no.” You hold a cackle, hand slapped over your mouth as you meet his amused eyes through the rough-edged holes of his hood.

“Well, that’s just Soap for you. Not even Ghost can shut him up, I guess.” You plop onto your bed with a sigh to compose yourself.

You know Soap will indulge you later.

“So, how may I be of service to the king?” You offer a playful smile as he stands at the foot of your bed. The unexpected nickname making him more interested in the flooring.

He brings a finger up to the black hood, hooking it in by his jaw and pulling to reveal a sizeable gash in the fabric. A close call with a knife if you ever saw one. “Needle and thread.”

He unhooks his finger and drags the worn material off of his head, then the plain black balaclava that hides him further under it follows. He drops both onto your clean sheets in front of him, rounding the corner of the bed and joining you.

Dark red hair flops over his forehead and hangs in thick, wavy strands. It hasn’t quite reached his shoulders yet, but it’s long enough to have a mind of its own. It’s a colour you don’t come across too often; maybe comparable to a chestnut, or old leaves in autumn before they disappear under a blanket of snow.

“Jeez, you ever gonna cut this?” You turn to face him and run a hand up the back of his neck, tangling your fingers in the dense locks and lightly scratching his scalp on the way down.

Soft blue eyes glance to you, still outlined in black from earlier. “Probably not. Can’t find the time.” His accent gently rounds out the vowels as he leans into your touch.

“Let me braid it for you, then. To hold it back. I know you deploy again tomorrow.” You tuck a strand behind his ear, following with a fleeting kiss right above his cheekbone. A faint blush creeps over his temples and the barely-there freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks.

“I promise it won’t be the worst thing ever,” you gently plead. “You can mend your hood in peace while I do it?”

You’ve definitely done worse together. But worse always seems to be easier.

“Okay.”

Usually these nights don’t go like this.

3 days ago

“Oh, that’s good—right there. Yeah. Yeah,” you nearly sob. König holds you against him, left arm reaching across your chest and hand comfortably gripping your throat as you try to roll your hips back against him harder.

His other hand is between your thighs—on your clit—which are dangling over his own to keep you spread. You’re trapped there; under his arms and over his legs as he jerks his hips up to meet your disjointed riding on the rickety office chair.

An empty briefing room. Not really smart, but Soap passed on that it was “out of service” until next week, not knowing that you’d end up in there sat on König’s cock later that afternoon.

The fabric of König’s hood rubs uncomfortably against your cheek, making you drop your head back onto his shoulder to escape it.

A breathy moan rushes past his lips as you arch your back. “No, no. You’re staying right here.” He tightens and corrects the grip he has across your chest, sliding his gloved fingers up under your jaw to keep you locked in place.

His cock slides itself in and out of you with little resistance, which would usually be slightly embarrassing if it was anyone else inside you, but the way he’s been massaging your clit with such attentiveness and grinding his hips into yours makes you forget anything you could be worried about.

The only thing you can think of right now is how good this orgasm is going to be.

Your hands snake themselves up his arm that’s pinned to your front to grip his wrist, holding on for dear life as his small thrusts become rougher. “You get much, much wetter when you’re close,” he observes. His index finger holds a steady rhythm on your clit as it works counterclockwise over you. “Fuck, I can hear it…can you?”

A whine bubbles in your throat. The zipper of his cargo pants bites against your ass on every downstroke, and you can feel how wet you’ve made the front of his pants. That’s what he gets for only caring enough to pull his cock out while he ripped your cargos off entirely.

“I—fuck. Yes, I’m close, yes,” you choke out, daring to cast your gaze upon where your bodies are connected.

You’re swollen and slick and you can hear it, too. The quick, sharp slaps of his hips against your ass does little to hide the hungry squelching of your cunt. You’ve probably dripped all down his balls at this point. He’s always happier with a big mess in the end anyway.

“Cum when you’ve had enough, Schatzi,” he chirps in your ear, breathless and lost in the wet, suffocating warmth of you—all his doing, of course. The result of far too many minutes spent with his thick cock gently sliding between your folds and nudging itself over your throbbing clit, just to be annoying, before he moved you both to the chair.

You drag in a heavy breath, focusing on the stretch of his cock deep inside your walls as the chair creaks with every desperate drop onto him.

Schatzi. “W-what does that mean?”

You’ve naturally picked up a few German words and phrases here and there from time spent with him, but this one was new. A term of endearment? A degrading nickname? Either could be possible in this moment. The sound and pronunciation couldn’t be more ambiguous to you.

“König?” It came out as a whisper, quickly silenced by the release of your orgasm throughout your body as he forces you down to the base of his cock.

—

You haven’t brought it up since. Neither has he.

Even now it sits in the back of your mind as you divide his hair down the middle into two parts. You remain on your bed, he sits on the floor between your knees with a needle and black thread in hand that he retrieved from the bedside table (stashed there specifically for him).

He lays the hood over his left arm and begins to stitch it quietly as you wind three generous strands of his hair between your fingers at the front of his scalp, pulling taught at the root. You carefully thread more hair in from the sides to have it lay perfectly against the top of his skull when finished. You’ll do a matching one on the right side.

“Let me know if it hurts at all,” you warn as you begin tugging more hair into place.

“Ha, I’ve faced adversaries far worse than your little hands,” he laughs, adjusting the hood in his hand as he pokes the needle in again.

The long vermillion markings under the eye sockets stare back at you over his shoulder. “Yeah, I don’t doubt that.”

It’s hard to not be curious about all of the parts that make up “König”. The mask is one of them.

“Why the tears?” you ask confidently while you establish the first braid.

“Hm?” He quirks his head to follow your voice, pausing the followthrough with the thread as you give an accidental yank to his hair.

“Your mask…under the eyes. Why tears?” You figured it was either something symbolic or just his personal taste. Everyone’s got a gimmick.

It seems like every aspect of his existence is a test of one’s curiosity, and you may have just failed.

He focuses his attention back on the stitch he was occupied with. “Fear tactic.” Oh.

Short and sweet. Simple and straightforward. It makes sense—

“I make them with the blood of my targets.” Oh.

Your fingers lose their rhythm for a moment, caught off-guard by the admission. Not so much surprised by the fact that he would do something like that, but rather that he confessed such a thing…to you.

“So you do that…presently?” How could you resist following up about that? It’s the perfect snare. This is the most you’ve gotten from him in weeks.

A beat of measured silence, yet it’s not uncomfortable. He likes to think about what to say, how to say it, before speaking his thoughts spontaneously.

“Only if I believe it’s truly deserved,” he explains. His tone doesn’t reveal if he’s displeased with the topic of work. “The blood actually doesn’t hold up against the black on its own, so Horangi suggested using bleach underneath so it will show better. If needed.” He runs a finger over a washed-out tear track. “Less maintenance with the chemical.”

It’s…it’s morbid, obviously, but you’re not sure if you expected anything less from someone in this line of work. And, of course, leave it to Horangi to feed the fantasy. They are nearly inseparable, besides the times that König’s with you.

Sometimes it’s hard to imagine him as murderous or malevolent—König, who has the most gentle, innocent blue eyes that have offered nothing but kindness to you, even in moments of fierce, consuming pleasure. König, who you’ve never seen, or heard, raise his voice at anyone in anger. König, who despises small talk because he can’t stand the awkwardness.

König, who enjoys the vibrant red sunsets on base and thunderstorms. König, who prefers blueberries over strawberries. König, who is obsessed with entomology books.

But there’s still another part of him that can take out entire platoons of enemies and have no more than a rip in his beloved hood afterwards.

The man under the facade of a callsign and reputation is someone who you may never truly meet, no matter how much he reveals. It feels like you’ve only met half of him despite knowing as much as you do about him, and that fact has settled as an ache in your chest.

“I see…I know it’s not really my place to ask about that stuff, but it’s hard to not wonder about you sometimes.” You’ve reached the end of the first braid, leaving the tail to sit at the crown of his head amongst the uneven layers he has going on.

You tie it off with a small black elastic. It’s a little messy considering the awkward length of his hair, but it looks like it’s meant to be there.

“It’s fine. I’m a big boy, I think I can handle it.” He gives a comforting laugh, amused at your timidness.

In every facet, he’s right. You can’t help but nod your head in agreement with a small smile, despite the fact that he can’t see your expression. “Well, I can’t disagree with you there.”

You begin the start of the second, and final, braid, grabbing the three strands at the front and twisting them into place as he speaks again. “I know it was my size that drew you to me in the first place,” he states confidently, shoulders shaking in amusement at the tease.

Your mouth gapes in feigned offence. “Wow, okay. Is that a crime?”

“No, not in my eyes. Look, look,” he brushes past the sarcasm, holding and stretching the now intact hood out in front of him to see the effectiveness of his handiwork. The seam is near invisible in the sea of black fabric (a ratty t-shirt).

It’s definitely better than the last one he did a few weeks ago. “Damn, that’s pretty fucking impressive. I’m almost done, hold on.” You hurry to tie off the hair, gently holding the sides of his head to see how even they came out. “Looks good, from up here at least. Come sit, let me see the front.” You pat one of his shoulders, freeing him from the cage of your legs and scooting further onto your bed.

“Danke. My spine didn’t love that, though,” he says with a theatric exhale.

He folds the hood in his lap, setting it on the bedside table with the needle and roll of thread. He all but tumbles back onto the soft sheets, groaning as he stretches his neck and shoulders out and lays comfortably on his back, long legs hanging over the side of the mattress.

His eyes flutter shut from the homely feeling of being in—or on—your bed. “Mm, I think I’ll stay here tonight.”

You acknowledge his thought with a small hum as you lean over his restful form to quickly assess his hair, dragging your fingertips along each side lightly. The shaggy hair will always suit him. It frames his cheekbones and jaw perfectly.

König opens his eyes at your touch. “So how does it look, doc? Will I survive deployment now?”

Another smile from you with a slight roll of your eyes. “I think it’ll do the job. Now go clean the black off your eyes if you’re staying. I don’t want it all over my pillows again.”

—

Soap saw the braids in König’s hair the next day before they deployed. An accident or purposefully, you’re not sure yet.

And now, two days later, he still won’t shut the fuck up about it.

“Would ye do that for me?” he asks, playfully quirking a thick brow.

“Probably not, no.”

An arm shoots out accusingly at you in disbelief. “That’s my point! I—”

“Wouldn’t be able to anyway with that fucking landing strip you call a mohawk.” You poorly stifle a laugh with a tight-lipped smirk.

“Away n’ bile yer heid, I’m just trying to help!” He rubs a hand over his eyes, trying to stave off his laughter too. It’s hard to be in his presence and not be overcome with a state of lively energy.

You’re in Soap’s—and sometimes Ghost’s—room, for no real reason other than company while König is at a (delayed) briefing.

Soap’s sitting on his—and sometimes Ghost’s—bed hounding you about the complex being that is König just because he can. You move about the room, finding things to tidy and organize to busy your mind.

“Have ye gone to town on each other yet?”

“Dude!?” You rip a pillow from under him and whack his head. Hard. His infectious cackling now muffled through the thick pillow.

“You’re insufferable. How the fuck does Ghost put up with you?” You try to suppress your giggling as you drop the pillow and join him on the bed in defeat.

A mischievous grin lines his lips at the question. “Well, he t—”

“No! No. Nope. I don’t need to know. It was rhetorical.” You hold up a hand to silence him, bringing it to cover his mouth. His day-old scruff pricks your palm as he tries to talk through your hand.

“Whatever you say next better be insightful or profound or else I’m gonna suffocate you with your own pillow.”

Soap, in fact, didn’t have anything insightful or profound to say about the situation.

—

König wanders into your room again that night, and he’s filled with a gluttonous desire to consume you in any way that he can.

It’s the least he can do for you. It’s the most you can do for him.

You rut against his clothed cock, straddling his hips tightly while your hands keep a death-grip on his hair. Once again, you find yourself on your bed with him under you, the clock on the bedside table glaring the angry red 12:56am.

His large hands have found their home on your ass, encouraging your pussy—still covered by your underwear—to rock harder over his length, which is still trapped in his briefs.

He breaks away from your mouth when you give a rather forceful roll over him, a surprised gasp slipping through his now rosy lips. His grip on your ass slides down to your quivering thighs, rubbing over them soothingly as you work.

A harmony of softs whines and rough groans dance around the room as your pliant bodies move together. “This is somehow better than sex,” König mumbles, mostly to himself. “I don’t want to admit it, but I can cum like this if you don’t stop,” he adds with an overwhelmed huff. “Fuck, I will cum like this if you don’t stop,” he moans.

You let him, and he holds you tight as if you were something other than casual.

#konig x reader #könig x reader #könig mw2 #könig smut #call of duty smut #call of duty x reader #call of duty imagine #call of duty fic #könig imagine #konig smut #konig cod #konig imagine #konig x you #konig x reader smut #konig x you smut

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weemssapphic · 3 months

Text

Lipstick Stains - Pt. 16

previous chapter | next chapter | series page

Larissa Weems x fem!reader

summary: Wednesday gets herself into some trouble. (chapter-specific warning for smut)

words: ~ 4k | ao3 link in title

A/N: here's another chapter to make up for being gone so long! once again thank you to @afeatherformills for all of the planning and beta-ing, and to my gf as well. enjoy!!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Tuesday was one of the most hectic days you’d experienced since the start of the semester. You’d wanted to show up at Nevermore in the early evening, preventing Larissa from working even more overtime and spending as much time with her as possible - but now it was nearing 8 pm and you were still stuck in your university’s art studio, desperate to finish up a project that was due this week. You’d let Larissa know that you’d drop by a little later than planned, apologizing profusely and promising to text her when you were on your way. She said she didn’t mind, of course, but you still felt bad.

A nervous energy filled your entire being as you painted the last stroke on your canvas, then hurried to clean up after yourself. Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you rushed out of the art studio and through the halls straight out to the parking lot. The only thing on your mind was getting to see Larissa as soon as possible - you shot her a text that you were on your way, then pulled out of the parking lot and started the drive to Nevermore.

You decided to take a shortcut tonight - usually you weren’t a fan of this route, especially late at night, as it was even more remote than your usual way and kind of gave you the creeps. But it would be worth it tonight, and in your hurry to be with Larissa you didn’t pay any mind to the miles upon miles of tall, dark trees looming on either side of the road or the light fog blanketing the street as you drove.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw your phone screen light up from where you’d tossed it onto the seat next to you - with half an eye on the road, you leaned over and picked it up, glancing down.

Larissa: Drive safe, my love.

You smiled down at your phone, biting your lip as you dropped it into the cupholder next to you and looked back up at the road - your heart leaping as you found yourself slamming on the brakes to avoid hitting the girl running across the road towards a parked car.

Your car screeched to a halt, the girl illuminated by the glow of your headlights. She stared back at you with wide eyes, looking absolutely terrified - and vaguely familiar, with her blonde hair and pastel sweater. With your heart pounding, your eyes darted over to the side of the road and you felt your stomach drop. Wednesday. Whatever this was, it couldn’t be good.

Putting your car in park, you tentatively opened the door and stepped out onto the road, taking a step towards the blonde, who still stood inches away from the hood of your car. There was a loud clattering as the flashlight she held dropped onto the road.

Your gaze darted questioningly towards Wednesday, whose face was an impassive mask, impossible to read. She was flanked by two boys - one of whom you recognized as the Weathervane’s barista, though why his shirt was ripped open and covered in blood, you couldn’t fathom. You glanced behind them at the open gates leading up to a huge, desolate mansion, overgrown with weeds and vines - it made a shiver run down your spine, and made your blood go cold as you imagined these kids out here alone.

“Dare I ask?”

“Do you know her?” one of the boys asked Wednesday. She opened her mouth to speak, but the next words came out of the mouth of the young blonde who was practically trembling in front of you.

“She’s Weems’ girlfriend.”

“I-” you felt your cheeks heat up at the interested glance the boy then afforded you. You swallowed thickly - there was no point in playing coy now, not when you were standing on a remote street in the middle of the night with a bunch of teenagers who were clearly hurt. “Yeah, I am. I’m gonna take a wild guess and say that she doesn’t know about this and that you’re not supposed to be out here?”

When you received no answer, your gaze darted back over to the mansion. It was definitely giving you the creeps, and you weren’t keen on wasting any more time standing out here in the cold staring at it. “Well either way, can I take you guys back to Nevermore?”

“Yes, please!” the blonde exclaimed - though she was quickly cut off by Wednesday.

“Tyler is hurt, we need to get him home first.”

“I can do that,” you said gently.

“What about my car?”

You raised your eyebrow at the boy who’d spoken, whose chest was practically ripped open and dripping blood. “Pick it up in the morning,” you suggested firmly. “I don’t think you should drive like that.”

He looked like he was about to argue, but then he winced in pain as he stepped forward. “Fine. My dad’s gonna kill me…”

With another nervous glance towards the mansion, you gestured towards your car - the blonde immediately picked up her flashlight and got in the passenger side. The two boys looked to Wednesday, waiting for her lead. After another moment’s hesitation, she got into the back of your car, the boys squeezing in next to her.

You grabbed your phone, unlocking it and handing it to Tyler. “Put your address in Google Maps.” He obliged, handing you the phone back with an address in Jericho - you started the car again, driving a little faster than usual to put the creepy old house behind you.

“What happened to your chest?” you asked with a glance in the rearview mirror. Tyler caught your gaze, then looked nervously down at Wednesday.

“He was attacked.”

“By…?”

The other boy interjected, giving you a distrustful glare. “The bear that’s been all over the news.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “He’s lucky to have gotten away then.”

The kids remained silent for the remainder of the drive, sharing looks amongst themselves. Once you reached Tyler’s house, they hopped out of the car, escorting Tyler inside. You trailed in behind them - at the other boy’s raised eyebrow, you told him you weren’t driving back to Nevermore without Larissa’s students.

Wednesday took a few minutes to patch Tyler up - the blonde girl (Enid, as you’d come to learn) sat off to the side, openly panicking until Tyler’s wound was dressed and you managed to usher the three Nevermore students back out to your car to drive them back to school. Before pulling out onto the road, you shot Larissa another text.

Y/N: I’m sorry, I had to get gas. I’ll be there in 10.

Okay, so it was definitely a lie, but there was no use worrying her prematurely - you’d figure out how to explain the situation in person.

“I didn’t know Weems was a lesbian.”

“Xavier!” Enid exclaimed, turning in her seat to glare at the boy. You looked into the rearview mirror with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m sure there are a lot of things your principal doesn’t feel the need to share with you,” you replied coolly.

“You can’t tell her we were out, though,” Enid said, her voice laced with panic. “Nevermore is on lockdown, if she finds out she’ll expel us.”

“I’m sure she won’t expel you,” you replied softly, trying to sound comforting as you chewed at your lip. Would she?

~~~

The decision of whether or not to tell Larissa about her students being out during lockdown was taken from your hands, however, when the four of you entered the school. Wednesday turned the corner towards the stairs first, stopping abruptly and looking up to the landing - Enid stopped dead in her tracks next to you, her eyes widening in fear.

Larissa’s voice sounded from the top of the stairs. “Ms. Addams, I see you’ve found your way back to campus.”

Enid glanced up at you, biting her lip. You placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It’ll be okay,” you whispered, leading her around the corner with Xavier trailing behind you.

Larissa stood on the landing of the staircase, glaring down at Wednesday. Her eyes immediately darted over to you when you came into sight with Enid and Xavier in tow and her brow furrowed. You could see her lip quivering as confusion and uncertainty filled her gaze. “Would someone care to explain to me what is going on?” She both looked and sounded furious. “I’ve just received a phone call from the sheriff, who informed me that he came home to find his son injured.”

“I drove him home,” you offered. Larissa’s eyes darted from Wednesday to you, drinking you in carefully and taking in the way you were squeezing Enid’s shoulder. “I took a shortcut here and ran into them, I gave them a lift.” You smiled apologetically - Larissa’s gaze softened a fraction, though she still looked both angry and worried.

“I was beginning to worry. About all of you.” Her voice caught in her throat and you suddenly felt guilt pool in the pit of your stomach for worrying her.

“I’m sorry,” you mouthed, watching the almost imperceptible upward curl of Larissa’s lips in acknowledgment of your apology, before the smile was replaced with a deep frown as she directed her attention back to her students.

“Mr. Thorpe, Miss Sinclair, I’d like to ask you to come to my office tomorrow to discuss disciplinary action for violating lockdown. For now, please go straight back to your dorms. I’d like to speak with Miss Addams alone.”

Enid met your gaze - after a moment’s hesitation, she pulled you into a tight hug, before turning and walking dejectedly up the stairs. Larissa watched her go, a mixture of disappointment and something else you couldn’t quite place in her gaze.

“Um, I’ll wait in your office?” you suggested, biting the inside of your cheek as you watched Larissa carefully.

“Please.” Larissa’s tone was just a hint softer when she spoke with you, sapphire eyes swimming with emotion.

You nodded and made your way up the stairs - as you passed by her, Larissa reached out to give your hand a squeeze. You could barely make out the sound of her scolding Wednesday as you disappeared down the corridor towards the office.

~~~

It didn’t take long at all for Larissa to come back to her office - you were sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace, picking nervously at your nails when the door swung open and then slammed shut. You didn’t bother turning around as you heard the click of Larissa’s heels come closer and closer, until they were right behind you.

“Darling,” Larissa sighed, pressing her lips to the crown of your head. She buried her nose into your hair, breathing you in as her arms wrapped around your shoulders from behind. “You took so long, I nearly called the police.”

You twisted in her grip to look up at her, rushing to explain yourself and stumbling over your words. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to break it to you over the phone that I found Wednesday standing outside of an abandoned old mansion with her friends in the middle of the night without worrying you even more.”

Larissa chuckled, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment. “I suppose you’re right, I don’t think that would have assuaged my worries…” She opened her eyes, looking directly into your own and cupping your cheek ever so gently. “I’m extremely glad you’re alright, though.” Her lips pressed against yours in a soft kiss that took your breath away with its tenderness. “Thank you for looking after them and taking them home.”

“Of course.” You hesitated for a moment. “You aren’t going to expel them, are you? Enid is very worried.”

“I’m not going to expel them,” Larissa confirmed, straightening up and walking over to a little cabinet in the corner of the room. “But Wednesday is on thin ice. I can’t afford to give that girl any more chances.” She let out a deep sigh as she turned to face you again, approaching the sofa with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

“What were they even doing out there?”

Larissa rolled her eyes as she settled next to you, pouring a generous amount of red into each of the glasses. “Wednesday is convinced there’s a monster behind those attacks, and that she can find out what it is.”

You nodded your head slowly, mulling over the information carefully. “And what do you think it is?”

“It’s just a bear,” she said with a sigh, her gaze dropping to the flames in the fireplace, watching them flicker and dance. The worry in her eyes was not lost on you but she seemed unwilling to talk about it further, so you decided to drop the subject. For now. Larissa handed you one of the glasses - you clinked it against hers, causing her lips to curl into a small smile.

“Seems like it’s been quite the semester - my high school wasn’t nearly as interesting,” you said playfully, causing Larissa to chuckle.

“There’s always something happening at Nevermore, but it’s been an unusual semester even for myself…” She took a sip of her wine, humming softly and kicking her heels off so that she could put her feet up on the sofa, turning to face you. She slid her feet towards you until her toes were stuck underneath your thigh - even through your jeans, you could feel how cold they were.

“Jesus, Riss, you’re freezing,” you said with a laugh, leaning away from her and trying to shoo her away. She pouted, sliding her feet out farther and chasing your warmth. You rolled your eyes and placed your glass down on the coffee table. “Fine, come here.”

Larissa’s pout turned into a satisfied smirk when you lifted her feet onto your lap, your hands providing her with some warmth. “What would you do without me?” you teased.

“I’d be living a sad life, indeed. And I’d be freezing constantly,” she teased back, taking a sip of her wine. Her gaze softened a fraction and she rested her head on the back of the sofa, watching you with a relaxed, pensive look on her face.

“What?” you whispered, feeling your cheeks grow warm under her gaze.

“Nothing,” she whispered back. “I’m just lucky to have you, that’s all.”

“I’m the lucky one.”

“Don’t even try to argue with me on that one, darling.”

You smiled, biting your lip - of course you were ready to argue that point until your face went blue. Subconsciously, your hands began to rub Larissa’s feet, trying to get them warm. As your thumbs soothed over a pressure point on the arch of her foot, Larissa’s eyelids fluttered shut and a barely audible moan left her lips. Watching her face carefully, you repeated the movement - her lips parted slightly, her eyelids fluttered.

You began alternating between using your thumbs and your knuckles to loosen up the muscles in her feet - every movement of your hands caused Larissa to moan louder and deeper, her cheeks reddening as she seemed unable to control the noises she was making. You paused in your massage, leaning over her and plucking the glass out of her hand, setting it aside.

“Lay back,” you instructed. Larissa’s eyes opened and you could see how turned on she was from how wide her pupils had gotten. She nodded, leaning back against the armrest of the sofa and wiggling a bit to get comfortable. You settled at her feet, continuing the massage, your eyes never leaving Larissa’s face as it relaxed once again. This time, though, you moved your hands higher, rubbing your fingers against her calves and really kneading into her muscles. You took your time with her, delighting in every moan and groan that you were able to extract from the blonde beneath you, every breathy sigh and pleased hum that left her lips.

Once you reached her knees, you pushed her dress up her thighs - though you quickly found that it was a bit too tight to go as far as you’d have liked. “Can I take it off?” you murmured sweetly, waiting for an affirming hum before pulling it as far up Larissa’s body as you could - she sat up to help you pull it the rest of the way off of her body, and you tossed it to the floor.

Settling back between her legs, you returned to massaging Larissa’s calves - nice and slow, reveling in the supple softness of her skin, switching between each leg. The blonde relaxed under your touch, her eyes falling shut again and her head tipping back against the armrest of the sofa.

You couldn’t help but stare at the ethereal woman before you, desire pooling in your core as you drank her in. The flames flickered and danced, illuminating the soft curves of her torso, catching on the off-white fabric of her bra, bouncing off the golden necklace she wore and kissing her neck. Her lace-clad breasts, her stomach, her face - all cast in shadow. She was the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen - a divine, heavenly creature who seemed to exude a light of her own, one that you were all too happy to bask in.

This time your hands didn’t stop as you reached her knees - you began massaging her thighs, your firm touch becoming lighter the higher you went as Larissa’s breath grew heavier, her moans giving way to soft gasps. When you reached her upper, inner thigh, you leaned in, replacing your hands with your tongue - this elicited a shuddering whimper from the blonde, who arched her back off the sofa. Her hands, which had been folded over her stomach, came to rest on your head, fingers curling into your hair and tugging gently.

“Is this okay?” you whispered, your mouth inches away from her cunt. There was a wet spot at the center of her panties and you felt your own arousal grow at the sight.

“Yes, darling.” Larissa’s voice was breathy with desire and she spread her legs wider, gently pushing your head towards her center.

You chuckled at her neediness and began to press featherlight kisses to each thigh, alternating as you got closer and closer to where she needed you most. The scent of her arousal filled your nostrils - it was enough to make you slightly dizzy, drool pooling in your mouth. You placed a gentle kiss to her clit over her underwear, then used your teeth to tug at the waistband of the lacy panties - Larissa moved her hips to make it easier for you to pull them down her body.

Returning to your position between her legs, you used the tip of your tongue to lick a path up her slit. She bucked her hips up into your mouth, her hands returning to your hair and twisting so hard that it hurt a bit - the pain felt delicious in contrast to the pleasurable throbbing of your own clit, and you squeezed your thighs together to relieve some of the tension so that you could focus on Larissa and her pleasure.

You allowed your tongue to explore her folds, slowly getting drunk on the taste of her and losing yourself in the sheer ecstasy that came with feeling her drip onto your tongue, knowing that her arousal was all for you. A pleased moan clawed its way out of your throat, vibrating against Larissa’s pussy and drawing an equally filthy groan from her own throat.

She began to gyrate her hips against your face, setting a fast pace which you met with eager licks. Red-tipped nails scratched at your head as she tugged your hair, drawing more whimpers from your lips which went through Larissa’s body like shockwaves of pleasure.

As Larissa’s moans became louder and more animalistic, your arousal grew, until the ache between your own thighs was impossible to ignore. You found yourself reaching between your legs, rubbing your hand desperately against your cunt, through the fabric of your jeans. The pressure wasn’t nearly enough and you growled in frustration, fumbling with the button and forcing your hand inside your underwear.

That first touch against your clit felt like heaven - it was nearly more than you could handle as you continued to suck Larissa’s clit. You gathered your wetness on your fingers, smearing it eagerly over your sensitive bundle of nerves and moaning loudly as you matched the pace of your fingers to that of your tongue, your eyes fluttering shut.

“Are you touching yourself?” Larissa’s voice was gravelly and low, and you opened your eyes to find she’d lifted her head to meet your gaze - she looked down at you through hooded eyes, her cheeks gorgeously flushed.

“Mmmh, yeah,” you mumbled, not bothering to stop sucking her clit as you replied. Larissa’s eyes nearly rolled back in her head, and she dropped her head back against the armrest again with a mumbled “fuck”.

Your desire was building more by the second and you could tell that Larissa was close, too, as her thighs began to tremble and the rolling of her hips became somewhat erratic.

“You close?” you murmured breathily, just loud enough for Larissa to hear.

“Y-yes - ah - ‘mm close…”

“Cum with me?” The words had barely left your mouth as you felt your orgasm wash over you, every muscle in your body tightening as you came. You let out a strangled groan and both your tongue and your hands stuttered in their movements, even as you tried desperately to keep a steady pace. Larissa’s orgasm soon followed, a direct response to hearing you cum, her thighs snapping shut around your head as she reached her peak.

Her hands tightened in your hair, holding you firmly in place to keep her riding her high for as long as possible. You only let up when she released your hair from her grip and allowed her thighs to fall to the side. You pulled back slightly, breathing heavily from your own orgasm and trying to calm your pounding heart when you felt Larissa’s fingers grip your chin. You allowed her to guide you up towards her, your lips meeting hers in a heated, passionate kiss.

~~~

Larissa let go of your chin as you kissed, placing her hands on your waist and pulling you snugly against her. Her own heart was hammering away in her chest, her breathing hard and uneven.

“I really needed that,” she said after a few moments, her voice still hoarse and shaky. Your laugh vibrated against her chest, the sound filling her heart with joy.

“Happy to help,” you quipped, causing Larissa to giggle. You propped yourself up above her, reaching behind her neck to take off her necklace and gingerly lay it on the table so that you could rest your head against her chest.

“Mmm, better,” you mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of her cleavage before resting your cheek against her and letting out a contented sigh.

“Will you stay tonight? I don’t want you driving home alone…”

“Yeah, of course. But you know, I don’t think I’d get attacked by a bear from inside my car or anything.”

Larissa’s stomach churned uncomfortably. She didn’t know how much longer she could continue lying to you about the monster roaming Jericho’s woods - she didn’t want to lie to you, after all. But fear held her back - the fear that your acceptance of her and her world, of outcasts, wasn’t as all-encompassing as she’d like to believe. The fear that, once you found out that it was an outcast - a hyde - responsible for the attacks, for the many deaths, you’d never look at her the same way again. That you’d see her as dangerous. She swallowed thickly.

“I don’t care. I can’t risk anything happening to you - I was worried sick tonight. I don’t want you out in this area alone at night.”

“Okay, okay. I promise, I’ll stay the night and I won’t go out on my own.” You raised your arm to give her a mock salute, trying to lighten the mood.

Larissa let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. As you nuzzled your cheek against her chest, she felt both an overwhelming sense of relief and a gnawing sense of guilt. Her arms tightened around you and she sighed into your hair, squeezing her eyes shut to stop a single tear from sliding down her cheek.

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#larissa weems x reader #larissa weems #principal weems x reader #lipstick stains #lipstick stains series

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rubberonmyduck · 2 months

Text

Prologue

[Prologue] [I] [II] [III] AO3 Link

Weakened angelic powers and one mishap with a rogue exorcist later, Lucifer is injured. As the looming threat of war with Heaven hangs above his head, and the delay of getting a healing spell from Stolas, Lucifer is forced to make a decision. New to the Pride Ring, you land yourself a job at I.M.P.-- the Immediate Murder Professionals. Desperate to make some money during a client-low, Blitz agrees to contract out a bodyguard for Lucifer Morningstar, the King of Hell. The catch? You're the one Blitz picks for the job.

Chatter could be heard in the air, along with the clangs of various cups and plates being set on tables, taken away, and smacked together. People were taking orders up at the front counter, most requests involving various pastries and tea. In the corner sat Lucifer Morningstar, the king of hell. He was drinking out of a small white teacup. Stolas strutted over, taking a seat in the chair across the man in question.

“Your majesty, you look terrible.”

Lucifer gave Stolas a frown, his eyebrows moving together slightly as he processed what the prince had said. “How polite, Stolas.”

Stolas wasn’t particularly wrong. While his hair was perfectly slicked back and his suit a clean shade of whites and reds, the king was slouched over slightly, and his eyebags were a darker shade than usual. Any sinner would assume this was normal– for the most part, it is, as Lucifer’s recluse tendencies cause most of the population to almost never see him– but Stolas knew the unfortunate truth.

“Have you figured anything out yet?” It was barely a week past the last extermination. Protecting his daughter’s hotel had taken a lot of energy out of the devil, leaving him almost powerless besides the rare short-distance portaling. He also felt incredibly tired.

“Unfortunately not, friend.” Stolas pulled out his grimnoir, flipping it open to the oh-so familiar pages about demonic healing and the effects certain weapons will have on them. The pages had notes scribbled in and sticky notes on the edges.

After the events of the extermination, the seven sins had an emergency meeting. Most of them were quick to blame Lucifer for the actions of his daughter, but with a little rationale from Asmodeus, the other sins calmed down and agreed something needs to be prepared for a potential war with Heaven if Lucifer wasn’t able to make peace with the higher-ups. Still being weak, and now tired from the long meetings, Lucifer didn’t have enough energy to teleport back home that night. He had declined a ride from Asmodeus, reassuring the other sin he could walk home just fine.

Stolas pulls out a few tiny lists, scattering them across the table. “We’ve already gone through all the spells in my book.” He clicks his fingers on the table, a nervous habit. “I can request to borrow my sister’s bok, but she won’t be back from Earth for another couple full moons.”

Lucifer leaned back in his chair with a groan, wincing slightly as his shirt rubbed against his back. Things were going fine that night. It was much later in the day, the hookers and drug dealers were all inside bars and partying before they drunkenly stumbled their way home. Lucifer would always refer to this time as the peace time– it was the only time of day it seemed all the death outside stopped. It was the complacency that screwed him over that night. He’s used to having the power to toss any daredevil sinner halfway across the pentagram if they tried anything, and the lack of people out on the streets just reinforced his sense of false safety. He didn’t see the shadowy figure lingering in the alleyway, stalking the king on his walk home.

The king took a sip of his tea.

“Not to butt into your business, your majesty, but perhaps you should acquire some assistance.”

Lucifer promptly spat that tea out.

“What?” he hissed, glancing around the little pastry shop before glaring at Stolas.

“You can’t defend yourself,” His voice was hushed as he leaned across the table. “Some hired help may keep your mind at ease.”

Lucifer had seen the shadowy figure a few moments before they jumped out in front of him. It wasn’t a sinner like he thought. Their body was covered in a golden, almost glittery blood, with a ripped uniform to compliment. They help an angelic spear up to the king’s throat. A snarl was etched on their face.

“That’s a terrible idea, Stolas,” Lucifer retorted, trying to brush the suggestion off as quickly as it came. Charlie was busy dealing with the influx of sinners at her hotel, leaving Lucifer alone as he healed. She felt bad not being able to be there for her dad, but Lucifer had insisted. He didn’t need protection! He’s the king of hell, and he sure as hell can fight for himself.

“Sounds like a one-way ticket to getting stabbed in the back. Again!”

It turned out to be an exorcist threatening the king. The angel backed the man into a wall, monologuing about the pain of having to come down every year, and getting stuck in this hell hole after Lucifer fought back against heaven that day. The exorcist wanted revenge. They swung their sword at the man, but Lucifer was quick, puffing out his wings and flying up. Unfortunately though, the spear had nicked three of them, leaving his flight wobbly and eventually causing him to fall back down on the ground. The angel walked up to his body, holding the weapon up over the king’s crippled body. Just as they were about to slam the blade down, another spear came flying out of the shadows, stabbing the exorcist right in the chest. They flopped down on the ground a few meters away with a loud hiss. Lucifer raised his head up, and barely made out the motion of someone walking away. Someone had saved him.

Stolas gave a slight hoot of entertainment. “You sound as if you plan to hire a sinner.”

Lucifer cocked an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“You could hire an imp.”

The king blinked. An imp? Those small creatures? “No offense, Stolas, but what kind of protection could imps even provide?”

Stolas chuckled. It was like he knew some imp lore that Lucifer wasn’t told about. Stolas glanced at his phone, before abruptly standing up and gathering his belongings.

“Sure they are… small… but some are quite skilled.” Stolas dug through his pocket, pulling out a business card. He slid it across the table to Lucifer.

“And you’ll be able to go to the other rings without any sinner barrier.” The bird clutched his grimnoir to his chest. “I must head out now, Lucifer, but please take this into consideration. Tell them I sent you.”

After watching the Goetic prince leave the building, Lucifer looked down at the card in front of him.

I.M.P. Immediate Murder Professionals.

#hazbin hotel #helluva boss #hazbin hotel lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader

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bamsara · 1 year

Note

Prompt Drabble: Stitched up wounds 🧵 🩹

Sun-Centric | Wordcount: 1,217 | AO3 Version

You weren't exactly the best coordinated or well organized person. Or maybe you were just super unlucky at times, it would explain all the instances of misfortune you've had, small or big injuries that shouldn't have happened but did so like the universe was just trying to spite you.

So you're not all that surprised when you stick your hand into the murky water of the kitchen sink to start doing the dishes, feel something a little weird, and pull it back out to see a steak knife hanging from the middle of your hand.

You hear Sun dropping the plates behind you on the table before the pain actaully reaches you. "Oh. Uh. Oops."

"Oops? You're 'oopsing' right now?" Sun's form is immediatly to your side, his job of collecting the remaining dishware forgotten as the animatronic grabs your wet wrist. Before he flips over your palm, the knife falls right out of your flesh, bits of blood falling with it, now a dark stain into the dirty water. "Oh, dear. Oh me oh my."

Sun's faceplate turns briefly to the car keys hanging on the hook by the front door, and you're quick to speak up. "We are not going to urgent care for something as small as this. I'm not footing that bill." The animatronic gains a sour look, but you're firm. "Not happening."

A disapproving pause, but the Sun looks back to your hand.

The pain is starting, and your mouth pressing into a line, sucking in a hiss through your teeth as the sting of the water forms a bloody ring around the wound. "Ah, fuck-"

"We told you-" He's tutting at you, flipping your palm upwards and holding it firmly with one hand, the other grabbing a paper towl and dabbing the wetness away. "I think I've told you several times that just throwing knifes into the sink for later was going to bite you!"

"Not my fault!" You flinch as he brings your hand down underneath the faucet, running clean water over the wound, "Knives just have it out for me! Remember that time-" He turns it off, and all but dragging you by the wrist to the bathroom, with your complaining all the while. "-the time with the rabbit?"

"Not a funny joke!" Sun sits you down on the closed toliet seat, a firm press on your shoulders as an unspoken 'stay put', turning on his heel and opening the medicine cabinet up. "Not funny! Very upsetting! And I'll be hearing none of it right now!"

The pain in your hand was spreading, but you're trying to laugh. "C'mon, it's-"

"Oh, would you look at that! It's our good friend, disinfectant!" He pulls the bottle out with purpose, a small first aid in his other hand, and holds it in the air with a tense smile. "Very important to use. Let's make sure that dish water doesn't make anything infected, shall we?"

You cringe in on yourself. "I think I'll be fine with a band-aid."

"Please." The Sun washes his hands, then lowers himself, setting the supplies to the side as he crouches in front of you. He holds your wrist again, turning it over, and the tutting as blood dribbles out from the small wound, sliding off your skin and dripping to the tile. Not the worst injury you've recieved, but definatly an annoyance. "I think you'll need a stitch or two. Maybe three. And wouldn't you know that robots tend to have very steady hands."

You wrinkle your nose as he pulls as he dips the bottle of disinfectant onto a gauze pad, and positions it over the wound. "Said the robot that was programmed to juggle-aUUUghhh Ow! Ow, fucking. Ow."

Sun uses his thumb to press the alcohol pad into your palm with a gentle firmness, and sends you a look when you try to jerk your arm backwards. "We have four arms! Do not make us use them."

"Unfair." You pout, watching as he pulls the gauze away now tainted with a slight color of red. A bead of wetness swells in your eye at the pain. "Mean."

"Hush." He speaks, and sounds like his other half coming in underneath his tone. Sun tosses the gauze, pulling out a small kit with one hand and thumbing away the single tear with the other. "This will hurt a little."

The pain is evident and not leaving soon, and the blood was no longer dribbling down your palm, so you look away as Sun threads the needle with careful percision, (large fingers are not, he does have steady hands) and lines it up carefully. You flinch at the first stitch.

He presses his fingers down onto your wrist, keeping it trapped against your own knee, and uses the thumb of that hand to keep your palm splayed open as the other worked. "Try not to move."

You breathe hotly through your nose. "I'm trying."

"And you're doing a very good job!" He's quick, focused. The wonders of expertise. He's not nervous because he's seen you survive worse, so the habit of speech comes naturally to him. "Good, good. There you go. Open your hand little more." A third stitch, and you groan at the realization you'll need a few more, but Sun keeps going.

"Almost done." Sun comes to the last one. "You're doing very good, sweetheart."

"Shut up." Your face is both hot in embarressment and in painful discomfort.

"Oh, you'd rather we'd be quiet?" Sun's smile is teasing, but comforting. He's probably trying to be distracting on purpose. "Cranky."

You open your mouth to retort, but the final stitch and knot is finished, and you fight to appear stoic at the sensation as Sun wipes the now-closed wound with a disinfected wipe again, pulling out another roll of gauze. "No more dishwashing for you, I'm afriad. You can leave those things to little-ole me!"

He wraps your hand gingerly, covering the cleaned and sutured wound with bandages to protect it's healing. You don't say anything, but you know he glances up every other second or so to see if you wince if the wrapping is too tight. The wrap is finished, a knot on the back of your hand, and you sigh. "I can just put a glove over it."

"How about you not do that?" The animatronic leans back, gathering the left-over supplies and storing them away back into the medical cabinet. You rise to stand, and he stops you before you can brush past him. "Hold on! We're not done here!"

You raise a brow, but you see it coming before he starts. Carefully, grabbing the wrist and not the hand, his takes a hold of the injured one, raising it slowly and gently up to his faceplate, leaning downwards until the bandage barely graces his teeth. "Mwau. It'll heal in no time."

You laugh. "That's so corny!"

"And it works! Scientifically proven!" He chuckles, turning to his side and gesturing for you to walk past him and out of the bathroom like a knight would welcome a charge into their castle. "Now! Dishes away! Not for you though. I ban you to couch duty."

"...What's couch duty?"

He winks at you. "It's the duty you do when you don't do anything."

"....Boo."

#Based off of an IRL injury I recieved! Sorry if its not super dramatic lmao #Solar Lunacy #drabbles #writings #fnaf sb #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #sun x reader #moon x reader #tw injury #tw blood

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tiannasfanfic · 1 year

Text

True Sight

Eddie Munson x Reader (Angst)

| Eddie & Steddie Masterlist | AO3 Link |

Summary: While helping Eddie clean out his van, you find something that has the potential to completely destroy your relationship.

Rating: General Audiences

Author Note: Gender neutral Reader, they/them pronouns (if any), because anyone can wear panties. An AU where Henry Creel doesn't happen. Angst with a Twist. This story is 90-95% true, even the background of Eddie and Reader's relationship.

CW: Description of on and off relationship; mentions of abandonment issues; mentions of cheating; brief, non-graphic description of past sexual encounter (below waist penetration but not specified where, choking).

Word Count: 2,676

At some point in every long term relationship, the people in it find themselves purchasing their first vehicle together. No matter if it’s brand new right off the lot or an older model that a buddy is trying to get rid of, it’s a huge milestone for any couple.

That time had finally come for you and Eddie.

By now, duct tape and prayer were holding his van together. Your car may have been slightly newer and in better condition, it was at the point of breaking far more often than the two of you could really afford.

Regardless of why, it was an exciting time for both of you. Even getting a used vehicle, this was going to be the newest one either of you had ever owned. Not only that, but this was the first vehicle that Eddie was able to buy for himself, which was another huge milestone. Yes, the two of you were buying it together, but that was beside the point. You weren’t going to take that claim away from him since his van had been Wayne’s initially and was a roughly used hand me down.

Once a truck was found that you both fell in love with, you went ahead and traded your car in to help lower the down payment. That had been the plan with the van too until dealership took one look at it and laughed, so the two of you were on your own when it came to selling it.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long to find someone that was willing to give what Eddie was asking for it.

Unfortunately, this meant it had to be cleaned. And if there was one thing that had never happened to this van, it was a good deep cleaning.

Now, while Eddie had gotten better over the years when it came to tossing trash into the back, especially once he had stopped hanging out in there, he wasn’t always the best at remembering to throw things away later. There were still plenty of empty to-go cups, soda bottles, food wrappers, cans, cigarette packs, lighters and the like that had to be thrown away. It wasn’t anything gross, at least, except for a bottle of motor oil that had leaked right behind the driver’s seat.

Once all off the surface trash was out of the way, and the old blankets pulled out and examined before ultimately being thrown away, the van turned into a bit of a time capsule for the two of you. You both started finding things long thought lost, which brought on some reminiscing.

Ah, if this van could talk. She had seen a lot of things, both with and without you at Eddie’s side.

You both were in great moods as the day progressed, made even better by sharing one last joint then making out in the back for old time’s sake. But shortly after that while at the peak of your high, you found something at the bottom of the glove compartment.

When you first saw it, you weren’t really sure what it was. Once you picked it up, you could tell by the feel of it that it was some kind of flimsy fabric that had been wadded up into a ball. After carefully unwinding the fabric from the ball, you held it up with both hands to look at.It took a moment, but you eventually realized what it was that you were holding.

“Hey Eddie?” you said, slowly turning in the passenger seat towards the back of the van.

“Yeah?”

“Look what I found,” you said.

Eddie looked over to see what you were talking about.

It took him a moment as well, but when he realized what exactly it was that you were holding, all the color drained from his face.

It was a pair of mesh thong panties that had been torn open down the sides.

“Sweetheart, I promise those are from before we got back together,” Eddie said instantly, panic all over his face, his tone frantic.

From the look on Eddie’s face, you could see the life you two had built together flashing before his eyes.

The relationship you and Eddie had was a complicated one that was hard to describe.

Really, the easiest way to explain it is by saying it was very easy for the two of you to get together but very hard for you to stay together.

The two of you had been friends since high school. Back in those days, you were good friends but not best friends thanks to people you both dated during those years. This was due to the feelings you both had for each other that were obvious to everyone except for yourselves. The people you dated could see it just as easily as anyone else and didn’t like it.

Not too long after Eddie graduated, you both found yourselves single at the same time and you decided to make your feelings known. Eddie wasn’t about to pass up that opportunity, instantly reciprocated and the two of you had an amazing relationship that lasted for just a little over six months before he ended it suddenly without any explanation at the time.

Over the course of the next three years, the two of you found yourselves drawn back to each other repeatedly. In that time period, you made three more serious attempts to date, made a run at trying to just be friends again, and went through phases as each other’s regular booty call.

But no matter what kind of relationship you two tried to have, it would end shortly after it started and you’d go a long period without speaking.

Now, to be fair, it wasn’t always Eddie who ended things. You ended it your fair share of times, too. If something wasn’t working or making you happy, you had no problem with removing yourself from a situation and moving on, even when it came to him.

But, no matter who ended it, every time the two of you parted ways, it was always over something that didn’t really matter in the long run. It was never anything big, nothing serious, nothing that should permanently kill a relationship. And while you two were madly in love with each other, you were always at different places in life. It was the never right time.

Eventually, you found yourself in a relationship for nearly four years and lost all contact with Eddie for the duration of it. But one particularly rough night near the end of it, you found yourself having a pretty drastic realization. The only time you had ever been happy with someone, really truly happy and not just lying to yourself, was with Eddie.

Unbeknownst to you at the time, Eddie had the exact same realization roughly in the same time period after getting ditched by his date at a party where he knew no one and had no ride home since he rode with his date. He ended up having to call Steve to come rescue him.

A few weeks later, while you were working up the courage to reach out to Eddie, he made contact with you first.

That was a little over three years ago. You two had been together ever since.

But just because you two hadn’t broken up yet didn’t mean things had been easy. The biggest drawback to finally getting with someone you’ve been on and off with for years is the abandonment issues you both have left over from all those breakups before. After three years, and a lot of communication, you two had made a lot of progress, though it was still something you two were actively working on, tackling things together whenever they came up.

But one thing you had never worried about with Eddie was cheating. Eddie was the one person you always trusted implicitly. You actually had more of a sordid past than he did, having cheated on multiple partners while he said he had never cheated on even one. You believed him. Even the mere idea of him cheating never crossed your mind.

By this point, Eddie had completely discarded what he was working on at the back of the van to scramble up on his knees to where you were seated sideways in the passenger seat. He looked absolutely panicked, his eyes wide and filled with fear as he gazed into yours.

“Please, please believe me, Y/N,” Eddie said, cupping your face in his hands, his voice cracking. “I would never, ever do that to anyone, but especially not you.”

He looked so scared, so terrified, his tone heavy with a desperate plea.

And it was at that exact moment you started laughing.

It wasn’t just any kind of laugh, it was one of those laughing fits that soon had you nearly doubled over with tears streaming down your face.

Eddie leaned back a bit in surprise, his hands dropping down from your face to rest on your shoulders. A worried crease appeared between his eyebrows. He didn’t say anything until after your laughter had calmed down, just watched you with a helpless look on his face.

“Sweetheart?” he said, tentatively reached up with one hand to touch your cheek again lightly. “What-“

The question was cut off when you grabbed a handful of his shirt, pulled him closer and kissed him.

Eddie was so stunned he didn’t even kiss you back.

As you pulled away, you took one look at his expression, which was now a mixture of worry, panic, shock and now the fear that you’d finally lost it, and you could feel the laughing fit rising up again. You managed to suppress it down to a fit of giggles.

“They’re mine, you dumbass,” you said, giggling madly and grinning at him.

All of the expressions on Eddie’s face were instantly wiped away and replaced by one of deep confusion.

“Yours?”

You nodded.

Once you had realized what it was that you were holding, you instantly recognized the pair and remembered the night you lost them. You were just surprised he still had them after all this time. It happened many years ago during the second attempt you two made to date.

The two of you had gone to a friend’s birthday party together, making a date of it. As soon as you got in the van when he picked you up, the air had been sparking. It was the first time you had seen each other in a couple of months and the energy between you was electric, the sexual tension as strong as you’d ever felt it.

You both had known days ago when you made these plans how this night would end. If there was one thing you and Eddie had always, always been in perfect sync on, it was sex. Your energies matched perfectly, your bodies fit together as if they were made for each other. The intense passion mixed with rabid lust was always earth shaking. After your first night together, it was almost like you craved each other.

The two of you spent most of the party teasing each other. When the two of you finally left, Eddie couldn’t wait to get back to your place, much less into the back of his van. He pulled over to park on a secluded road and barely got it into park before he was dragging you over to straddle him in the driver’s seat. It was a bit tricky getting your pants off, but the two of you managed, only honking the horn a couple of times in the process. For whatever reason, you didn’t take your panties off at the same time, and they were soon ripped off you.

While you knew that probably wouldn’t jog his memory right away if you told him all that, you knew one particular thing about that night that definitely would.

“Remember when we discovered I like being choked?” you asked, grinning.

It only took a second before Eddie completely relaxed and his face broke into a wide grin.

“Holy shit,” he said, his eyes lighting up with the memory.

Shortly after Eddie ripped your panties off, you had been riding him when he suddenly grabbed you by the throat and leaned you back against the steering wheel to arch your chest out towards him. It was the first time anyone had ever grabbed you by the throat and you absolutely loved it. This became immediately obvious to Eddie when you cried out and clenched around him in a surprise orgasm. He wasn’t too far behind you after that.

“Now I remember,” he said, taking the pair of torn panties from you to look them over. “When I was leaving your place the next day, I saw them on the floorboard. I thought about going back in to give them to you but decided to keep them.”

To anyone else, that would’ve sounded weird, but for you, it made your heart skip a beat.

“Why?” you asked.

Eddie shrugged, a regretful look on his face as he looked up to meet your gaze.

“I was already freaking out again about how much I felt for you,” he said. “And I knew I was fixing to run away again because of it.” He shrugged again. “So, I wanted to make sure I had something of yours when that happened.”

Just a few days after that party, Eddie had suddenly stopped speaking to you again.

You smiled softly, and reached out to brush some stray curls out of his face.

“Good thing we don’t have to worry about that anymore, huh?” you said, then leaned forward to kiss him again, which he eagerly returned this time.

“Yup,” he agreed, then grinned. “We’re on a lease together and now a car loan. You’re kinda stuck with me.”

“And there’s no one else I’d rather be stuck with,” you said happily.

After another slow, deep kiss, Eddie looked back down at the torn panties in his hand and grinned.

You watched as he balled them back up and leaned to one side so he could shove them into his pocket.

“Seriously?” you said, then laughed and pointed in the direction of your shared apartment. “You do realize I have a whole drawer full of those, right?”

“Believe me, I know,” he said, smirking. “But you always throw the torn ones away before I get the chance to grab a pair.”

Now that one got an eyebrow raise out of you.

“Why in the hell would you want a torn pair?” you asked, a bit confused by the idea since you couldn’t wear them again.

“Because these I’ve actually torn off to fuck you,” he said. “That means they’re lucky.”

You started laughing.

“Wait a second,” you said, a grin on your face. “Because you got lucky means they are lucky?”

“Hell yeah it does,” he grinned, then started moving back towards the area of the van he was working on. “And since you got lucky too that night, I’d say that makes them lucky for both of us.”

It was a pretty sound thread of Eddie Logic that was hard to argue.

The two of you went back to cleaning and it was a few minutes before either of you spoke again.

“Hey Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“You do know that if you find any others that aren’t yours, they were from before us, right?”

You turned and found him looking at you from the back of the van, a worried expression on his face.

You had never once worried about Eddie cheating on you, you certainly weren’t about to start now.

“Don’t worry, baby, I know,” you said, smiling warmly at him before switching to a playful grin. “But I will make fun of you for it if I do.”

Eddie started laughing.

“That’s fine by me, sweetheart,” he said grinning at you.

In the end, that was the only pair of panties either of you found while cleaning out the van.

Eddie Munson Taglist: @eddie-swhore @bmunson86 @tayhar811

#eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson one shot

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leighsartworks216 · 7 months

Note

request for fluffy aftercare for female Tav x Astarion?

I ended up writing this as gender neutral, so anyone can read this (it wasn't intentional, I just didn't describe anything that denoted what the character's gender was)

This also acts as a sort of part 2 to Dear Pet, but it's not necessary to read that to understand this

Warnings: barest hint of possible angst if you squint, references to sex

Word Count: 507

Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Astarion gently laid you back on the bed, even reaching behind you to pull the pillow beneath your head. Before he could get too far, you cupped his neck and pulled him in for another kiss. He chuckled against your lips; he could feel your smile in return.

"There's plenty of time for that later," he scolds playfully when he pulls away.

"Promises promises," you tease right back. Your voice is a little weaker, more tired than usual. He'd really taken it out of you.

You don't argue further. He slips off the bed and over to the full tub just waiting to be used. It was steaming when you'd first got the room, but now it was merely warm enough to be comfortable. Grabbing a cloth, he soaked it in the water and wrung it out before squeezing the excess back into the tub. When he returned to the bed, he rested on his knees by your legs once more.

A press of a hand and you were opening up to him again. He held onto your outer thigh with one hand, supporting your already-tired legs, and used the cloth to clean you up. It was pleasantly warm, and he was gentle in his ministrations. When he finished, he pressed a loving kiss by your knee.

"I didn't hurt you too much, did I?" His eyes met yours and you could see the concern, even if his face didn't show it. You'd asked him to be rough, as long as he was comfortable doing so, but he was worried he took it too far. Even the little bruises on your hips concerned him.

You shook your head. "You were perfect, my love. I'm not hurt."

Red eyes traced your body. It wasn't salacious in any way, just searching for marks. There were undoubtedly some along your spine where he nipped, and of course where he punctured your neck. But from the front, aside from the fingerprint-bruises, you seemed no worse for wear.

You grabbed his hand holding your leg, rubbing your thumb along his knuckles as you smiled so sweetly up at him. "I'm okay, I promise."

He relaxed into your words. With a soft grin and another gentle kiss by your knee, he tapped against your skin for you to close your legs and he got up from the bed once more. Now that you were clean, he didn't feel bad folding over the cloth and quickly wiping himself down. It was certainly not as caring or careful as he'd been with you, but he wanted to take care of you; he didn't want to spend extra time cleaning himself up. He tossed the used cloth aside near the tub.

"Come on, love. Let's take a bath." He slid his arms underneath you and effortlessly lifted you into his arms. "Maybe I'll even let you borrow my hair oils this time."

You chuckled against his shoulder. Your eyes were bright with such love, you'd put the sun to shame. "Maybe?"

He winked. "If you're good."

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis

@hypopxia

@flsalazar

@beverlybeav

@angelofthorr

@emiemiemiii

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starfirette · 2 years

Text

All Mine

⭐️reposting this because it didn't show up in the tags

⭐️ Jace Herondale x Fem! Brightlaw Reader

⭐️masterlist | here are your warnings: 17+ + PiV + fluffy smut + marking and possessive-ness + birth control runes

⭐️book/movie Jace??? Idk. I imagine movie Jace as Jace when I'm reading, which I'm doing rn, I'm rereading city of bones. I'm going to post the next three chapters of EWW to my ao3 this weekend, and maybe I'll get a good update out! Like a real one. Thanks everyone for being patient and bearing with me being a totally emotional spaz

Jace's room was usually clean. The immaculate space could only be described as that of belonging to a monk or a pastor, or any man who lived in quiet humbility. Typically the place was spotless: routinely dusted and the hardwood floors always swept--perhaps that was a trait he had picked up from Mayrse...she was a rather strong advocate for the neat freak movement, so perhaps something about being raised by her in his later years of childhood had rubbed off.

His stack of piano music books, and a few other personal belongings, tended to be neatly set on his dresser, the one with the huge mirror (the same one he probably spent forty minutes gazing into every morning).

But now the room was trashed. It had everything to do with the way Jace had dragged you around it. He'd tossed you on every possible surface and possessed your body. Books spilled across the edge as your hands buckled to find something to grip onto as Jace hoisted his hips hard against yours, filling you up with this long cock.

By now, it had been hours, and you were both on the bed.

His thumbs pressed hard into the flesh of your ass as he guided your hips back and forth, shushing you as he grinned like a fallen Angel.

"You like this cock, baby?" Jace asked, his curly golden hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. The flushed features of his sharp cheekbones and the flickering golden hue fading in and out of his crisp blue eyes reminded you of his angelic heritage.

"Come on, angel, answer me," Jace hissed as he tipped your face up. His long fingers pressed beneath your chin, and his eyes glittered gold with brief hunger as he examined the splotchy marks he'd littered on your throat.

"I do like it," you stammered out, still trying to hump his hips as fast and hard as you could. His cock was angled just right so it rubbed the spongy spot inside of you. Your clit was erect and pounding with rushing blood, beating fast like another pulse in your body.

"I like it, I like it," you whined, sounding pathetic and not at all like a Shadowhunter. What would your parabatai say if they knew just how cockdumb you'd become, and for Jace Herondale of all people. He easily was the most arrogant of all Shadowhunters.

"Yeah, I know you like it," Jace chuckled as he stroked your cheek with the back of his hands, the cool metal of his family rings, both the Wayland and the Herondale sigils passing over your flushed face. The coldness of the rings eased the sweat as Jace maneuvered his thumb to tickle your clitoris just lightly. It made your vision blur and you couldn't help but cry out.

"You own this cock, don't you?" Jace purred as he lazed back, his voice deep with pleasure as you cried in rumbling ecstasy. Your body was trembling all over and Jace caught you as you pushed forward, slumping over as you gave up on using your own hips to hump his dick.

Jace wrapped his arms around you. He had gotten bulkier, more muscular, since the last battle in Alicante against Jonathan's army; he'd found temporary peace in his excercising with Alec, as well as his clear mind. Heavenly Fire flooded his veins, making the apples of his cheeks rosy with rush and fever.

You groaned into the crook of Jace's neck as he held you together. Without his arms you might very well fall apart; come completely undone as Jace split you in half, releasing your shadowy soul and laying it to rest in the City of Bones.

"Daughter of The Brightlaws" your slated tombstone would read. "Killed by a Herondale cock."

Well, it'd be an interesting sight.

Jace's hips and thighs smacked up as he leaned back into the headboard of the large, Institute bed. He cradled you in his arms and softly groaned as he fucked into you. Your teeth sank over the Star shaped mark on his shoulder as his skin wettly slapped into yours.

"Gotta suck something to keep quiet?" Jace chuckled as your lips suckled onto the mark. "That's fucking hot. That's right, suck. Like it's my cock, okay?"

Your lips cramped as tears dropped down your cheeks. Your upteenth orgasm was stirring inside of you, churning like cream into sugar. It was a sweeter feeling than any cake batter or cookie dough; a stronger and hotter feeling than any fine whiskey or vodka you'd ever tasted.

Jace hissed as your teeth nipped his collar bone. The skin was blotched red and purple and it stained the Star mark on his shoulder.

You shuddered violently as cum spilled outside of you. It was leaking down your thighs, coating Jace's pelvis; it was a salty mix of the both of you: it was the last of the Herondales and Brightlaws, and it was being wasted on sloppy, sloppy sex; what would the consul say? How would the Clave react if they knew your left shoulder blade was coated with a birth control rune, courtesy of Clary Fairchild.

The sound of Jace's cock plunging in and out through the sticky flood of semen was erotic on its own. It lubricated your pounding clit so that even the lightest touch made you flinch in the best of ways.

"Cum on it again, okay, Angel? I can't get enough of the feeling. Aw, baby, don't cry," Jace chuckled as he used a thumb to wipe away the tears that settled on your cheeks. "I'm going to take such good care of you. Don't you know how much I love you?"

The creaking of the bed crescendoed into a slamming against the walls. No doubt the other residents were hearing all of this, and no doubt would they guffaw and joke about it during breakfast the next day.

"I love you," Jace said, his voice breathless as he held your hips down firmly. His cock was twitching and pounding as it hammered inside of you. His thighs were thick and full with muscle as they flexed to keep himself from collapsing into the mattress. His entire body burned with tire but he couldn't stop. He needed one more, one more burst of ecstasy with you. "I will love you until I die. And if there's a life after that? I'll love you then. Can't let my Angel be all alone...need to keep her company."

Your jaw went slack as drool dripped from your lips, sticking to the Herondale star as you emitted mindless sounds into his golden skin. "I love you, Jace," you said between hiccuping moans.

"And my cock?"

You couldn't help but laugh between the thrusts. "Even your cock, baby."

Jace firmly smacked you on the ass as he made a little noise of praise. "That's right. You love it. You love it, you own it; you milk it so good. Your wet pussy hugs me just right. Raziel made you for me."

His blue eyes flared with golden flame; the heavenly fire was forcing its way out of hiding, making his hands warm as the groped across your body. "You're all mine."

#jace wayland x reader #jace herondale x reader #jace lightwood x reader #jace morgenstern x reader #jace wayland imagine #jace herondale imagine #jace lightwood imagine #jace morgenstern imagine #jamie Campbell bower x reader #jamie campbell bower x reader #starfirette writes #jamie campbell bower imagine #the mortal instruments x reader #the mortal instruments imagine #shadowhunters x reader #shadowhunters imagine #please work this time #18+ content

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archie-sunshine · 2 months

Text

So, What Now?(Rehabili/Cohabi-tation)

Chapter 8: An Interlude

FIC TAGS: Eventual Whirl/Cyclonus/Tailgate, Cyclonus/Tailgate, polyamory, slowburn romance, mutual pining, slice of life, fluff, comedy, eventual smut(planned for later chapters), sappy mushy lovey stuff, polycue, May eventually have illustrations

The Lost Light has a brand new universe to explore! But everyone's still tired from the old one! In the interim between wacky hijinks, a solution is offered to those bored to death by peacetime- Why form a club about it or renovate your hab suite of course!

Whirl doesn't know how he feels about all the pep. And even worse, he doesn't know how to feel about Cyclonus and Tailgate wanting him to join in on their clean slate.

Other Chapters Here! Read on AO3 Here!

_________________________

Author's Notes: ITS BEEN A THOUSAND BILLION YEARS. anyways heres chapter 8 ahahahaaahahahah sorryyyy

CHAPTER TAGS: domesticity, self care, pov swapping, whirl receives impromptu therapy, whirl experiences regret.

Their unit was quiet save for the noise of the rotary filer in Tailgate’s servos. The quiet grind of metal against the sanding head was a comfortable white noise that did little to ease the tension of the room.

Tailgate pulled the filer back for a second, examining his work on Cyclonus’s claws and brushing the metal shavings away. He grumbled something unintelligible and went back to filing, smoothing down a little chip their previous altercation had left.

“Darling-” Cyclonus began, breaking the silence.

“AND- AND TO THINK!!-” Cyclonus let out a sigh as Tailgate burst back into chatter. “After!! After everything- he still- He-! UGH!” He jabbed the filer against Cyclonus’s digit, drawing a hiss of pain from the larger mech. Tailgate quickly tugged the filer back. “-Sorry- I just! I thought we were making progress- Do you think he really thinks we’re just- just doing this for our own benefit!?”

“I struggle to imagine Whirl being a benefit to most things.” Cyclonus joked. Tailgate frowned at him. “... I’m kidding… sorry.”

“... do you think he hates us?” Tailgate mumbled, dipping Cyclonus’s servos into the bowl of solvent on the living room table.

“No. I don’t think he hates us, love.” Cyclonus said patiently, lifting his free servo up to examine his claws. “Excellent work, by the way.”

“Thank you.” Tailgate said proudly.

“I think he’s… struggling with a lot right now.” Cyclonus sighed, gazing wistfully out of the window to the stars. “... I think he’s worried about showing that.”

“But- he doesn’t have to be!” Tailgate muttered, setting the rotary filer down and picking up a delicate rasp. “Doesn’t he know he’s safe with us?”

“I don’t think he’s felt safe with anyone for a while, Tailgate.”

“... Then what do we do?”

There was another long moment of quiet as Tailgate carefully filed down the point of Cyclonus’ claws. He dunked his sparkmate’s servos back in the bowl of solvent, dipping a rag in polish and beginning to buff his digits.

“... I think all we can do is wait. If we push too hard he might pull back even more…” Cyclonus said quietly.

“But if he doesn’t know what all of this is about he’ll just assume the worst of us again!” Tailgate protested.

The other mech thought for a long moment. “... I suppose you have a point.”

“I usually do!” Tailgate chirped. Cyclonus smiled fondly, pulling his servos from Tailgate’s and picking up the rotary filer. He attached the buffing head to it.

“Alright, your turn.” He said, pushing Tailgate onto his back gently. The minibot made himself comfortable, tossing his legs over Cyclonus’s lap and folding his servos behind his helm. He let out a pleased sigh as his sparkmate began to buff out the paint transfers and smudges on his plating.

“I dunno, Cy, I just think it might be easier if we just go up to him and tell him how we feel! That's what you did, and look how happy we are!” Tailgate offered.

Cyclonus cringed. “And how long did that take to happen, dear?”

Tailgate thought for a moment. “Hm… good point. But that could be averted if you said it sooner!” He raised a brow ridge at the larger mech, optics growing more devious as he noted the uncomfortable flush that overtook Cyclonus’s faceplate. “Oh primus, you’re that nervous about it!!?” He giggled.

“Tailgate, I vowed to kill him when he least expects it, and even if we let that go he might never trust me because of that.” Cyclonus groaned, turning his helm away to focus on a blotch of grime on his shin plating.

“But you’re making up for it!” Tailgate added.

“... I am trying to…” Cyclonus grumbled. “But what if he thinks I’m lulling him into a false sense of safety so I can strike him at his weakest?”

“That sounds like something the old Cyclonus would do, he knows you're different now!” Tailgate objected, bumping his fist against Cyclonus’s shoulder.

“... Am I?” Cyclonus murmured absently, gently rubbing his thumb over a dent in Tailgate’s thigh.

Tailgate reached forwards and put his servo over Cyclonus’. “Yeah. In only good ways.” He whispered, leaning up to bump his mouth guard against Cyclonus’s cheek.

Cyclonus smiled softly, turning his faceplate to kiss him. “... I’ll… try my best to talk to him… It’s kind of… A big ask, don’t you think?”

“Well sure, but so was asking him to live with us! I thought he was already on board when he agreed to stay-” Tailgate admitted shyly.

Cyclonus chuckled. “I assumed you’d thought that.”

“I’m optimistic, I mean, it's kind of a whole thing, asking someone to move in!”

“Not really, on a ship like this, it makes sense he didn’t take it as ‘come date us’”

“Ugh… This is annoying.” Tailgate muttered, wriggling indignantly and folding his arms over his chassis.

“Stop moving-” Cyclonus scolded.

“I mean sue me for thinking anyone on this ship would take anything at face value! Nothing is as it seems, everyones being deceived all the time.” Tailgate ranted.

“I mean- we were-” Cyclonus began.

“I don’t wanna get into it, Cyclonus.” Tailgate cut him off with a flat look, earning an affectionate chuckle.

“I know, I know.” Cyclonus sighed, reaching to the table and picking a sponge out of the solvent bowl. Tailgate shivered a bit at the cool fluid hitting his abdomen. “Anyhow, we should give Whirl a little more time before we try to continue with everything. It’s a bit gauche to come back at him with a question like that after an argument.”

Tailgate groaned impatiently. “Well then what do we do in the meantime! It’ll take fore- hey- Careful-!” He stuttered a bit as cyclonus carefully drew the sponge along the seam between his chassis and midsection. “I’m sensitive there-”

“I know you are.” Cyclonus purred, laughing as he earned a playful punch on the arm. “Well, I suppose… we just let him come back to us.”

“How do we know he will?” Tailgate asked nervously. The couple locked optics for a long moment, bright blue on sharp red.

“... We trust him to come home.” Cyclonus said quietly, averting his gaze. Tailgate wrapped his digits gently around Cyclonus’s servo.

“... Okay.” Tailgate whispered. “We can do that.”

“This is a little unexpected, Whirl! I thought we’d be fighting you back down onto the slab, honestly.” First Aid said, attempting light conversation over the fizzle of the welder he was using on Whirl’s arm. “I’m surprised you were interested in fixing cosmetic details.”

“Yeah, I got a whole new lease on life now. I’m a huge recovery and recuperation enthusiast.” Whirl said flatly.

First Aid chuckled quietly. “Well, I’m glad to hear it, it makes my job a lot easier. You know, a lot of mechs don’t like to be awake for reassembly like this.”

“Eh. I like to see what you freaky little medics are doing with my bits and parts.” Whirl shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t actively being operated on.

There was a long moment of quiet in the medbay, at least the relative quiet of a beeping, fizzling workroom. It was a bit uncomfortable, but that seemed par for the course for chatting with your surgeon during surgery. Whirl stubbornly refused to let his mind wander, picking at the slab with his claws, feeling the divots and gouges absently.

“... Did uh…. Did you need to do any reconstruction on the others on the mission?” Whirl asked. “Anyone else do something stupid enough to get blown up?”

First Aid shook his helm. “Oh no, nothing as bad as yours.” He adjusted his position, flipping Whirl’s arm over to work on a seam at his elbow joint. “Ultra Magnus had to get some of his armour fixed, but Perceptor and Brainstorm are handling that, or at least Brainstorm will be once he’s off bedrest.” He explained, gesturing with his helm to a newly configured quarantine room with a very unhappy Brainstorm inside.

“Oh yeah, what did he get into?” Whirl probed.

“Caught a pretty mild infection from a wound sustained during the whole junktacons thing.” First Aid whispered. “I just want to make sure it doesn’t spread to anyone, but he should be fine in a few more cycles.”

“I can HEAR you, you know!” Brainstorm called grumpily.

Whirl chuckled a bit. “Wait– how long was I out?”

“Oh, just a couple cycles.” First Aid answered.

“How many is a couple?”

“Three.” First Aid supplied, wincing a bit with a shrug.

Whirl groaned.

“But, on the bright side, you’ve got some visitors waiting for you after you’re all patched up.” First Aid offered a comforting pat on Whirl’s leg.

“Heeeeyyyyyy buddyyy!”

The awkwardness in Rodimus’s tone was incredibly apparent. He was the first to enter, but was followed by several others, Swerve, Rewind, Chromedome, Ultra Magnus, and Rung. Each of them-that could- was holding a little get well soon vial, which they added to the meager collection by Whirl’s bedside.

“How’s it hangin fellas, feel good to not have to replace your legs today?” Whirl laughed.

Rodimus chuckled awkwardly as he sat down in the stool by the side of the slab. “Yeah- Uh, sorry for that, Whirl.”

“In the future we will do better at scanning planets for possible threats before rashly entering possibly dangerous areas.” Ultra Magnus vowed, placing an implicatory servo on Rodimus’s shoulder.

“Ehhh, wouldn’t have been nearly as fun, love the surprise, huge fan of surprises, me.” Whirl waved a servo at them, attempting to look comfortable despite the clear patches from his injuries. “When’s our next stop, cap?”

Rodimus shrugged. “Well, we didn’t get a ton from that mission, but then again, we did do a big restock before leaving our dimension, so we aren’t hurting for supplies. Unless something interesting comes up on our scanners, we’re gonna keep it easy.”

Whirl groaned. “DAMMIT.” He kicked his newly configured legs a bit in anguish before going dejectedly limp.

“You got your legs blown off, Whirl! I know you’re- well- you, but frag, man, take it easy for a second!” Swerve piped up.

“There’s plenty of interesting stuff to do on the ship, Whirl, I doubt you’ll be hurting for mental stimulation.” Rung offered, giving the bot a comforting pat on the knee joint.

“Hrrnngg…. You’d better be right or I’m gonna start breaking scrap.” Whirl threatened.

“Don’t… Don’t do that.” Chromedome said, glancing around.

“I’ll do it too, none of you are safe! If I get even a little bit more bored than I already am right now this whole ship is gonna hurt for it!” babbled Whirl, “I swear, I’m about to be even more of a fragging problem!!”

“Woah, woah, hey, Whirl, buddy, you’re gonna be just fine! First Aid said you’re free to go tomorrow, and then you’ll be able to do whatever you want-” Rodimus soothed.

“Whatever you want within reason.” Ultra Magnus added.

“Aaaand, to pass the time,” Rewind interjected, holding up a data slug. “Swerve and I compiled some fun bits of media for you to check out while you recuperate.” Whirl flicked his optic to Swerve, who grinned back at him with a dorky thumbs up.

“It’s all more human junk isn't it.” Whirl grumbled.

Rewind nodded. “Yeah, its a lot of human junk, BUT, it comes along with a fun new genre that I’ve recently been getting into.”

“Just take the gift, I promise you won’t be disappointed.” Swerve assured. Whirl reached out, delicately pinching the data slug in his claws and tucking it into his subspace.

“... Thanks fellas, ya really know how to cheer a bot up.” Whirl said, letting his helm drop back against the slab.

Truthfully, Whirl was thankful for the data slug. Even though it was more trashy human flicks and songs, it made decent enough entertainment while his frame refused to enter recharge. It was a good distraction, easier to watch human period pieces than think about how royally he’d fucked up. If there was one thing Whirl was good at aside from fighting, it was wallowing.

Apparently, another talent Whirl was honing was burning bridges.

He let out a long, quiet sigh. The holovid playing in his processor was painfully slow, painfully boring. It was all longing glances and sweeping shots of those weird organic manors with all the trees and open fields of green. Whirl scoffed at another painfully sweet moment, a glance between the starring mech and femme as their digits just barely touched, the camera lingering on their almost contact.

Whirl wondered if thats how it looked when…

If that was how it looked when he and Tailgate and Cyclonus…

Whirl let out a guttural groan of frustration. He snagged the dataslug out of his helm port and went to toss it across the room. This was untenable, he couldn’t focus, he could hardly do a thing without his stupid processor looping back to those two annoying little fraggers who were ruining any semblance of normalcy in his life. He hated those clubs, he hated the quiet, he hated the canoodling and the caring and the calm.

Whirl hesitantly shoved the data slug back into his subspace and flopped back down onto the slab with an embarrassing whimper.

“Trouble recharging?”

Whirl shrieked, whipping his servos around and immediately managing to knock Rung off his pedes. “PRIMUS- FRAGGING- RUNG!!” Whirl shouted. “Fragging- Warn me when you’re gonna sneak up like that!! I could’ve-”

“No, no, It’s alright, I’m quite used to it!” Rung chuckled goodnaturedly, dusting himself off as he gathered himself up off the floor of the medbay.

“I swear it’s like you’re trying to get choked out with how you’re sneakin’ up on people...” Whirl clacked his claws together menacingly. Rung didn’t seem to give that much of a reaction as he adjusted his spectacles and sat down on the chair by Whirl’s slab.

“Well, choking aside, how are you feeling, Whirl?” Rung asked, tugging a datapad out of his subspace.

“What-? Is this a house call, doc? Who sent you?” Whirl narrowed his optic.

“Who- Me! I did, I was worried for you.” Rung frowned, looking a little hurt.

“Don’t you have more important patients to worry about?” Whirl huffed, rolling his optic and slumping back on the slab.

The psychiatrist gave him a puzzled look. “... It’s the middle of the night, my friend.”

“Ah.”

Rung cleared his vocalizer. “So…. how you’re feeling?” He prompted.

Whirl thought for a moment. “... I’m glad my legs are reattached.” He decided.

Rung nodded sagely, waiting for more. Whirl grunted, caught off guard by the impromptu session.

“... I think I really messed up, doc.” He mumbled, turning his helm away to anything else. He noted the curtain, drawn back to show the rest of the medbay, the dull yellow glow of Brainstorm’s quarantine room.

“In what way?” Rung asked.

“... I moved in with um… with Cyclonus and Tailgate…” Whirl started, vocalizer feeling choked.

“Oh, congratulations! I noticed the three of you had been quite close lately-” Rung interjected. “Sorry, continue-”

“Yeah… Yeah, we um. I guess we had been… I was on the mission, you know that, and uh. There was this big… thing.” He made a weak motion with his arms. “And I saw my shot, and I took it, and I almost got scrapped in the process.” He took a long sigh. “Y’know, like EVERY OTHER MISSION! It wasn’t even a big deal, they fixed me up fine but for some reason these two got up my aft about it…”

Rung nodded quietly, glancing up from the datapad. “So… they took offense to you… hurting yourself.”

“Yes!! I hurt myself all the time, I’m a fragging attack helicopter.” Whirl rolled his optic. “I’m built to take a hit!”

“Mm… Now, Whirl… If I may…” Rung began. “... What was it about the situation that made you believe it was necessary to.. Attack in such a reckless manner?”

Whirl thought for a long moment. He knew the answer, he understood all too clearly, he’d nearly shouted it in Cyclonus’s face.

“... I don’t know.” He breathed.

“Well, were there any outside factors that could have urged you into such an act?” Rung probed.

Yes, it was the moment where he saw the shadow of it’s hand over them.

Yes, it was the look in Tailgate’s optics as he noticed it coming down.

Yes it was the way Cyclonus was prepared to shove Tailgate away without escaping himself.

“There was… precious cargo in danger.” He lied.

Rung frowned a bit. “Mm, and so…?”

“So I crashed into it’s arm before it could destroy it. It was stupid, yeah, I get that it was stupid. Whatever.” Whirl rambled. “If that energon exploded from the thing, could you imagine? I’d still be washing Cyclonus’ energon outta my seams. Or if by some miracle the thing missed the palette and crushed those two- well- It- It’d be a a lot of work for the medics piecing those two back together! Hell, they could even get their kibble crossed, and- and think of how silly that’d look!”

Rung was quiet for a long beat after Whirl finished rambling. “So you saw this as a tactical decision?”

“Well sure! You know me, always tactics first, Tactics Whirl they used to call me.”

“... Mhm… and it was a purely tactical decision, there was… nothing else that went into that?” Rung asked.

Whirl’s optic twitched. He was staring at the ceiling now.

“... It coulda squashed them.” Whirl breathed.

Rung nodded again. “... Do you think that was what it was then?”

“... What does it mean if it was?” Whirl asked, narrowing his optic slowly as he turned to face Rung.

“So you’ve been spending much more time with them, do you feel that has had any effect on your disposition?” Rung deflected.

“I dunno! I’m just bored more, with them dragging me to those stupid clubs-” Whirl muttered.

“Did you think my club was stupid?” Rung cocked his helm.

“Ugh- NO, I don’t… I guess the clubs arent terrible or anything, but- ARGH- I don’t know, doc, It feels WEIRD to be around them!” Whirl snapped. “I- I can’t do anything without thinkin about them, its- It doesn’t feel right, it- It’s different, it’s not the same as it used to be- I’m all thrown off and I hate it.”

“Could you go into more detail on that?”

“NO, I- I don’t know how to say it!! It’s- Its a warm feeling, it doesn’t feel bad necessarily, it- It feels complicated, it makes it hard to be smart, or clever or whatever-” Whirl pinched at his elongated optic casing with his claws, dragging them down and over his optic. “It feels like fighting with Cyclonus- but. After I knew him. But- not as hot as that.”

Rung nodded slowly, an eyebrow cocked as he absently tried to make sense of his patient’s words. “Contentment?” He offered.

Whirl made a wretching noise. “Ugh- I hope not- that has such a sappy spin to it-”

“I mean, it’s not a bad thing if you feel content, Whirl.”

“It feels bad. It feels wrong.” Whirl urged.

“... I would suggest you resist the urge to fight against it, my friend.” Rung said quietly, offering a comforting pat on the arm.

“... I shouted at them… for worrying about me.” Whirl finally admitted. “Said stuff I didn’t mean. I dunno if they’ll forgive me for that.”

“I’d say many others have forgiven you for much worse…” Rung said, scratching implicatively at his neck strut with a coy smile.

Whirl chuckled a bit. “... I hope they’re as forgiving as you are, Doc.”

#my art #my fic #whirl #tailgate #cyclonus #cywhirlgate #rehab/cohab #transformers #mtmte #tf fic #transformers fic

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audreyscribes · 7 months

Text

CARRY ON MY WAYWARD CHILD [PART 4: EPILOGUE]

Ω PJO IMAGINE Ω

PROMPT: When a dream makes the reader unable to settle, they decide to take a walk, converting their dream to reality.

Reader encounters Luke, Thalia, and Annabeth on the run when they have a dream that makes them go out and see a sick Annabeth with a tired, injured Luke and Thalia. They take them in, saving them, and encounters them years later when they remembered a kind stranger.

a/n: Reader is neutral; no specific pronouns or descriptions used. Referred to as Y/N. Roughly college/university age. [AO3 LINK] | [1] [2] [3]

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“... and yeah, that’s what basically happened” you recounted, nodding to yourself while licking at your now dry lips. Your fingers nervously wrapped and drummed against the cup.

You glanced from your empty cup, struggling to decipher the tea leaves at the bottom but also trying not to because you didn’t want any more mystic, mythological, magical, whatever nonsense right now.

On the other hand, your nerves were shot with your aunt sitting across from her. So it was either trying to divert your attention to reading the damn tea leaves or staring at your aunt.

You took a quick peek up at your aunt, who was sitting across from you, sipping her own tea with a seemingly neutral face. Which either was good or very bad for you.

Pretending to sip your tea from very empty cup, you thought back to the situation.

You had watched the dawn rise and the sun peering over the horizon, light filtering through the open, broken doorway. The sky changing from its dark hues to lighter hues, the clouds appearing with tints of colour. You weren’t sure exactly how much time passed or if you somehow slept in your daze.

The only reason you snapped out of your stupor was it was time to make breakfast. When you had pushed yourself up and begun to make breakfast, it was only then you realized that the kids weren’t here anymore and you didn’t have to make breakfast on time.

It was strange how these kids appeared in your life and gotten you into a rhythm that you didn’t know you found yourself playing. When popped in the first bite of food, you chewed numbly, you noted why breakfast didn’t taste as it used to be.

With a full stomach, you turned your attention to cleaning up the house now it was daytime. The house was in such disarray with everything strewn all over during the scuffle, with broken furniture and pieces filling the gaps.

Time passed by you as you cleaned and straightened the house, taking moments to pause to eat the leftover breakfast for too many for one or to reminisce about the kids’ impact on your life when it came to you.

Then something strange happened. As you took the blankets and duvet outside and begun to hang them on the line, you saw something in the corner of your eye.

Your heart leaped, thinking the kids came back, but as you turned, your heart leaped for another reason as you saw a person. You let out a curse in surprise, hands and legs flying as you jumped, sending a duvet flying before you scrambled to catch it before it hit the ground. You heard chuckling and your face burned at the display.

“Sorry for scaring you” said the person, giving a grin that was more playful then apologetic. You stared skeptically at him, not believing his apology. He was a man with salt and pepper hair, with blue eyes that seemed to crinkle with mirth. There was something about him that made your brain itch, but you had no idea why.

Your brain could only handle so much itchiness.

You tossed the blanket back on the line before making your way to the stranger warily; your experiences with the monsters making you think twice. “Is there something I can help you with?” you asked carefully, looking for anything inhuman about him. He seemed like an other middle-aged man, but then again, monsters came in plain sight-

“Actually, I’m here on business if you will. You are (y/n) (l/n) correct?”

You felt a bit unnerved when he knew your name. You kept your toe to the fence, hoping the protections were still active.

“...Yes...how do you know that...?” you asked slowly.

“Well, before I can answer that, I come here on behalf of some individuals to extend their thanks to you.”

“Huh?”

The man gave a (too) charming smile and reached into his pocket. He took out a business card to you and handed it to you. You carefully took the card and it’s inscriptions read:

HERMES AGREIPHONTES

OLYMPYUS

Travel Agent, Head of Communications, Head of Commerce

you could feel something connecting in your brain, as you looked up at the man named Hermes. You squinted as you felt a connection forming before you gasped, connecting the dots. Of course, how could you be so blind?

“Wait, I know you-”

“Yes, (y/n), it may be a bit surprising for a mortal, but I am Hermes, the god of-” he started to say,

“You’re Luke’s dad?!” you said before he could even finish.

Hermes stared at you for a moment, eyes wide with surprise and totally off guard, before bursting into laughter while you had a red face.

You invited the man into the house, apologizing profusely for the strangeness of a lack of a door, but the man waved it off goodnaturedly and grinned, “I’ll just deliver a door for you as a replacement” he said before pulling out a blackberry and begun typing.

You opened your mouth to protest but you decided to just get your guest some drinks and snacks, hopefully not minding that you couldn’t host properly due to damaged house.

“So, uh, how may I help you? Like are you here for Luke? Because something happened and he’s not here, but uh-” you begun to stammer and Hermes gave you a soft, sad smile.

He gave a bitter chuckle, taking a sip of his drink, before giving you his full attention.

“Don’t worry about it. I know Luke was here recently, but it’s because of that I’m here.”

“What?”

Hermes eyes became dimmer and had a weak but amused smile.

“It’s a bit complicated and there’s only so much we can reveal given your limited knowledge. It’s against the law for us to reveal too much to mortals who are not prepared for it.” He said it a way that felt very personal.

You felt your mouth go increasingly dry. You remembered the dream that led you to meeting the children. Their weapons. The monsters. The man, the being, in front of you. You could feel yourself grasping onto something but you knew once you accepted that reality, it was the point of no return.

“...So why are you here? If not for your son? Or the other children?” you started to say otherwise. Hermes flashed you an appreciative smile as he continued.

“I, among a few others that I’m representing in their case, want to thank you for taking care of our children. There are...circumstances that prevent us from directly interacting with them, so the fact you have helped them as a host, not only under the Laws of Xenia, but also a protector, we are grateful for your actions and you will be rewarded with a boon.”

“A boon? Like blessings from a god?”

Hermes smirked, “Exactly”.

Your spine shivered at his words and you felt something looming. “And what are these...boons?”

“Well, that’ll ruin the surprise wouldn’t it?” said Hermes as he got up from his seat, and pulled out his blackberry phone, and for a moment you thought you saw something slithering around it. “But really, you’ll be getting your boon after we get approval from your patron and aunt, but for now, will suffice for now. Goodbye (y/n) and thank you.”

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion but the doorbell rang, making your head turned. From where you were in the living room, you had a view of the foyer and there you saw two men with tool kits and a giant door. “Hello, we’re here to deliver and install your new door!” one of them said.

You opened your mouth then turned back to Hermes, or would’ve, but he was no longer there. You stared at where he stood and promptly turned back to the people at the door, pushing Hermes aside because you didn’t want to deal with it now.

And now here you were, with a new door that Hermes ordered for you on express service, and your aunt still sipping her tea.

“You’ve done well” said your aunt, as you looked up at her in surprise. She was giving you an amused smile.

“Uh...I did?”

“You did” she nodded. You waited for her to say more but she just gave you a smirk. You sighed at the how your aunt went back to being vague and you ran a hand through your hair, before leaning back into your seat.

“I still don’t know if all those things really happened but everywhere I look, I know it did” you started to say, “but if it was real, and I really did help those kids, I wonder if they’re okay.”

You felt your aunt pat your shoulder as she spoke. “It is how it is; but know this little one, they ever come back, they know this is a safe space for them.”

You nodded as you closed your eyes when your aunt patted your head. You closed your eyes as you listened to your aunt disappearing into the kitchen and begun making dinner. You listened to her bustling around the kitchen, the warmth of the house, and the lack of it as well before drifting off into a nap.

From that point, you almost forgot about those kids; being swamped back into college. It was almost the end of the semester and the full force of college work, with back to back projects, papers, and presentations. You were so busy and tired from it all, that you begun to dismiss some minor coincidences; things that were a little bit too good to be true but in the rush of work, you weren’t going to look a gifted horse in the mouth. Small mercies.

It was only after you finished your last hurdle as you merrily went made your way back home, finished with the semester. You had plans to go home, gorge on your aunt’s food and that dessert you’ve been saving for a job well done, and take a long year nap.

But when you bent down to slip off your shoes, you felt a subtle shift in the like something rippled in it. You looked up and found a girl dressed with brown hair and eyes, in a brown dress, giving you a warm smile. You looked at her with wide confused eyes as she sat at the table, laid out with a feast. By her side, was your aunt as she looked at you with a unfazed look.

“Ah, (y/n), right on time” she said, gesturing for you to sit. You hesitated but did as you were told, eyes on the guest.

“Uh, hi, how do you do” you introduced yourself to the guest, glancing at your aunt for any hints.

The guest smiled as you felt warm like a homey sense kind of way. “Hello, (y/n), we finally meet.”

You glanced at your aunt as she huffed. “Be on your best manners, our guest decided to stop by and prepare you this feast to celebrate your hard work.”

You looked down at said-food, and now you realized what was odd. It could be information passed by your aunt, but even then, the food was laid out with all your favourite foods; even if your aunt knew some of them, she didn’t know all of them.

There was a knowing smile to the guest as she gestured for you to eat. You did, slowly, but as soon you took the first bite, it was an explosion of flavour that made your body buzz in a way that was like eating the perfect bite. Your aunt and your guest ate and talked with each other like they were old friends and you couldn’t pay much attention, as the food seemed to draw you in.

With stomach full, fatigue was creeping onto you with the lack of stress. You were about to drone out with the dessert, when your aunt cleared her throat.

“(y/n),” she said, “Now you’ve eaten, it’s time for me to introduce you to our guest and patron.”

You looked at her and the guest as your aunt spoke next. “(y/n), this is one of our patron deity; Hestia, the goddess of the Heart, Fire, Home, and Family.”

You stared at Hestia with wide eyes as she smiled. Something seemed to click as you remembered about Hermes, then the children-

“Oh my gods, this is really happening. Hermes wasn’t just a guy named Hermes, that was the actual Hermes-”

Hestia giggled good-naturedly. “Yes, it really is (y/n).”

“Uh, why now? I mean, not I’m not glad for your presence Lady Hestia, but what brings a god to our mortal life?” you squeaked out.

“Fear not, no harm will come to you” she reassured and you believed her. “As for why you became involved...the gods are restrained in interacting with their children directly, but when they saw their children were in dire need of help, they were guided to one of my sanctuaries.”

“One of?”

Your aunt huffed. “The children you saved were not the only ones to sought safety here.”

You gaped at your aunt as more puzzles begun to fit into place; but acknowledge the bigger picture was even more daunting.

“You...were the only who sent me the dream,” you slowly said, not believing it yourself.

“In a way yes and you responded.”

“But-” you wanted to counteract, somehow logical it out-

“Child, have you ever realized something?” your aunt asked. You looked at her confused. “What are the children’s names that you cared for?”

“Luke, Thalia, and Annabeth, why-”

“But do you ever recall them telling their names?”

You went to open your mouth to say “of course they did, how else would I know their names?” but as you were about to voice it out, your brain caught it. You went through your memories yet you couldn’t recall them every actually giving their names. You stared at your aunt and Hestia in confused horror.

“How?”

“Our family are not strangers to offer sanctuary to those who need them, from all walks of life, nor do we have one singular patron goddess. In turn that allows us to have our own skills” explained your aunt, “There’s no true stranger in our homes, allowing us to offer them what they best need. Of course, this also applies knowing when to deal with unwanted guests.”

You tried hard to lean away from your aunt.

“(y/n),” said Hestia as you turned to her. “You’ve taken on your aunt’s duty when she was not here, and you’ve done is wonderfully. For your efforts, you are rewarded with boons by the gods.”

You stared at her as you heard a but. “But?”

“From this point on, you may return back to your life before you’ve met the demigods without any harm and with the rewards you’ve earned,” told Hestia, “But we also offer you to tell you about the world of the gods, and take on the same duty as your aunt has, and many of your fore-bearers. However, once you’ve crossed the line, you can never go back. What is your decision?”

You stared at her and flashed a look at your aunt, who remained neutral. You could tell she was giving you a choice and she would support you whichever you chose.

You looked back at the goddess, licking your lips nervously. Immediately, you were going to choose the former, knowing you weren’t equipped to handle all of this, fully aware it was safer in general.

Yet, you couldn’t help think back to Luke, Thalia, and Annabeth. You remembered meeting them for the first time and how relieved they looked as they realized they were truly safe. They didn’t tell you explicitly but you put it together that as demigods, their fate was going to be tough and rough. This was their norm yet...should it be?

You remembered those three, and knew they had already changed the course of your future. Even though you may never see them again, you wanted to offer some warmth to those who needed it, and maybe, one day you’ll see those three again.

You looked at Hestia and your aunt and you knew by the proud look in their eyes that they knew your answer.

“What do I have to do?” you asked as you decided to cross that line.

Years passed.

Since that fateful day, you finished your college studies. You got a job surprisingly quick (which you really thanked the gods cause it was nothing short of a miracle which you suspected was a boon used. Maybe), and you were satisfied, and you were setting up a good life all things considered.

It was almost a normal, mundane life.

Except for a few things.

The house was managed not just by your aunt, but also you; making you a co-owner. Your aunt showed you the ropes and provided you with experiences and knowledge. And magic, let’s not forget magic.

It also turned out the door that Hermes gave you, free of charge, had a hidden motive. It was also a magical door; that let anyone who prayed for sanctuaries to enter from anywhere; just they had to enter through the door. It was a bit of a shock when a different demigod and their satyr (which was a whole entire another experience), appeared through the door, looking very confused as well who were just in another completely different area.

It was something to get used to but at least the door allowed you to also go wherever you wanted to which you used regularly. Your aunt also used it more and more often to go to different places; especially now she didn’t have to make annual trips to get supplies (Athen’s Olives did not disappoint). The only drawback was to the door was it didn’t allow any demigods or those seeking sanctuary to wherever they needed to go; and would only go back to where they originally entered from; with a leeway of a 100 mile radius.

In retrospect it made sense. It allowed them to find sanctuary but they still had to go through the journey to wherever they needed to go. It was a process that you couldn’t help with.

But that only made you put more effort into the ones you could help with. With every demigod you helped, you learned more and more about each individual.

Imagine your surprise when you gotten a thank-you package of very fresh strawberries from a place called “Delphi Strawberry Service” and a quaint letter from a man named Chiron. You immediately clocked in on it.

It was nice helping those who seeked refuge. They weren’t limited to just Greek demigods, you also encountered others; Roman, Egyptian, Norse, all sorts of other cultures, and even some mortals.

But some part of you kept hoping you would see Luke, Thalia, and Annabeth. You told about them every so often to those who came over, hoping for some hint of information but you didn’t get much (you weren’t sure if they just didn’t know or they can’t tell you).

More time passed and now you had fully grown into your role. You were working from home and you heard the familiar special doorbell ring throughout the house that acted a forewarning to those incoming.

“(y/n), get ready for the next guests; I’m in the middle of this brew-” said your aunt through the pipe system. You heard a series of hisses and garble in the background following that, and you weren’t going to think what ingredients she was using

“Alright!” you said through the pipe before you pushed yourself from your desk. You did a big stretch, popping all the stiff joints in your body before getting up to greet the desks.

You went through the familiar twists and turns of the house before reaching the foyer. You expected the next occupants to be hurried or hesitant but what was strange this time were a single doorbell.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you answered the doorbell and your breath hitched. You looked at the person in front of you and then what was in their hands; it was the ID, your old, beaten up and slightly scratched, college ID card...the one the kids still had all those years ago.

You gaped at the person in front of you as they gave you a tentative smile. The people behind them looking a bit confused.

“Hi (y/n), it’s...been a while...” they said, before looking sheepish. “If it’s not too much trouble, can we stay over for a night, please?”

You looked at them and then at their companions and back at them. You let out a scoff and grinned, “Of course, in fact, there’s a lot you need to catch me up on.”

[F I N]

_____________________________________________________________

a/n: that's a wrap folks! thanks for reading "Carry on My Wayward Child"! You can decide if it's either Luke, Thalia, or Annabeth at the end, there are no wrong answers ♥️ Like and reblog if you feel so inclined, and see you all later~ thanks for all the support! Much appreciate!

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saiyanprincessswanie · 1 year

Text

Caution

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 1655

Summary: You and Bucky were online shopping and stumbled upon funny underwear. Without the other knowing you each purchase a pair. How will you each react to the silliness?

Warnings: Fluff, silliness, (s)mut, (o)ral (F & M), Daddy (K)ink

A/N: This is just a silly fic I wrote do to the photo above that Amazon advertised on my FB page lol.

A/N 2: Thank you to my beta readers @lfnr-blog-blog-blog & @pigwidgeonxo

Reblogs & Comments on Tumblr are welcomed and encouraged. Even if you leave an emoji you will make my day. 😊💜

I do NOT give my consent to have my work translated or reposted on any social media platform, apps, or third-party sites. If you see my work anywhere besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts, it has been stolen. I will NEVER give written or verbal permission to repost or translate any of my fanfics as they’re MY intellectual property. 🚫🚫

You were on the couch surfing around Amazon when you found something that caught your eye. You lightly chuckled to yourself but Bucky who was on his laptop stopped working.

“What are you laughing at pretty girl?” Bucky's voice was deep and had a hint of amusement behind it.

“Oh nothing, just found something amusing online.” You clicked “buy now” and thanks to Prime it was going to arrive the next day. “What are you up to? Almost done with work?”

Bucky’s face heated up in what looked to be embarrassment as he did a couple of clicks and slammed his laptop closed. “Oh yeah, I’m all done now.”

“Care to share what made you all red? Looking at something sexy?”

“On the computer? Don’t be like that, I have exactly what I want. She is sexy, smart, funny, beautiful, and all mine.”

Bucky got up from the table and slowly stalked over to you. You set your laptop on the coffee table as he dropped onto the couch caging you in.

“Let’s say we take this in the bedroom and I show you how sexy you are.” Bucky huskily spoke in your ear before sitting up and pulling you with him. He tossed you over his shoulder and carried you to bed.

The next day you checked the mail and noticed two packages, one addressed to you and the other to Bucky. You opened yours and took a look at the pair of panties you bought. You chuckled to yourself as you made your way to wash and dry them.

Later when they were cleaned and dried Bucky came home. You saw him take his package and disappeared. After a few minutes, you heard the washer going. He must have bought a shirt you thought to yourself. As you go about your evening cooking for the both of you Bucky scurries past you with an article of clothing. You couldn’t see what he was carrying but you didn’t think much of it.

After dinner, you and Bucky relaxed on the couch watching tv until bedtime. You yawned and stretched looking up at Bucky. “I’m going to get ready for bed.”

“Sounds good sweetheart I will be right behind you.” Bucky smiled at you as you headed towards the bedroom. Once you reached the bedroom you quickly went to your dresser and pulled out the panties. Then you went to Bucky’s closet and pulled out one of his henleys. This was going to be perfect.

Heading to the bathroom you did your nightly routine of getting ready for bed. You caught a glimpse of Bucky grabbing boxer briefs from his dresser. He went to get changed as you were finishing up. When you were done you seductively walked out to see Bucky shirtless and under the covers. As you reached the end of the bed you crawled up the bed to him, swaying your hips while he bit his lip looking at you. You crawled up his body and sat on his hips.

“God sweetheart, you look good enough to eat. But first I want my henley off you.” He slowly slid the shirt up your body and pulled it off of you leaving you only in your panties. His eyes took in your half-naked form and as his eyes scanned over you they landed on the panties. “Caution slippery when wet?” That had Bucky laughing hard. You joined him in laughing together.

“What, you don’t like my new panties?” You say in between giggles, your eyebrows wiggled as he continued to laugh.

“No, it’s not that doll. It’s just that… climb off my lap for a minute.” You crawled off and sat next to him. Bucky pulled down the covers and your eyes went wide. You started to laugh hysterically as you saw his boxer briefs that read “caution choking hazard.”

You fell to the bed laughing knowing you each bought the same product. The odds of buying the same thing were astronomical. Both your laughter started to calm down as you rolled over to your side to look at him.

“We really are meant to be together,” you say while smiling at him.

“That we are sweetheart. So do I get to see if your caution sign is real? You wet for me?” Bucky’s voice dropped an octave and you swore you grew wet instantly for him.

You shook your head no. “I want to see if what you have underneath is a choking hazard first.” Your hand caressed the bulge that the boxer briefs were hiding. Sitting up, you pulled the boxer briefs off Bucky and threw them onto the floor. Your eyes took in the size of his cock and your mouth watered. You lean down and lick the tip of his cock causing him to shudder. Your eyes lock with his blue ones as you slowly take him in your mouth. What your mouth couldn’t finish taking your hand wrapped around him to stroke his length. Up and down you sucked him down. Every now and then taking more of him in until he reaches your throat. The first time he hits your throat you gag around him, tears filling your eyes, and that pulls a groan from Bucky. You relax your throat the best you can as you go up and down on him. Bucky fists his hands in your hair as you continue to bob your head as his cock works down your throat. Your eyes are tearing up the more you choke around him. You cupped his sack and started to fondle them as you swirled your tongue around him. This made Bucky let out a moan. Up and down, faster and faster you go until finally Bucky cums with a shout of your name. He tenses up as rope after rope of cum goes down your throat. You make sure you get every last drop and swallow.

“Fuck sweetheart that was amazing.” Bucky looks down at you and sees your teary eyes and he swears you’re beautiful just the way you look. “Now let me see if it's really slippery while wet between those thighs. Bucky lays you down on the bed and makes his way between your legs. He rubs your panties and smiles up at you. “You’re soaked doll. I’m going in for a closer inspection. Pulling your panties down your legs he throws the pair on the floor with his boxer briefs.

Bucky puts both your legs over his shoulders so you are wide open for him. Leaning down he does his first lap of your wetness. When you groan he parts your lips and does it again. His tongue feels amazing as he starts to eat you like a man starved. His beard is starting to get wet the more he dives back in and takes you apart. You start panting out his name as his fingers replace his tongue and his mouth finds your clit. Your back lightly arches as his two fingers fuck you in earnest. Your silky walls keep pulling his fingers back inside you as your breaths start picking up.

He knows you are close and he is patiently waiting for you to crest that mountain. His mouth latches on to your clit and he sucks it, his tongue flicking it every other time. Finally, he gives you what you want and rubs against your sweet spot deep inside you. In moments you are crying out his name as you cum for him. His mouth continues to eat you out until you are pulling on his hair as your hips stop rocking against him. Bucky pulls away gently, kneeling between your legs and you see his beard is completely soaked.

He is licking his lips as he flips you over onto your stomach and pulls your hips up. “Someone completely soaked my beard and god do I love it.” In one fluid motion, Bucky was sinking deep inside your core. He sets a firm, deep pace as he wants to pull the most noises out of you that drive him wild. Every thrust in and out has you begging for more.

“Bu-Bucky…Harder, please!” Your fingers hold onto the sheets underneath you as Bucky starts to plow harder into you.

“Is this what my doll wants? Daddy deep inside her pussy? Want me to fuck you stupid?” He asks in that deep voice you love so much.

“Yes! Please, Daddy. I need it, I need you!”

Bucky obliges, going deeper and harder. Skin slapping against skin fills the air and takes you apart. Your whines and moans are music to his ears as he fucks you with earnest. Every time your pussy tightens around his cock Bucky lets out a growl. Your whines keep getting louder and louder until finally, you’re cumming around his cock. A few more hard strokes and Bucky is right behind you cumming deep inside you. After a few lazy thrusts, he pulls out of you and both of you collapse on the bed.

“Buying those panties was one of your best ideas sweetheart,” Bucky says as he kisses your shoulder.

Catching your breath you smile at him. “Those boxer briefs were perfect. We need to do this again sometime.” Bucky nods his head as he gets out of bed to grab a washcloth for you to clean with. Once you've cleaned up you crawl under the covers with Bucky right behind you. He spoons you from behind and kisses your neck.

“Good night sweetheart,” he breathes against your neck.

“Goodnight Buck,” you whisper before you fall asleep.

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#saiyanprincessswanie #missy writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #caution

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daddy-dins-girl · 7 months

Text

Kindred - Chapter Two

Main Masterlist Series Masterlist

AO3 link

Chapter 1 || Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter Summary: Max repays the favor ;)

Maxwell Lord x f!Reader (Nanny)

Word Count: 7k

Notes: Doing my best here with early 80's references but this story takes place before I was born so... take it easy on me.

Chapter Warnings: 18+ MDNI. Smut (so much smut). Dry humping, vaginal fingering, oral sex (f receiving), masturbation (mentioned), explicit language.

Tagging my Maxwell baby mutuals who inspired this part 2! @boliv-jenta @suzdin @heavennumber2 @prolix-yuy

By the time Friday had finally rolled around you were exhausted. It had been a long week of juggling all 3 of your jobs at once with the impromptu addition of Nannying for Alistair this week, but you wouldn’t complain. The extra money you’d make at the Lord’s this week (and likely next week you presumed, as you had yet to hear anything about Alistair’s mother returning any time soon to take him back as per the usual schedule) would provide a nice cushion for your savings account which you liked to keep for the times when either of your other two jobs would slow down. You would get Alistair to school in the mornings then make deliveries or do your haircuts during the day, then rush off to pick up Alistair, bring him home, entertain him for a couple hours, make dinner, clean up after yourselves and then make sure he was bathed and put to bed at a decent time. Max always tried to get home in time for bedtime for Alistair but it hadn’t happened at all this week so you’d done it each night. Not that you minded. Alistair was, in terms of children you’ve cared for, one of the easiest you’d ever dealt with when it came to bed time. He liked a snuggle in the rocking chair by his bed while you read him a story, then you tucked him in, flipped off the light and left the room, letting him fall asleep on his own. Max always made sure to call though when he knew for certain he wouldn’t make it in time. He would talk to Alistair on the phone, ask him about his day, and on nights when he had a few free minutes of time he would make up his own story to tell to Alistair in lieu of actually being home to read him one from his bookshelf.

That’s where you found yourselves now; you were wiping down the kitchen counters while Alistair sat at the table, phone cord twisting around his fingers as he happily babbled on to his father about the day he had. A smile tugged at your lips as you overhear Alistair tell his Dad about the goal he’d scored in soccer today in gym class, the same story you’d heard from him three times already tonight when he’d forget that he already told you. You gave the same excited reaction each time regardless, letting him have his victory he was so proud of.

“Okay, one second” You hear Alistair say into the phone a couple minutes later and look over to see him holding the phone out in your direction. “Daddy wants to talk to you Nana” he tells you, using the nickname you’d accidentally adopted from the boy when he’d called you it the first time you met. Max had explained to him that you’d be his Nanny and Alistair had gotten confused, thinking it was your name and shouted “Nana!” excitedly the first time he saw you. You and Max had laughed so hard at it that Alistair found it hilarious (even if he didn’t know why you were laughing) and so he’d just continued to call you it. You didn’t mind. At first you were a little weary that it made it sound like you were some kind of grandmother to him but you were also far too young for anyone with half a brain to believe you were old enough to be a grandparent so it didn’t bother you. You’d get the occasional odd look tossed your way when he’d call you it out in public or around the school pick-up, but you didn’t even notice it anymore.

Your brow furrows slightly when Alistair holds the receiver out towards you but you head over and take the phone anyway. Typically they chat to each other and just hang up but maybe there was something important Max needed to tell you.

You had barely spoken to him, you realize, since your (incredible, in your mind at least) night together at the beginning of the week. He was always off to work so early in the morning and though you did see him in the mornings, Alistair was typically in the same room as at least one of you at all times, either getting his breakfast or just spending the precious few minutes he had with his dad before both of their days started. So on those busy mornings you hadn’t exactly talked about how you’d tied your employer to the same kitchen chair where Alistair was eating his Cheerios and gave him a life-altering blow job that you haven’t been able to stop thinking about. Not quite a family breakfast table conversation with a 6 year old in the room. And in the evenings you’d actually been asleep by the time he had gotten home each night. Usually you’d try and wait up but with all the extra work you’d been pulling this week you just couldn’t keep your eyes open long enough to see him. You hoped he didn’t think you were avoiding him because you absolutely weren’t. The truth is you were actually glad Alistair was always around in the mornings because if he wasn’t you doubted you’d be able to control yourself long enough for Max to get out of the house in the morning.

That night - the night - after you had parted ways from Max from the kitchen you had gone down the hallway to your bedroom and gotten yourself off so hard that you had to wash the sheets the next day and he’s all you thought about since.

“Hello?” You say into the phone once you’ve taken it from Alistair.

“Tell Alistair to go watch TV” Max tells you promptly and your cheeks heat up immediately. Clearly whatever this is, he intended for it to be a private conversation away from young ears.

“Hey buddy, go find a show for us to watch OK? I have to talk to your Dad for a minute then I’ll be right there” you tell the boy before ruffling his hair affectionately.

“Ok” Alistair shrugs and hops off the chair, running down the hall towards the living room.

“Hi” you try again, hoping he can hear the smile in your voice.

“Hi Angel” Max greets you warmly and you swear your stomach flutters.

“Listen, I know I’ve been home late all week and I’ve missed Alistair’s bedtimes,” he begins and you frown. It’s not exactly why you thought he wanted to talk to you with Alistair out of the room…

“Oh.. Um, it’s ok, I really don’t mind doing it” you tell him with a shake of your head.

“I know, but still. I should be there. I want to be there. Anyways, I really want to try and see him tonight. Will you try and keep him up a little late for me? I’ll try not to be too late, but it will be a little past his usual bedtime I’m sure”

“Yeah, of course” you agree easily. “No school tomorrow so he’ll probably be jazzed about getting to stay up late anyway” you shrug, knowing it’s true. Alistair was constantly asking to stay up late but you’d always stuck to a pretty regular schedule to keep his routine on track so he wasn’t too affected whether he was at his mom’s or his dad’s house.

“Good, good” You hear Max sigh with relief. “I really want to spend some time with him”

“Of course Mr. Lord”

“And um, Angel?” He begins again and the familiar warmth comes flooding back at the change in his tone.

“Yes?”

“I’d really love to spend some time with you, too, if you could wait up for me after I get Alistair to bed”

“Oh,” you breathe, surprised. “Um,” you don’t mean to hesitate, but the tingling sensation that runs through your veins when his deep honeyed voice comes through the phone throws you off guard and all you can do is bite down on your lower lip in anticipation, forgetting momentarily that he can’t actually see through the phone how his words are affecting you.

“Only - Only if you want to. I mean, we don’t-” Max starts rambling and you quickly gather your wits to cut him off.

“No! I mean, I do, want to. Of course I want to, Mr. Lord” You make sure to say his name teasingly this time, unlike moments ago when you were talking to 'your boss', and you hear him chuckle into the phone.

“Well good. I’m… looking forward to it then, Angel”

“Me too” you whisper into the phone, smiling as you wrap the phone cord around your fingers.

“See you in a few hours” he promises before the line clicks signaling that he’s hung up. You sigh dreamily and hang up the phone before wandering off to find Alistair; a stupid smile playing on your lips the rest of the night.

…

It’s 10pm and you’re doing your best to keep Alistair awake an hour now past his usual bedtime. You were playing a board game for a while because you thought it would be a better way to keep him awake then a movie or tv show but after it was done he’d asked if you could watch something instead so you agreed and now you sat on the couch with Alistair's feet in your lap. You would give his feet a little tickle each time you noticed him starting to nod off and he’d break out into a fit of giggles that seemed to keep him awake for a few more minutes each time but you weren’t sure how much longer it would be a successful tactic. Thankfully you don’t have to wonder though because you hear the click of the lock at the front door and Max calling out announcing his arrival and Alistair jumps off the couch as if he hadn’t just been nearly drooling on the arm of it five seconds ago.

“Daddy!” he shrieks in excitement, running down the hallway as fast as his two little legs could carry him and nearly knocking his father over when he barrels into him with his arms spanned outwards.

“Ooof! Hey buddy” Max groans when he catches him. “Look who’s awake” he grins at his son.

“Yeah, Nana let me watch Knight Rider” Alistair explains enthusiastically.

“Oh she did, did she?” Max brings his gaze up to find yours as you too came out to the hallway and he raises an eyebrow at you. It wasn’t exactly a show meant for 6 year olds but in your defense it was 10pm on a Friday night, there weren't exactly any kid-friendly shows on TV.

“Hey, you wanted him to stay awake, David Hasselhoff provided” you shrugged and Max huffed a laugh. You knew he wasn’t actually upset. You’d never let Alistair watch anything really inappropriate and Max knew that.

“Yeah the car is SO COOL Dad!” Alistair carries on. “You should get one I think”

“Oh you think so, do you?” Max teases, hauling his son up to sit on his hip so he can place a kiss to his forehead.

“Daddy gets me whatever I want” Alistair turns his head towards you to explain and you laugh.

“Well then you are a very lucky boy, mister. I think KIIT might be on contract to the TV network for at least a few more seasons though so you might have to wait on that one” you joke and Alistair only shrugs in his father’s arms.

“That’s ok, I can wait. I can’t even drive yet” He explains and both you and Max let out a hearty laugh at that.

It’s sweet how much Max is endeared by his son. Though Max may be on the verge of being successful, he’s certainly not a wealthy man but to Alistair he might as well be royalty. The way Max carries himself and speaks of himself alludes to wealth well beyond his actual means, but that is part of what makes him a great businessman and what pulls in his investors, you presume. Though Alistair leads a humbled life, he’d never know it the way his father treats and spoils him. He’s always clothed and fed, but their home and lifestyle is modest at best. In the 6 year old’s eyes however he wants for nothing and he latches on to the way Max projects not only himself but his family. Max has an image to uphold and it’s important and although he does provide for his family, you know it’s not as much as he’d like to be able to, and that’s why he works as hard as he does. You’d had an honest and upfront financial conversation when you’d first been hired and Max had been apologetic that he couldn’t offer you a higher salary. He knew it wasn’t enough but it was what he could afford and you assured him you were fine with it. Living at his house for half the month helped you out a lot, financially. Your utility bills were essentially cut in half, same for your groceries, though you did still have to pay your full rent each month obviously, despite only living there half the time. But you’d be paying it regardless, so having a paycheck from Max and all the money you saved on essentially living “for free” for half the month each month was more than enough for what you needed to live your life the way you wanted to.

You didn’t know much of Max’s past or upbringing but he did share some of it with you one night a month or so ago when you’d both been relaxing on the back deck with a bottle of wine long after Alistair had gone to bed. You hadn’t meant to dig deep into your past and spill half of your life story to him, but you did. When he was at home and relaxed like this and not having to put on the act he always did out in the world or when television cameras were rolling on him, he was so easy to talk to and you felt so comfortable. So you’d shared (or maybe overshared, though he didn’t seem to mind) and soon, he shared also. It wasn’t much, but he did tell you of his very humbled beginnings, how he’d gone to school in tattered clothes and holes in his shoes. How he was treated by his peers at school and when you reached out to place a hand on his arm in comfort he quickly shook his head and told you that it was ok, it pushed him to be where he was today and motivated him to give his own son the things he never had. You’d quickly brushed away a tear that had slid down your cheek as he confessed parts of his past to you, hoping he didn’t see it, you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. You tried to pry even further and asked him about his parents but he just cleared his throat and pretended to look at his watch, commenting on how late it was and that you should both probably get some sleep. You never pushed the subject again.

“Ok buddy why don’t you go get your PJ’s on and pick a story and I’ll be right in OK?” Max says suddenly, breaking you out of your thoughts as he gently places Alistair back on the floor. The boy rubs his tired eyes and nods before turning on his heel to head up the stairs to get ready for bed.

Max leans on the bannister, watching Alistair go until he’s out of eyesight before turning his attention back to you and taking the few strides forward until he reaches you.

“Thank you, for keeping him up. It’s been a crazy week, I feel like I haven’t seen him at all” Max sighs and your shoulders fall. You feel for him. Max is always working like crazy and you can’t imagine how hard it is for him to already only have 50% custody but then still barely get to spend any time with him even when it is his time.

“Happy to do it” You smile. “He missed you this week. We um…” You pause, looking down and feeling suddenly shy. You reach out to tug gently at the bottom of Max’s tie hanging loosely around his neck, feeling the fine fabric between your fingers and memories from the last time you touched his tie flooding your thoughts. “We both missed you” you shrug, finally bringing your gaze back up to meet his, a smile playing on your lips. Max’s eyes close and he lets a deep breath out through his nose before opening his eyes again to look at you.

“Good, just… hold that thought, OK?” He asks, bringing his hand up to cover yours on his tie, his thumb rubbing absently across the backs of your knuckles.

You nod and Max brings your hand up to place a kiss to the back of it, giving you a quick wink before he drops your hand and takes off up the stairs calling after his son, reminding him to brush his teeth.

Time seems to be running backwards while you wait for Max. Or maybe you’re just terribly impatient. You look at the clock on your bedside table again and it’s nearly 11:00. Alistair usually doesn’t take more than 15 minutes to put down and it’s been nearly 45. You’ve been staring at the same page in your book for at least 10 minutes. Constantly losing your place or forgetting what you’d just read all together as you keep glancing back over to the clock. You’re still exhausted, too. Today has probably been the busiest of the whole week and the anticipation of spending time with Max is the only thing keeping your eyes open. You wonder what’s taking him so long and try to push back the negative thoughts in your head that are wondering if he’s changed his mind entirely and not seeking you out tonight. Maybe he’s had a change of heart or doesn’t want to complicate things. You couldn’t even blame him for it, though you hoped it wasn’t the case.

The thoughts don’t have a chance to plague you any further though as you hear a soft knock at your bedroom door and you quickly flip over onto your back, holding yourself up on your elbows as you call out for him to come in.

“Hi” Max sighs with relief when he enters your bedroom. He closes the door behind him then turns back towards you and runs his hands through his hair. You notice then that his hair is wet and he’s not dressed in his typical dress suit and tie that he’d been in when he got home. Instead he’s wearing a pair of black pajama pants and a plain white t-shirt. You’d always thought Mr. Lord looked incredible in his suits but this look was positively delicious, you decide.

“You showered” You mention because you suddenly feel like your whole mouth has gone dry and you have no grasp on how to speak in more than 2 word sentences when this man is standing in front of you looking the way he does. It should be criminal.

“Oh, uh, yeah” Max looks away, almost like he’s embarrassed but you’re not sure why he would be. He’d been working for nearly 14 hours, of course he’d want a shower when he got home, you rationalize. You of course were oblivious to the fact that he had actually showered because he wanted to fuck his fist before coming to see you so the night wouldn’t be over before he really had a chance to begin it. He’d been in absolute agony all week thinking about you. Your hands on him, your mouth, the way you spoke to and treated him. He’d even jerked off in his private bathroom at work this week - something he’d never done before - when it got to the point where he couldn’t even concentrate on his work because he couldn’t get you out of his head.

“Alistair’s asleep?” You ask, getting up on your knees now on the bed and shuffling over to the side edge.

Max simply nods before taking quick strides to meet you over at your bed, his large hands instantly coming to your waist to roam up and down your sides as he stands in front of you, his eyes watching the movement of when the hem of your tank top rides up slightly to reveal some skin.

“Angel you’re so beautiful” he sighs and though you wouldn’t exactly agree, you believe he means his words.

“Max, I’m literally wearing a tank top and sleep shorts” you giggle. You didn’t exactly have any sexy lingerie over at your babysitting gig so you’d just changed into your regular sleep clothes when Max had gone to put Alistair down.

“And still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen” Max confesses before he presses forward and captures your lips in a searing kiss. He wastes no time running his tongue along your bottom lip and you open up to him gladly, moaning into his mouth when his tongue strokes against yours. He tastes like mint toothpaste and heaven. Your hands go up to push through his wet hair, pulling him even closer to you.

“Mmm, fucking missed you” Max groans into your mouth as his grip on your waist tightens. “Tell me you missed me” he breathes heavily before capturing your mouth again and swallowing your moan that follows.

“I missed you Maxi. Haven’t stopped thinking about you” you admit.

“Oh, fuck, me too Sweetheart” Max groans, his mouth leaving yours to trail down your throat instead. He licks, nips and sucks all the way down the side of your throat until he reaches your collarbone and then ascends back up to meet your mouth again for more hungry kisses. His tongue explores your mouth, the wet muscle fighting for dominance against yours as his hands slowly push up, up, up your sides and under your tank until they’re at the bottom of your breasts and he deftly reaches his thumbs up to brush across each of your nipples. His hands seem enormous on your body and they’re driving you mad.

“Maxxx” you whine when you feel your nipples pebble under his ghosting touch. You want more of him. Need more of him. Without bothering to ask, you push off of him for a brief second just long enough to hastily tug your tank top up and over your head, throwing the offending garment off to some corner of the room before you pull him into your body again and your mouths meet once more. You’re very glad at that moment that you had decided to forego a bra tonight.

“Needy girl” Max groans into your mouth, his hands now greedily grabbing and kneading into your breasts. Your back arches so you push further into his touch and you can’t help the whine that escapes you.

“Please Max” you whimper. You’re not even sure what you’re asking him for. You just know you need more.

“Angel, Max is here now darling” Max soothes, pulling his mouth away so he can study your face instead. Your eyes are half closed, mouth open, you know you must look positively wrecked already and it’s because you are.

“Let me take care of you” he whispers before he leans in and presses a quick kiss to your lips. You try to deepen it but he pulls away too quickly. You don’t have time to complain however because as quick as he leaves your lips he lowers his head and puts his mouth on your left breast, his hand pushing it further into his mouth as he alternates between suckling on and flicking his tongue over the pert bud.

“Oh Max, baby, that feels so nice” you praise him by running your hand through his hair as you look down and watch him mouth at your breast, humming his satisfaction into it while his other hand pays the right side equal attention, massaging it in his palm and pinching the nipple between his thumb and index finger. Your head is rolling back as his warm mouth continues its assault and there’s a slow burn beginning to build deep in your core as he takes his time with you.

He continues sloppily kissing, nibbling and lathing his tongue over your breasts for what you could swear is hours but in reality is more likely only minutes. He’s switching occasionally between the two sides, his hand and fingers always making up for the attention the one is not getting from his mouth. Your head feels like you might as well be on another planet. You can’t concentrate on anything but Max’s hands and mouth on you, driving you absolutely insane. Heat continues to coil in the lower parts of your belly as he keeps showering you with attention and all you can do is whimper and continue tugging on his hair while pushing your breasts into his face. He hasn’t even touched you beneath your waist yet and you’re not sure how you’ll survive that, if this is how he’s making you feel already. You can’t remember the last time someone had focused so much attention on you without seeking out their own pleasure at the same time but you get the feeling by the way Max is constantly moaning and babbling adorations into your breasts that this is giving him nearly as much pleasure as it’s giving you.

Your panties are uncomfortably wet, you can feel them already, and as if on queue, Max seems to read your mind as he suddenly shifts his position and lifts his left leg a bit so he can place his knee on the edge of your bed. His hands let go of your breasts and he brings them to your legs and yanks you forward you so that your legs straddle his thigh and you let out a guttural moan when your aching center rubs against the firm muscle of his thigh.

“That’s it baby” Max coos, his mouth releasing your breast to place wet kisses to the mounds instead. “Take what you need, I’ve got you” he promises before placing his hands on your ass and pressing you harder into him, helping you rock back and forth and create the friction he knows you're begging for.

You're moaning freely now, not caring how desperate you sound. It’s everything but still not enough. Without giving it a second thought you reach down to tug your shorts down, needing to get them off as quickly as possible. Max reaches down too, helping you as you awkwardly try to get them all the way down and off your legs to kick them free. It takes a few seconds, not easy given your kneeling position, but you manage and then gasp as Max pulls you hard back into position and you start grinding against him again with renewed vigor.

“Oh Max, oh fuck”

Max’s attention goes back to your throat again. He’s kissing and sucking all over and pulling sounds from you that you can only pray won’t wake the sleeping 6 year old upstairs.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” you’re chanting now. You’re so close and it feels so good that you’re not even the slightest bit embarrassed about how you’re getting yourself off like some kind of rabid dog, grinding up and down on Max’s leg. You can hear the wet squelch of your desire that’s soaked the inside of your panties and you know you’ve not only ruined them, but surely Max’s pants as well.

“Come on baby,” Max encourages, his hands back on your ass as he helps speed up your rhythm and push you harder against him. He starts jutting his own hips forward so that his leg rocks into you, meeting your thrusts and your head lolls backwards. Max takes full advantage of that, finding a particular spot in the hollow of your throat and running his teeth along it before sucking you hard into his mouth. He knows it will leave a mark and he absolutely does not care.

“Oh my God, Max, yes, yes” You cry out as your orgasm hits you like a freight train. You feel like a fucking teenager - not that you’re complaining - getting off from dry humping and hickeys, but Max does something to you that you haven’t felt in years. If ever, even.

Hell, the man just made you cum without even taking your underwear off.

“Holy shit” you breathe as the rocking of your hips slows dramatically and Max continues to moan into and suckle on your neck, but with a restrained intensity now as he feels you come down from your high. His hands are still groping your ass, squeezing and kneading the flesh in his large hands as he moans into your throat. You rest your chin on top of his head and wrap your fingers around the back of it, hands petting over his hair as you float back down to earth.

“Angel you’re so good for me” Max hums into your neck before placing a few more kisses to it and pulling himself back to look at you. He brushes the hair out of your face and you manage a lazy smile.

“You’re not so bad yourself” you retort. It’s beyond cheesy but the grin Max gives you in return tells you he loves it.

“Lay down” he instructs before pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “I’m not done with you”

You quickly oblige him, moving to lay down on your back in the middle of the bed with your head resting on the pillows. Despite having just came, you’re already squirming, waiting for his hands to be on you again. You don’t have to wait long before he’s crawling onto the bed on his knees and swinging one leg over the other side of your hips so you’re between his legs. His strong hands come down to rest at your waist before beginning to play the waistband of your panties and then he lifts one edge of the elastic right by your hip bone, stretching it and then letting go so it snaps back against your skin and you whimper in anticipation.

“Take these off” he orders and you don’t need to be told twice, quickly pushing them down and shimmying out of them.

“So beautiful” Max murmurs, looking down at your naked core and running the back of his hand over you so his knuckles brush against your hip and then down to the top of your thigh.

“Maxxxx” you whine, needy for his touch. He’s so close, and yet still hasn’t touched you where you’ve been dying to feel him all week.

“Fuck, Sweetheart” Max moans before he lets out a growl and lowers himself down to kiss you hard. It’s all teeth and tongue and desperation and you love it, grasping onto his shoulders to keep him close.

“Baby,” Max breathes between urgent kisses. “Angel, I…” he cuts himself off again, not able to pull away from your mouth long enough to form a complete sentence it seems. “If you don’t want… If you want me to stop you have to…” he trails off, the thought unfinished as you pull him back into another heated kiss. You know what he was getting at. If you don’t want to go any further tonight you need to tell him to stop now or pretty soon he won’t be able to.

You kiss him a few more times before finally pulling back and taking his face into your hands to ensure he hears you.

“If you don’t touch me soon Maxwell Lord, I’m fucking quitting” you tell him. You’re of course kidding about the quitting part and the grin that crosses his lips tells you he knows, but you do need him to touch before you actually lose your mind.

The moment the words leave your lips Maxwell’s hand is cupping your sex and you arch your whole body into his touch, moaning into his mouth when you recapture his lips.

“Mmmm, Sweetheart” Max hums in delight when his digits slide through your soaked folds. “So fucking wet for me”

“All for you baby” you breathe against his lips, hips chasing into his touch.

Max slides his fingers delicately through your folds, bringing the tip of his middle finger that’s slick with your desire up to swirl around your clit a few times and you gasp into his mouth.

“Max!”

“Shh, shh, shhh” Max soothes, peppering kisses to the side of your face now as his fingers slide back down and begin to nudge at your entrance instead. You widen your legs instinctively, pushing his knees apart and giving him more access and you feel him huff a little laugh against your cheek.

“You really are my Angel, aren’t you”

“Yes” you whine, your hands coming up to grab at the hem of his t-shirt and you begin pulling, suddenly needing to feel more of him, his body against yours.

Max quickly gets the hint and his hand unfortunately leaves your aching core momentarily while he sits up and tugs the t-shirt off his head and tosses it to the end of the bed before his large frame comes back down on top of you. He slides one leg between yours and nudges your left leg further out and then brings his other leg over as well so you’re spread out on either side of him, impatiently squirming with him between your legs.

“Do you know what I’ve been thinking about all week, my dear?” he asks, his breath fanning against your ear and you shake your head.

“I want to know what you taste like” he whispers and you moan, your arms coming up to wrap around his naked back.

“Tell me baby” you whisper against his lips before capturing his bottom one between your teeth gently before letting go. “Tell me what you’ve thought about”

Max groans and shoves his tongue inside your mouth to kiss you greedily for a few moments before pulling back and resting his forehead against yours. “Angel I want to fuck you with my tongue, my mouth” Max confesses and you whimper. “Want to make you feel so good like you did for me. Baby do you know how many times I had to fuck my hand this week because I couldn’t stop thinking about you?”

“Really?” it comes out breathy and you're arching your hips off the bed to grind into Max’s lower half, feeling his hardness under the confines of his clothes. “I had to wash my sheets twice this week” you confess your own discretions and Max practically growls in response and it sends a surge of heat straight to your core.

“Fuck” Max groans, not able to help but rut his hips into yours. “My needy girl, gonna make you feel so good”

“Yes, Maxi” you moan, your hips coming off the bed again to thrust against his. “Want your mouth on me baby, please” you beg him and he groans.

“Fuck” he curses once more before placing hot open-mouthed kisses down your throat, the top of your chest as he inches his body down further and further, his mouth following his decent until he’s hovering just above where you need him most. Your hips thrust up into the air but you can’t reach anything and you let out a whine.

Max is just staring at your glistening pussy and were you not completely fucked out you might be embarrassed but you are so you do nothing but moan and writhe beneath his stare, begging without words for him to do something.

He does. Oh boy, he does. Two fingers suddenly plunge inside of you just as his mouth latches on to your clit and you practically scream out in pleasure at the simultaneous intrusions.

“Oh Max, oh fuck, yeah, yeah” you’re writhing beneath him, your hands coming down to grab fistfuls of his hair as you secure his face into your cunt and he moans against you, sending another wave of pleasure coursing through your veins.

“Just like that baby, right there” you encourage, your hips rutting against his face unabashedly. His fingers continue to plunge in and out of you, fingertips curling just right as they hit as deep as they can go and his mouth is alternating its attention between licking through your folds and tonguing frantically at your clit and god help you, but you’re coming again already.

“Oh Max, yes, yes, fuck fuck fuck! Don’t stop. Max. Max!”

You’re loud as you come for him, and you know it. Absolutely debauched and you can’t help it. Your thighs are shaking as they grip either side of his head and you’re practically riding his face as you come completely undone at his mercy and Max dutifully laps away at your folds and leisurely fucks you with his fingers for minutes long after you come and you just hum happily as your hips continue slowly rocking into his face and your hands continue to get lost in his hair.

Maybe it was because you hadn’t gotten off from anything but your own hand for much longer than you’d care to admit, or maybe Max Lord was secretly some kind of sex God, you weren’t sure, but all you did know is that you just had 2 of the most incredible orgasms of your lifetime and he hasn’t even fucked you yet.

Yeah, you were leaning more toward the sex God thing.

You’re so lost in your post orgasm bliss that you literally almost fall asleep while Max still has his tongue buried deep in your pussy. He seems perfectly content to just nuzzle into your folds and leisurely lick and suck and fingerfuck you like he has all the time in the world. He’s probably been at it a good five or ten minutes at least since you came but its soft and slow and sensual and the intimacy of it feels so heightened. He’s not trying to bring you to another orgasm, or overstimulate your sensitive sex, he just wants to be close to you, savor you like you’re his last meal, and you let him.

Your good boy.

He notices after a while how you’ve stopped rocking your hips into him and your hands have slowed from running through his hair and he finally pulls his mouth off of you and his fingers out and you groan tiredly at the loss. Max presses soft kisses to your mound and the insides of your thighs before pushing himself up onto his elbows and crawling back over top of you. Your head is lolled to the side, your eyes closed but a ridiculous smile playing on your lips. You actually nearly fucking fell asleep.

“Mmmm, that was nice” you mumble into your pillow.

“Angel I think I wore you out” Max chuckles and your eyes open wearily to look at him, your slick smeared across the bottom half of his face should maybe be embarrassing to you but you can’t help but find it anything but incredibly sexy.

“No, ‘m not…” you trail off for a moment, forgetting what you’re saying. “Not even tired” you try to sound convincing, but know you’re anything but.

“Get some sleep, my darling” Max’s voice is soft and suddenly at your ear, though you hadn’t even felt him move. He presses a kiss to your temple and then you feel him shift all of his weight off of you and you whine at the loss of body heat.

“Baby?” You murmur, reaching a hand out blindly for him. He takes your hand in his and brings his lips to your knuckles before placing it gently back down.

“Go to sleep, Angel, I’ll see you in the morning”

“But you didn’t…”

“I’m ok” he quickly promises. You highly doubt that. You felt him hard as a fucking rock against you earlier but you honestly don’t know if you have it in you to go another round either.

“You’re leaving?” You say, suddenly realizing he’s off the bed and standing beside it, pulling his t-shirt back over his head. You don’t mean to sound as whiny about it as you do, but you can’t help it.

“Alistair” he sighs.

“Oh, I’m sorry, you’re right” you quickly agree. You both know if the boy happens to either wake up in the middle of the night or get up before his father does, his dad’s room is the first place he’ll go and if he’s not there and finds him in your bed instead, well… neither of you were ready to go down that road with the boy just yet.

“I’m sorry Sweetheart, I wish…” he trails off, the thought unfinished but you hear it in his voice. You know he’d stay if he could.

“I know. It’s ok” you assure him, reaching up to squeeze his hand at his side.

“I will make it up to you” he smiles and you know it’s a promise, one that brings a grin to your lips as you snuggle further into your bed.

“I’ll hold you to that mister”

“Good night Angel” Max tells you, dropping your hand and leaning down to place a kiss to your forehead before he pulls your covers up and places them over you.

“Night Mr. Lord” you smile cheekily and he huffs a laugh before he heads out of your room and you hear the door click shut behind him.

You’re asleep the moment your head nestles back into your pillow so you don’t hear the shower coming back to life from Max’s ensuite, either.

Next Chapter

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #maxwell lord fanfiction #maxwell lord x f!reader #Pedro pascal character fanfiction #maxwell lord x you #pedro pascal cinematic universe #pedro pascal character fanfic #Maxwell lord

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iamskyereads · 1 year

Text

Thrill Her With Every Touch

Francisco Morales X OFC (Ceci Brand)

summary: After moving to New York City for his kid, Frankie develops a crush on his neighbor. One afternoon he decides to help her out.

word count: 3.7k

warnings: Rated Mature. All my works are 18+ (MDNI) Frankie POV, coarse language, light angst, alcohol mention, single dad Frankie, past drug use mention, mostly fluff and flirting. Title are lyrics from a Led Zeppelin song referenced in this fic.

A/N: follows Frankie in New York drabble here, also rated Mature. Thanks to @wheresarizona for the last minute beta 💜

I am a 🤡 for saying I wasn’t going to write Francisco Morales and then immediately day dream he’s my hot single dilf neighbor, this is the result. I made some terribly amateur Canva moodboards that shall never see the light of day. So meanwhile, enjoy Frankie’s pretty face.

AO3 /// series /// Masterlist

It’s his weekend with Mariela. Halfway on his walk over to pick her up, the ex-wife calls him and tells them their whole house has a sore throat, something Mariela caught at daycare, no doubt. Even the cat he’s allergic to is under the weather. So they’re going to quarantine while they recover, asking if Frankie could have her next weekend.

He spots Mariela’s heart-shaped face and pigtails through the third-floor window when he approaches. Of all things, the ex-wife’s new fiancé is holding her, and Frankie’s competitive streak wants him to fight to see his kid this weekend, but understands that she should also feel better.

Mariela waves, though morosely at him.

“Love you, bugaboo,” he says to her over the phone. “Feel better and,” he relents, “see you next weekend.”

“Love you, dadda,” Mariela replies. It makes his heart melt.

Freezing his ass off, Frankie heads back to his apartment, doubting his whole fucking move to New York City, especially in the winter. Maybe Santi and the Miller brothers were right—he was insane for doing this. Truly.

It’s a mood that threatens to sink him into a black hole—one he formerly filled with his adrenaline-fueled missions in the military overseas, or cocaine and anonymous sex once stateside. He’s vowed not to be that man, not since Mariela was born (except for that one time he slipped up), and especially not since he got clean and appealed the loss of his pilot’s license.

He moved halfway across the country to the big, concrete jungle of Manhattan and hit the reset button.

So he buys—splurges, really—the Princess Palace in the downtown toy shop that Mariela saw once on a TV commercial and won’t stop talking about, and he spends two hours setting up what is essentially a bright pink tent for a toddler, for when she does visit next weekend.

That done, back aching, he falls onto the couch, half-watching a game on the television, when he slips into sleep until he’s rudely awoken by the sound of someone hammering into the wall above his head.

The woman in 16B.

The syncopated tap tap tap of the hammer striking upon a nail comes through the thin wall separating their apartments. It clashes with the sirens and the honking from the streets below, which are a near constant at this point.

He groans, and his back groans in unison—he really shouldn’t be falling asleep on the couch at his age.

He’s developed the stupidest of crushes on this woman he barely knows.

Just the other day, in the laundry room, he said hi to her as she was putting in a load, and right away, she made a point of apologizing because she would be hanging up some items on the wall, telling him to brace for any loud hammering in the coming days.

He laughed it off, saying it wouldn’t bother him, and proceeded to watch 16B load her clothing and other unmentionables into the washing machine before she dashed off. Ninety minutes later, two cycles, and seven bucks poorer—and, after having spent an embarrassing amount of time watching her floral undies go round and round in the spin cycle, while he paired off his socks and tossed his towels and sheets into the hamper—Francisco decided then and now that he had to find out her fucking name if it was going to kill him.

Right. No time like the present.

So Francisco Morales peels himself off the couch that Saturday afternoon and attends to his appearance in the bathroom mirror. With a grumbled fuck it, because it’s a rainy day and the humidity has curled and frizzed his hair, he dons his usual, worn, beloved cap, checks his keys and phone are in his jeans, and steps out of his apartment.

From the other side of the door of 16B, he can hear the sounds of Led Zeppelin through the speaker when he knocks at her door.

An elongated pause ensues. Frankie waits.

And waits.

Panic bubbles.

Had she even heard it over the guitar solo in Good Times Bad Times? Maybe the percussive beat of the door got lost in the drowning drums of the Led? He waits another two breaths before the music abruptly cuts off, and the door swings inward with a sigh of relief.

There she is. A hammer held at her side. Her hair is held back under some kind of kerchief fashioned as a headband, and there are specks of drywall dust coating her flannel. Vanilla and cherry blossom notes waft over to him.

“Hey,” he says at the exact moment she blurts out—

“Oh! Oh my God! Frankie, I’m so sorry for the noise! Am I being too loud?” Hurt wrinkles around her eyes.

“Actually,” Frankie says, more confident than ever (eat shit, Santi), ”want some help?”

Turns out, she absolutely does.

When Frankie returns with his own toolbox, which includes a stud finder and a level, she jokingly offers to pay him.

“Not at all,” he shrugs it off. “Pay me in beer.”

Her layout is almost an exact replica of his: large open-concept kitchen and living area, a balcony looking downtown Second Avenue and the line of brake lights heading for the Queens/Midtown Tunnel. Her bedroom is oriented slightly differently, and he’s surprised to learn her closet space is significantly more plentiful, compromised only by the bedroom being squatter, but longer in length. The landlord clearly uses the same designer for each apartment, for the very same lamps hang over the large kitchen prep area that doubles as an eating space. She uses it as a cocktail bar, while Frankie has yet to make the most of this space. He eats in front of the television every night anyway.

“Music requests?” She shimmies the phone in hand, hooked up to the bluetooth speaker. The wide gold hoops that hang from her earlobes sway as well.

He requests his favorite Led Zeppelin song, When the Levee Breaks.

“Great pick!” She enthuses, “I always thought the correct way to play Led Zeppelin is really fucking loud.”

Frankie laughs. Full-throated and genuine. It’s the first time in what feels like ages since he’s let himself do that. He can hear Santi’s knowing smirk in his head already.

They spend the rest of the afternoon hanging up her wall art with Led Zeppelin blasting.

He learns her name. Fucking finally.

Cecilia Brand—“call me Ceci”—and she’s been living here for ten months, after being in Seattle for thirteen years. She’s sketchy about the details of the how and why—a job? A boyfriend? Frankie looks for clues to see if she has one, or a partner, or a girlfriend, but finds none.

She’s in her thirties and passionate about books and civil service. Her job is in library education, and her own personal collection surely rivals the stacks of the New York Public Library. He practically trips over a stack of them lounging by her bedroom door.

“That’s basically an initiation,” she jokes, and shuffles them aside.

Conversation is light and easy. He finds out they are opposites. She’s from the West Coast; he’s from Palm Beach, Florida. She’s an only child; he’s got two younger sisters. She spent the holidays with her extended family out west while he stayed local.

He tells her about how he’s back in school because, apparently, some things about piloting have changed since he got his license, and he’s doing night school to get recertified. Meanwhile, he’s helping out an old military contact up here doing private flying lessons twice a week, which brings in a ton of money and pays the bills. (He does not tell her about the cocaine found in his random drug test that led to the rescinding of his pilot’s license in the first place some years ago, and how he’s been clean ever since then. That’s a story for another day.)

Instead, they joke about the ambulance sirens—a consequence of living near the NYU hospitals—and the pigeons—shit everywhere!—and of course, rock music. She recommends the 1969 Fleetwood Mac blues album, made pre-Stevie Nicks—“after all, rock owes a lot to the blues,” she remarks, and adds B.B. King, Muddy Waters, and Sister Rosetta Sharpe to the playlist. Meanwhile, Frankie swears she’ll never think of Bowie the same if she listens to The Man Who Sold the World front-to-back. No skipping.

In her bedroom, they hang up three watercolor landscape paintings over her bed. He hasn’t spent much time in a woman’s bedroom that wasn’t exclusively for sex, and he makes notes of the details of the room: purple accents on the bedspread and curtains, a bunch of house plants on the windowsill, and an overstuffed armchair that must double as a reading nook. He can see the corner of his own balcony and the string of fairy lights that run around the top.

Frankie mentions that his living room is on the other side of the bedroom wall.

“Well, I know that neighbor won’t complain,” she teases as he starts to hammer the nail into the drywall in the first spot they’ve measured out. “At first, I thought you were Mrs. Carol across the hall.”

They laugh about their perpetually grouchy, elderly neighbor. The playlist continues, and Hey, Hey, What Can I Do comes on.

“Actually, this is my favorite Led,” Frankie admits.

There is art to hang in the bathroom. One of wildlife photographs clearly ripped from the pages of a vintage National Geographic—and Frankie gushes over the perfect photograph of an immense male lion caught mid-yawn—and about six big paintings that look like they belong in a modern art gallery for the living room. The smaller ones are already hung, and they do some rearranging to accommodate the bigger-sized ones. Among her art collection, Frankie spots photographs of herself dotting the apartment. In most, she’s surrounded by family and friends, plenty of goofy pictures too, taken in photo booths, or selfies, that hang on a string over the bookshelf, along with cards wishing Seasons Greetings. She has an impressive postcard collection she’s trying to turn into a collage in the living room, and they debate over its assembly, using double-sided tape instead of nails for those.

They brush up against each other, while she holds the postcards straight up on the wall, and Frankie wrestles with the tape dispenser. She knocks her knuckles against his bicep to point out a crooked frame that’s too far out of her reach.

“Aye, aye, boss,” he salutes her.

She rolls her eyes. “Your girlfriend must be so lucky, having you around as a handyman.”

“No girlfriend,” Frankie quips with a bashful shrug. “And my ex-wife never appreciated it. And my kid…” he trails off.

Ceci’s lips form a perfect circle, her soft, dazed, oh, breathless with her understanding. A warmth spills down Frankie’s back and settles neatly in his abdomen.

“Well, she’s four, so I don’t let her handle the tools,” he concludes, “not that she doesn’t try.”

Frankie has to stand on tiptoes, arms raised to place the level on the top rim of the frame, enough that her eyes wander down his body to where he can feel his tee-shirt has risen above the beltline of his pants.

It won’t hit him until later that she’s blatantly checking him out.

They are quickly running out of wall space—a precious commodity in a 600 sq. foot Manhattan apartment.

“This stuff is amazing. Where’d you say you got it?” He asks Ceci, holding up one art piece in particular.

It’s a painting, a still life on a blue background, white frame—the best he can describe it is a homage to the sea. The foreground consists of a flowering seashell, masterfully paired with a starfish, algae, rose petals, and more strings of flowers and garlands. The colors all blend, their forms swaying.

For some reason, it reminds him of home. He swears it carries the smell of the sea on it.

“You can have that one,” she offers. “No, really,” she doubles down when he starts to object. “I forgot I even had it, and we’ve run out of space.”

Frankie will have to leave soon, and he quells an ugly roar deep inside him that wants to hang onto this moment. He hasn’t had this much conversation with someone in days since he moved in a few weeks ago. He was halfway to thinking the only decent conversation he had—other than the ex-wife and Mariela—was with the doorman. Finding friends in the new city is proving to be tough.

“Thanks so much for the help,” she says when it’s clear they’re wrapped for the day, and turns the volume down on the speaker. “I was just going to do a lot of guesswork and make a mess, but having you here really helped.”

Ceci’s biting her lip in the most adorable way possible, shoving her hands down the back pockets of her jeans. A piece of her messy bun has come loose. “Do you—actually, since you’re here. I have this loose robe hook in the bathroom. I put it in myself months ago. Could you—do you mind—?”

She doesn’t have to finish because Frankie cuts her off. “Of course. Whatever you need.”

The robe hook is…wonky.

That’s her word. Not his.

The bathroom is small. Their shoulders brush accidentally as they investigate the robe hook hanging by the shelves over the toilet. A third enticing smell drifts from her, sensual and velvety earthy, it mixes with the cherry blossom and vanilla, and Frankie swears he’s a little lightheaded in such close proximity to her.

“Hm.” Frankie frowns. One-handed, he pops off the stainless steel outer shell of the wall hook and examines the bracket underneath on which it hangs. He doesn’t have his glasses, so he has to squint. “Hmm….”

“What is it?” She’s biting her lower lip again.

Frankie takes off his hat, scratches at the crown of his head, affecting a very serious demeanor. “This is not good.” He clicks his tongue, wiggles the cap back into place. “Not good at all.”

Ceci’s exasperated expression almost makes him break. “What?”

“Gonna have to take the whole wall out,” he deadpans. Frankie does break before he finishes, cracking a smile because he cannot bear the dread that colors her pretty features and the hoarsely rendered fuck that escapes her parted lips.

“M’kidding, m’kidding.”

She punches lightly at his arm. “Not. Funny,” she says through gritted teeth in faux anger.

Frankie snickers and gathers his hammer. “You put the bracket in upside down.”

“I—oh.” She shrinks inward, just a touch. Just enough for Frankie to notice.

Instead of shaming her, he explains the simplicity of the mistake and the ease of its correction, then flipping the hammer around his finger like he’s Wesley Snipes, he offers it to her, handle-first.

“It’s your place; you put in the last nail,” he says with a smile.

She does so with all of her concentration. Their fingers graze as the hammer changes hands, and he guides her on how to hold the nail properly, and makes a small admonishment about not hammering her thumb into the wall. He watches over her shoulder as the last of the work is done. The hook is fitted into place, no longer wonky, and Ceci, in her enthusiasm, whoops. It echoes in the small chamber.

Ceci raises her fists in the air. “Drinks all around!”

She has a partial six-pack of Pacifico in the fridge, and Frankie accepts one, wiping invisible sweat from his brow. He pops the cap off with his keys rather than the bottle opener, and upon seeing him do that, her eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets, calling him a magician.

“Do mine,” she orders, voice soft, full of wonder. So Frankie does, and is rewarded with her gobsmacked stare at his hands around the neck of the bottle and the key dangling from his wide fingers, only for her to hastily glance away, rather flustered when he returns her beer bottle.

There’s a picture of her and her friends on the fridge, clearly from a bachelorette party or a rowdy girls’ night out, because she’s in a tight skimpy little dress, holding a fancy cocktail while sticking her tongue out. Devilishly. Frankie swears the crotch of his jeans tightens just a smidge, and he makes a comment about the unseasonably warm January they’re experiencing.

Their smiles are shy as they lean over the kitchen island, both admiring the handicraft they’ve done and the new art decorating her walls.

“I’ve been collecting it over the years,” she tells him, only now realizing she never answered his earlier query. “Flea markets, pop-up shops, Etsy, friends, and family. I kept meaning to put up the big ones, but I felt weird committing to it here. I guess I always thought I wasn’t going to live here that long, that I’d go back west.”

Frankie thinks she wants to say more, but at that moment, his phone vibrates in his pocket. “Sorry, one moment,” he says and steps out onto the balcony to answer the call. It’s his ex-wife.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Mariela wants to say hi. Is this an okay time?” Frankie spins his torso enough to see Ceci is scrolling through her phone inside. The ex-wife sounds improved since this morning, but it’s obvious they are all still ill.

“Yeah, yeah, sure. Put her on.”

A bored and sick four-year-old is a handful, and she wants to FaceTime. “Face, face,” she keeps wailing pathetically until Frankie sets it up. Mariela’s forehead jumps onto the screen. She’s holding her mother’s Ipad about three inches from her face. She’s lying down on the bed but manages to sit up a little. “Dada,” she whines.

“Hi bug.” Frankie winces at the froggy quality of her small voice. “Feeling okay?”

“No,” she pouts. “Not nice.”

“Yeah, bug, you sound so sick. Did momma give you medicine?”

“Mhm-mm.” She wipes her hand over her nose and hacks a cough directly into the video stream.

“Lovebug, guess what? I have a surprise for you when you visit next weekend.” Mariela is going to freak when she sees it. She’s been begging for ages. She tries to guess, but he won’t budge, even when she begs, pwease, pwease with ice cream on top.

“Nope, you’ll have to wait until you’re better.”

Smiling all the while, they round up the conversation, and Mariela’s mom gets back on, claiming it’s almost time for dinner, and Frankie hangs up, repeating his I love yous to his daughter.

“Sorry,” he says, shutting the sliding door all the way behind him. “My kid wants to FaceTime all the time. She’s sick today and bored out of her mind.” He explains about the sore throats, the mislaid plans, and the three-foot tall hot-pink Princess Palace he’s constructed on his living room floor as a surprise for her.

Ceci and Frankie are laughing over the absurdity of it all, and the two of them go back to admiring the art on her walls and complaining about the rain pattering outside on the balcony, the air considerably more flirty between them.

But there’s something nagging at him. Ever since he heard the unmistakable sounds of sex coming from her bedroom not a few weeks after he moved in.

“So…does your boyfriend work on the weekends?” he asks innocently, hoping it comes out casually, and not too desperately.

“Oh, no boyfriend,” she says, still staring out the floor-to-ceiling sliding door, as if they’re still talking about the weather. The beer bottle hovers by her lips. “Or girlfriend,” she tacks on for good measure.

Frankie suffers a hot flash. Usually, he’s not so shitty around women. Where’d all that confidence from earlier go?

The beers are finished, and the conversation has slowed. Frankie thanks her for the beer and the artwork she’s gifted him, and he promises he’s going to find a spot on his own walls for it. He takes up his toolkit and heads out.

It’s only when he’s back at 16C that he wishes he had asked for her number. He drops the kit and the painting by the door and hustles back to 16B, only for it to swing open before he’s even knocked.

They stare, rather breathlessly, at each other.

“Hi again,” he says first.

“Can I have your number?” She blurts without any recourse. “You know—in case I have complaints about the service.”

Her smile is gigantic; Frankie melts.

“I was just going to…” he starts to explain that he came back for the same reason, but he laughs instead. “You know what, yeah, wouldn’t want a bad Yelp review,” he jokes right back.

He gets out his phone, so she can punch in her numbers, and he shoots off a quick intro text. From inside her apartment, he hears the satisfying corresponding beep from her phone, still connected to the bluetooth speaker, pinging with his text.

“See you around, Frankie,” she says with what can only be described as a chortle, and Frankie stammers out a farewell before he’s tripping over his own boots back to his own place.

Later that night, while brushing his teeth before bed, he gets a text message. It’s a picture that arrives first, the message is still loading. It’s the view of her couch and her perfectly symmetrical postcard collage on the wall behind it.

The message finally loads with a beep. Thanks for today. It looks great!

He holds the toothbrush between his teeth while he taps his too-big thumbs upon the screen. No prob, he types out before promptly deleting it and writes instead: My pleasure :) It was nice meeting you, Ceci.

Frankie holds his breath as he sends it, and those tantalizing three dots flash at the bottom of the screen, signaling her reply, but they soon disappear. He sighs, despondent. Just before he tosses his phone onto the bed, it beeps with a new message.

Ceci (16B): Five stars on my Yelp review 😉

Yeah, he’s still got it.

#francisco morales #francisco morales x ofc #frankie morales x ofc #frankie morales #my writing #nyc neighbor frankie #francisco catfish morales #pedro pascal character fanfic

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