#playing around with content aware fill is pleasing for my brain | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blondeboyfriend · 2 years

Text

𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐊𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐒 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Zeke Yeager x f!reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] A oldie from 2021. I did a little editing so if it seems different... that's because it is. [ SYNOPSIS ] You and your slutty boyfriend decide to smoke weed and fuck on his ugly couch. [ WORD COUNT ] 2.2k [ CONTENT ] Modern AU, marijuana, dubcon (fucking under the influence), hair pulling, oral sex (f + m receiving), unprotected sex, general Zeke bossiness, weed-induced paranoia, teasing, he finishes in your mouth.

“So… How annoying should I expect you to be?”

You were sitting on Zeke’s hideous suede green couch, playing with his lighter. The blonde was planted on the floor between your legs, hunched over his equally hideous oak coffee table.

“You want me to quantify how annoying I am going to be?”

You giggled and watched as he folded a crutch for the joint. It was cute how focused he was under the effects of two edibles. Brownies, to be specific. You had baked them yourself so the potency of said brownies was essentially a mystery.

Initially due to overwhelming impatience, the two of you thought they were shit and that you managed to bake plain, unexciting brownies. It wasn’t until Zeke was being significantly sweeter than usual and you were hyperaware of your fingers that you realized the brownies were a success.

“Did I stutter?” you asked, pressing your hand against Zeke’s back.

He wore a plain black v-neck that clung to his body. You couldn’t help but touch him in some way. You dragged your thumb down his spine. He shivered and you yanked your hand away.

He paused and turned to you, eyes filled with concern.. “Is there something on my back?”

“… Me? I was.”

“Oh. I thought a small animal was crawling on me.”

“I mean… It might as well have been.”

He shook his head. “No, I pictured like a small deer.”

“How high are you?”

He sprinkled weed into a rolling paper. “Not high enough.”

You peeked over his shoulders to get a view of his nimble fingers.

“Shit,” he whispered.

You were wrong to assume he would retain his dexterity. The joint looked folded rather than rolled.

“Are you gonna be okay?” you asked.

You were legitimately not sure. It pained you to lack faith, but his jumbled hands were hardly promising.

“I—I don’t know. I really… I don’t know,” he sighed.

“Do you, like…” Your brain grew slower by the second. “Like, do you need...”

“Help?”

“Yeeeeaaaaaah,” you drawled. The word melted out of your mouth.

Zeke sighed and unfolded the joint.

“I’ll be fine. I got this. I’m going to do great. I just have to pretend that these are my own hands.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Sweetie, those are your hands.”

“I’m well aware. They don’t feel like mine though.”

You didn’t say anything. Nothing you said would quell his anxiety. You rubbed his back, massaging your thumbs between his shoulder blades. A muted groan wriggled free from the depths of his chest.

“Fuck. That feels good.”

You let your hands roam past his shoulders, down his chest. You started to tug at his shirt.

His calloused hand grabbed your wrist. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Take it off,” you purred.

“Why?”

He went back to rolling the joint. He had greater success this time around. The joint was actually conical in shape. Not a depressingly flat rectangle.

“I don’t know. It’ll be fun?” You didn’t have a good reason, but it wasn’t like you needed one. You just wanted him as close to naked as possible. “Please humor me,” you continued. “I made the brownies. The least you could do is walk around shirtless.”

He shook his head and handed you the joint over his shoulder.

“Please?” you begged.

“This is demeaning,” he said, smirking.

He stood up and proceeded to take off his shirt. You stared at his god-like figure, unable to hide your lust. He blushed.

“Here.” He handed his shirt to you. “To my biggest fan.”

You held it like it was an Oscar. “Wow. This is truly a moment in history. People will be talking about this forever.”

“I can’t wait for the retrospective article in ten years.”

“Oh, it’s going to be incredible. I’m going to overanalyze this moment so fucking hard.”

“Heh. Hard.”

“Seriously?”

“What?” He sat down beside you and put his head on your shoulder. “Are you going to light that?”

You looked at the joint in your hand. “Did you hand me this?”

“No.”

You rolled your eyes and held the joint between your lips, ready to light it.

“Wrong end, pet.”

You looked down and noticed you were two centimeters from fucking everything up.

“Thank you.” You proceeded to light the joint properly. You took a long drag and let the smoke drift from your mouth. “That’s good.”

You handed the joint to Zeke. He took a hit and exhaled, tossing his head back.

“It’s awful.” He hit it again, longer this time.

“Really? Awful, huh?”

“The worst weed I’ve smoked.”

“Can I?” You reached for the joint but he held it out of reach.

“No, no, no. It’s horrible after a couple hits. You wouldn’t like it.”

You stretched yourself over his lap trying to grab the joint. He laughed at your pitiful attempt. You looked like you were body surfing.

“Alright, fine. Since you’re so desperate.” He pulled on the back of your shirt, lifting you up. Rather than body surfing you now looked like a sea lion performing for a snack. He held the joint to your face and you inhaled eagerly.

“That’s good shit. It smells nice.” You took another hit. Zeke let go of your shirt and gently laid you back down on his lap.

“I was definitely expecting something disgusting. But I always expect something disgusting, don’t I?… I’m gross. I’m a garbage man. Don’t look at me.”

“I wasn’t. I can’t from this angle.”

You were in fact facing away from him.

“Good. You shouldn’t look at someone like me. I’m… Ugh.”

“Are you going to be okay? Like, seriously? I’m concerned-ish.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine.” He finally took a hit. “I just don’t understand why I was born, that’s all.”

You flipped over so you could look up at him. He gazed down at you.

“Please don’t look at me from this angle. You can see right up my nose.”

“You’re so self-conscious.” You sat up and started to toy with his hair.

“I don’t know what’s up there… My secrets could start leaking out.”

“You’re such a weenie. Gimme that.”

Zeke didn’t protest. He relinquished the joint. You took a drag and an idea hit you like a sledgehammer.

“Shotgun.”

“Oh, no. I cannot drive anywhere.”

“No, Zeke, I’m not calling ‘shotgun’. I’m saying shotgun. As in, ‘Let's shotgun this weed.’”

He looked at you like a perplexed puppy. He clearly didn’t understand.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh my god.”

You took another hit off the joint and turned his head towards yours. You placed your lips on his. You slowly breathed the smoke into his mouth. You pulled away and he exhaled. He met your eyes, but averted your gaze soon after.

“Don’t look at me.”

“You’re so sensitive.”

“It’s like you’re judging everything I do.”

You hit the joint. “What? No. I am totally staring at you and shit, but not out of judgment. More out of, like, I’m a huge pervert or whatever.”

He gave you an impish grin. You fucked up. You shouldn’t have admitted to such a thing.

“Is that why you wanted my shirt off?”

“Yes.”

“Excuse me.” He stood up like he was giving a presentation and pulled off his grey sweatpants revealing his navy blue briefs. You were entranced by his shapely thighs. “Is this what you wanted?” He did a 360 degree turn so you could get a good look at his body.

“Hmm. Not quite.” You took a hit.

“What do I need to do?”

“You still have socks on.”

He took them off. You hit the joint again.

“Glasses,” you purred, letting the smoke roll out of your mouth.

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

He took them off and placed them on the coffee table.

“Undies.”

He went to take them off, but stopped. “Hold on! Wait a minute. Nope. What is this?” It was like he woke up from a dream.

“Sorry, I took it too far. Let me get on your level. It’s only fair. Here. Finish this.”

You passed Zeke the rest of the joint. There wasn’t much left at this point. You shed all your clothes minus your bra and underwear.

“Alright.” He held the joint in his mouth and stripped off his underwear.

“Whoa! You, uh. I was kidding…” You paused and let your eyes wander down his body. “For the most part.”

His erect cock stared you down. Beautifully veiny with a pleasant pink hue, framed by trimmed blond pubic hair. It was picturesque.

You clasped your hands. “I swear every time I see it feels like the first time.”

The smug fucker smirked and finished off the joint. He stubbed it out in the ashtray on the table.

“You gonna take care of it?”

You nodded and quickly undressed. He walked over to you, stroking himself, as you reclined on the couch like a lounging goddess. You outstretched your arms and pulled him into your embrace. You kissed him, shoving your tongue into his mouth without warning. He hesitated for a moment but quickly reciprocated. He was operating on a slight delay. You felt the tip of his cock gently prod your glistening cunt.

“Not yet,” you murmured. “Go down on me.”

He lowered himself, leaving a trail of kisses down your stomach. He pulled down your underwear. He traced his tongue down your folds. His beard tickled your thighs. A small moan left your lips. You held his head in place, letting your fingers get tangled in his hair.

“Pull on it,” he demanded as he bit on the inside of your thigh.

You clutched a chunk of his hair and pulled. He let out a voracious groan and gave your clit long, languid licks. A whiny moan burst past your lips.

You paused. “Shit. Was that loud?”

He stopped and looked up at you. “No. At least I don’t think so. Why? Did you hear something?”

“No… At least I don’t think I did.”

You stared at each other. The fear began to take hold.

“Hold on,” Zeke said in a comically authoritative tone.

He stood up and slowly approached the door.

“Do not open the door. You’re scary hard right now,” you hissed.

“I’m not gonna open it. I… am gonna glance through the peephole.”

He peered through the hole. And there was nothing. Not a soul.

“Oof. We’re losing it, pet.”

He walked over to you and went back to work as if nothing happened. He swirled his tongue around your clit, this time applying more pressure. He wanted to hear you cry out his name.

“Oh fuck, Zeke. Don’t stop!”

He didn’t. Waves of pleasure came over you. You bucked your hips against his mouth. You craved penetration; you felt like you would perish without it.

“Need your cock,” you mewled.

He lifted himself up and lorded over your body, leaving you in the shadow of his. He pushed two of his rough fingers inside your dripping cunt

“You’re so wet,” he said, curling his fingers and pressing the pads of them up against your walls. “And so easy. I thought I might have to work for it considering you’re high.”

“Don’t be mean,” you whimpered.

“Then don’t make it so much fun,” he replied before lightly biting your neck.

His hot breath against your skin was driving you wild.

“Do you want my cock inside you?”

You nodded, your eyes wide and needy.

“Say it. Say you want my cock inside you.”

“I want your cock inside me. Please.”

“Attagirl,” he grunted as he guided his cock inside you.

Once it was fully ensheathed he began to thrust. His balls clapped against your taint as he picked up the pace, his tip pressing up against your cervix.

“Fuck!” you yelped.

Zeke angled your hips upward and drove his cock into you. Ecstasy flooded your core. He held you closer to his body, his thrusts growing in urgency. His breathing labored. He caressed your breasts, his long fingers pinching your nipple.

“I’m close,” he choked out. His grey eyes were hazy with arousal.

“You can wait,” you exhaled.

He groaned and continued to plunge his length into you. His fingernails dug into your hips, adding to your bliss. You grabbed onto his ass and rutted up against him. Your orgasm overwhelmed you and left you seeing stars. You felt like you were hovering above the couch, your pleasure letting you defy the laws of gravity. Though that was probably the weed more than your orgasm.

“Open your mouth. Now,” he commanded, releasing you from the mindless rapture you were lost in.

You did as you were told, getting into position. You hungrily sucked on his cock, milking every drop of cum from him. It flooded your mouth, trickles of it spilling down your chin and onto your chest.

“Such a messy little thing, aren’t you?”

You wiped your mouth and tried to stifle a laugh. “Not my fault you shoot a huge load.”

He grabbed his shirt and tenderly cleaned you up.

“What the fuck, Zeke?”

He tossed the shirt aside and gave you a confused look, eyebrows raised.

“What did I do?”

“You just got cum all over my award.”

You both stared at the dejected black shirt crumpled on the floor.

“My bad, pet,” he said, scratching behind his ear.

#zeke yeager x reader #zeke jaeger x reader #zeke yeager smut #zeke jaeger smut #aot smut #snk smut #attack on titan smut #shingeki no kyojin smut #.fics #.aot #.zeke #x reader #reader insert

323 notes · View notes

rowdyhughesy · 1 year

Text

Can you hear my mind ✰ Jack Hughes

It’s hard to explain masterlist

Content warning: this fic contains content of the struggles that come with ADHD, mentions of anger and sadness. This is made to spread awareness about disorders not to romanticise it. If this is something that may be triggering do not read.

“Is ADHD even a real thing?”

“Are you sure you're not just restless or bored?”

“Can you just stay still?”

“Can you please shut up?”

It's questions and words I've heard my whole life, even before they first gave me on paper that I have this neurodevelopment disorder.

Four letters that tell me why I feel different from everybody else. Why nothing ever seems to fit, like all the puzzle pieces in my brain aren't made to form this whole complete picture.

Like when your headphones get messed up in this ball of tangled cords and frustration when you can't separate them.

A simple description of how I can't separate my brain, what I'm feeling and thinking at any moment. How my body never stays still. There's always a knee bouncing, fingers wringing together or eyes blinking repeatedly. A constant burst of excess energy that I can't contain.

Jack doesn't move his gaze or say anything as we're laying on the light beige couch in our living room, tv playing this new show we started watching and the actors voices filling the silent space. He's too focused on watching it to pay attention to how my eye is twitching, how I keep rubbing my eyes like I'm tired and half asleep or touching my hair.

He's used to it by now. The fiddling, noises from when I move around, mumbling to myself. At least I thought he hadn't noticed until one of his hands lays atop of mine.

Almost immediately I start playing with his fingers. It's a trick he figured out early on. That if he gives me something to touch I can focus my energy on that, one thing to focus on and feel instead of everything all at once.

I glance over at him from the corner of my eye but he's still focused on the tv. A small smile tugging on the corner of his lips that tells me he knows I'm watching him. A small squeeze to my hand that's in his. A wordless confirmation that he knows what I needed. It's like he's developed this sixth sense when it comes to me.

It should be nothing, it is nothing. But inside it feels like this big dark thing that's eating me alive. Maybe it's the stress, lack of sleep or just my brain feeling like it's about to short circuit.

It's my own nails digging into my palms as I pace back and forth in our bedroom, ragged breathing and squinting my eyes in a desperate attempt at calming down. Trying to push it away, deeper and deeper I always do, everything to not let it take over.

Barely even knowing what it is that's got me here. It could be the laundry I've been procrastinating that feels like it's laughing at me. The clean dishes yet to be unloaded because I got distracted from doing and then just never did.

It could be the irritation at myself for not being capable of functioning like everyone I know. Seeing how they do these daily tasks like it's no big deal. Like it's easy. Just like breathing or sleeping. Easy.

It's harder now that Jack is away on a roadie for two weeks. Nobody there to take the pressure of by picking up the things I forget. Like when I leave the fridge door open or forgot to put the orange juice back. I can't even remember when he's supposed to be back. I can't remember how long he's been gone for.

I press the palm of my hands against my eyes, fingertips scratching at my hair trying to push the anger away. Deeper, harder until I think I might pass out from trying to hold it in.

And then it feels like the bomb inside finally explodes. A frustrated scream tumbles out of my lungs and I grab the nearest thing -which happens to be a throw pillow- chucking it at the wall. It hits with a loud thud before it falls on the floor. Grabbing another pillow I continue to throw them at the wall, everything to get the feelings out without breaking anything or causing harm.

I haven't even heard the sound of keys jiggling in the front door, hockey bag and suitcase placed on the floor. Jack kicking his shoes off in the hallway and hanging his jacket on one of the hooks. I don't hear anything but the sound of my own blood coursing through my body and heartbeat in my ears. Not until I finally sit down on the ground, head bent down between my knees and arms covering my skull.

'Baby.' Jacks voice isn't scared, more worried than anything as he creaks the bedroom door open. Sticking his head in from behind it, watching me sitting hunched over on the floor. He takes in the pillows on the floor and the sound of my shaky breathing.

Shuffling over the floor he slowly sits down next to me. He doesn't reach out to touch me. Knows it's the last thing I want right now. 'Are you angry?' I stay silent, throat raw and dry from the scream I previously let out. Strained. 'Whatever it is that became too much, I'm here now.' Softly he rubs circles on the bare skin of my arm that isn't covered by my T-shirt. 'I'll take care of it. You don't have to think about it.'

I only lift my head from its hiding place under my arms, scoot closer until my side is pressed against his and rest my head on his shoulder. Jack wraps one of his arms around my shoulders. Thumb rubbing circles on my arm as he presses a kiss on my forehead.

'I missed you.' My voice is scratchy and I have to clear my throat in the middle of the sentence to make myself sound clearer. He leans his cheek against the top of my head. I can feel the warmth of his skin on mine. 'I missed you too baby.'

Neither of us say anything. I wonder if he can hear the hurricane inside my bones. The sound of thunder, rain and harsh wind.

Jack is the first one to speak up. ‘I know I’ll never fully understand what it’s like. The things you feel and think and experience everyday.’ He inhales deeply before he continues. Eyes staring at the pillows still on the floor. ‘But I’ll always be here to make it easier, take some of the weight off.’

Most people don’t have the luxury of having someone that understands, somebody to help when the cords get bundled up. Untangle every knot and smooth out the bumps. That let me feel the emotions when I need to scream, remind me of things I’ve forgotten and just be there.

‘I love you Jack, thank you for always understanding.’

‘For you Y/N I’ll never stop trying to understand.’

#itshardtoexplainau #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x y/n #nhl imagine

277 notes · View notes

waka-chan-out · 3 years

Note

Ok concept/request, you're riding Iwaizumi in the Aoba Johsai locker room and Oikawa walks in on you two and you feel like everything is about to get really awkward, but then Iwaizumi asks if he could join in?

(I ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤ your stuff so much btw!!!!!!!)

Cool Down

i am OBSESSED with this idea. y’all know how much i like writing multiple characters, huh? 👀 sorry for taking so long on this but thank you for sending in a request! i’m flattered you like my content baby i hope you’re doing well

i exclusively write post-timeskip characters so i’m going to change this to argentina national team oikawa and athletic trainer iwaizumi if that’s alright :) but the concept shall remain the same.

word count: 2k

content warnings: she/her afab reader, established relationship, threesome, oral (m. receiving), double penetration, “sir,” “good girl,” LOTS of pet names, ass play, very low risk public sex, light teasing, light dacryphilia, creampie

You could still hear players shuffling out of the arena from the locker room. Tooru had told his team not to wait up, that he was going to stay and catch up with old friends. Instead, he had pulled you into his team’s deserted locker room and pushed you against the cool concrete wall, too hyped up from his game to even manage a shower.

Somehow that made it even hotter as you tangled your fingers in his lovely blue jersey, holding on as tight as you could as you shifted up and down in his lap.

His breath rushed heavy into your ear, face screwed up in pleasure and pressed into the crook of your neck. Both of you were so wrapped up in each other that the ability to speak was stripped away entirely, leaving behind pants and groans and the occasional high pitched moan.

Your brains and bodies were occupied, and that made it impossible to hear the locker room door clunk open and the heavy footsteps approach the back row of lockers.

“Oikawa.”

The voice fell like a bucket of cold water. You couldn’t run, so you clapped your hands over your face and buried into Tooru’s shoulder. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Tooru turned around, an exhausted smile on his face.

“Iwa-chan.” He let out a cough, unable to catch his breath. “Thought you would’ve gone home by now.”

“I figured you’d pull something like this.”

“But you won’t tell, will you? Because you’re our good little Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi’s face screwed up in disgust.

“I wasn’t going to tell as long as you were in a generous mood.”

You perked up.

“What?” you asked. Iwaizumi crossed his arms.

“Shitty-kawa needs to learn how to share if he’s going to make a mess in our locker rooms.”

Your eyes grew wide and Tooru laughed.

“I don’t know whether to take you seriously or not, Iwa-chan.”

“I could just report you.”

“I didn’t say no, but I’m not the one you have to ask.”

They both turned to face you and your mouth grew dry.

Scanning Iwaizumi’s body, you couldn’t say you’d never thought about it. The few times you had met Tooru’s Iwa-chan in person he had such a presence around him. No matter how out of control Tooru got, Iwaizumi held the reigns, able to shut situations down in only a few words. Not only that, he was almost infuriatingly good looking. His uniform polo looked uncomfortably tight around his chest and biceps, and that’s not even mentioning the way his legs fit into his dress pants.

You wanted his arms around you. Immediately.

“Does the door lock?” you asked. Tooru grinned.

“I knew you were fun,” he said, pressing kisses to your neck. Iwaizumi’s lips curled into a smile and he disappeared for a moment. You heard an echoey click and he returned, already pulling his belt out of its loops. Tooru laughed again.

“Cocky, Iwa-chan. At least get them warmed up first.”

Iwaizumi approached you, continuing to undo his slacks.

“I think you’ve already taken care of that,” he muttered, pushing down on Oikawa’s shoulder so he would laid down on the bench. Iwaizumi leaned down and pressed a gentle but warm kiss on your lips.

“You’ll be good for me, right?” he whispered as he pulled down the front of his briefs. You grinned and tugged him closer by the belt loop.

“Yes.” You punctuated the word by wrapping your lips around him. He was slightly shorter than Oikawa but significantly thicker. You looked up at him and took him as far into your mouth as you could.

“Shit,” he breathed, cupping your chin and running a thumb over your cheek. “What did you do to bag this one?”

Oikawa laughed and laced his fingers behind his head.

“I’m very charming, Iwa-chan. You should know that by now.”

You smiled as much as you could with Iwaizumi’s weight still in your mouth. He looked down at you and combed your hair out of your face.

“Wanna make him shut up for me?” he asked. You became keenly aware of the fact that Tooru was still inside of you and circled your hips. He hissed and tipped his head back against the bench.

“Mean, Iwa-chan,” he gasped. You continued a steady rock in his lap and he let out small, sharp breaths, trying to remain composed as he watched your eyes focus on Iwaizumi’s. “Don’t push her head,” he warned. “She doesn’t like that.”

“Yeah?” Iwaizumi said. His hand cupped your face, gently following your movement as your head dipped and pulled back. “You don’t like when he shows you what to do, huh? What if I show you what to do? Will you let me?”

He pulled you off of him, gently swiping at your lip to clean your face. He pushed his index and middle past into your lips, dragging them over your tongue. You closed your eyes at the feeling and you heard him let out a content laugh.

“That’s my girl. Why don’t you bend over for me?”

You quickly leaned forward so you were laying on Tooru’s chest.

“You really are an obedient little thing, aren’t you?” he said, running a hand through your hair. “Why don’t you behave this way with me, hm?”

“Because you don’t command any respect,” Iwaizumi grumbled. He ran his hands over your ass then down, circling your entrance. You gasped and held Tooru tighter.

“Don’t act so shy,” he said through a laugh. “You’ve done that before and you know you like it.”

“Oh? Is that true?” Iwaizumi asked. You nodded, but he ran his hand over the back of your neck and tugged your hair lightly. “Words, darling.”

“Yes,” you stammered. He chuckled and unceremoniously pushed a finger inside of you. You let out a choked moan and pressed your face further against Tooru’s chest.

“Aw, Iwa-chan, be nice.”

“I am being nice. Feels good, doesn’t it doll?”

“Y—” You paused as Tooru leaned up to your ear.

“Call him sir. He’ll lose it.”

Iwaizumi landed a quick smack on your ass and pushed in another finger.

“What did I say about your words? Does it feel good?”

“Yes, sir.” The words were rushed, nervous. You were sure Iwaizumi could hear the hesitation in your voice, but the low groan that left him was assurance enough.

“Oh, fuck. What a good girl.” You could hear him readjusting his pants and gasped when he pressed up against you from behind. “You gonna be good and take all of me? I know you can do it.” You hummed as he started pushing forward.

“Yes, sir.”

He laughed aloud and continued to slowly sheath himself inside of you. He was going agonizingly slow, and though you knew you needed time to adjust, all you wanted was more.

“That’s right, baby. Take him like you take me,” Tooru said, running his hands over your waist. “I’m still better, though. Right?” Iwaizumi finally bottomed out inside of you and you let out a short, strangled sound, pressing your forehead against Tooru’s. “See? You’ve sent her right back into my arms.”

“We’ll see about that.” Iwaizumi pulled back slowly, dragging a shocked gasp from your throat. “You can’t fill her up like this. Right, sweetheart? Tell me how full you are.”

“So full,” you groaned. As his hips pushed forward again you mumbled, “please.” His laugh was even louder this time.

“Please what? Come on.”

“Please fuck me, Iwa.”

“I think that’s what I’m doing right now. You asking for more?” He moved his hips quickly once and you moaned.

“Yes,” you breathed.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir.” You leaned up and looked Tooru in the eye. “Yes, Hajime. Please fuck me harder.” His eyebrow raised and a smirk pulled at his lips.

“Oh, fuck.” Iwaizumi’s voice rumbled in his chest as he gripped your hips, snapping them against you hard and fast.

“Look at you, doll.” Tooru purred. “Taking his cock when I’m still inside of you. You that desperate? You want me to fuck you too?”

You nodded, face screwed up in a wince as Iwaizumi found a perfect angle inside of you.

“No sir for me? Greedy little thing. I guess you can have my cock. Next time you’ll have to beg.” He joined Iwaizumi in holding your hips, lifting them slightly off of him so he could gain leverage. Then he began slowly moving, cock dragging inside of you and, oh fuck, did it feel good to have both of them pushing inside of you. Tooru quickly build up his pace to match Iwaizumi’s, each of them thrusting into you at the same time. The feeling was overwhelming and quickly brought a sob to your lips.

“Aw, baby don’t cry. You were so ready for us. What happened?”

“Don’t be mean, Oikawa. She’s taking it well.”

“Sure, Iwa-chan, but she doesn’t seem very grateful, does she?” He grabbed your chin and brought your face up to look at him. “Say thank you.”

You choked on a moan as Tooru halted mid-thrust, pushing right up against where you wanted him most.

“Thank you,” you murmured. Tooru laughed.

“Come on, princess, Iwa-chan couldn’t hear you. Say it so he can hear it.”

“Thank you, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi let out a strained laugh but said nothing, too focused on the rock of his hips.

“Now me,” Tooru purred. There was a delicious glint in his eye. You couldn’t decide whether it was frightening or devastatingly sexy. “Say thank you, Tooru. Thank you for fucking you so well and letting my Iwa-chan have his way with you.”

“Thank you, Tooru,” you gasped. “For everything. Please.” You leaned forward and captured his lips. His eyes widened before settling into a smug expression.

“Fuck I’m gonna cum soon,” Iwaizumi said. Tooru broke your kiss.

“Not inside,” he warned. Iwaizumi scoffed.

Tooru seemed to realize that he was close as well, face screwing up and hips moving more erratically.

“Are you going to cum with us, princess? Make a mess all over our cocks?” You whimpered and buried your face into his neck. “I think that’s a yes, Iwa-chan. Just wait. She’s so pretty when she cums.”

“Tooru, please,” you begged, but you didn’t know what for. You were climbing fast, body giving in completely to the feeling of the two men inside of you. You felt so good and so full you almost couldn’t stand it.

“Be nice, Oikawa. Let her cum first.” Iwaizumi’s voice was strained.

“Won’t be too long, Iwa-chan. Just look at her.”

You were so close. You could almost taste the orgasm about to rack your body, more overwhelming than ever due to the second man buried inside of you.

“Please,” you begged, but you didn’t know who you were begging to. “Please, let me cum.”

“Let go, baby. We’ve got you,” Tooru said, staring past you at Iwaizumi. Your body locked up and you let out a small sobbing noise, tightening your grip on Tooru’s jersey. Your body shook and the men seemed to follow soon after you. Tooru mumbled a small flurry of “that’s it”s before holding your hips tight and spilling inside of you. Iwaizumi let out a long groan, continuing a slow slide in and out of you. Despite Tooru’s warning, Iwaizumi’s hips remained flush against your ass as he groaned through his orgasm, making you feel lightheaded but forcing a scowl onto Tooru’s face.

You all lay there panting for a moment, unsure of how and when to move. Your entire body was buzzing. The slightest movement forced a gasp, and a long hiss left your lips as Iwaizumi withdrew.

“Iwa-chan, what did I tell you?” Tooru said, but there was no fight in his voice. He sounded exhausted. Iwaizumi didn’t respond. He tucked himself back into his pants and leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head and rubbing your arm. He stared at you for a moment longer before smirking.

“Make sure you stretch before you leave, Oikawa. You missed the cool down at the end of the game.”

Then he turned on his heels and left the locker room, leaving you and Oikawa alone with the echoes of what you had just done.

———————————————————————

tag list: @ohno-otome @antiqueremains @stationery-store @tanzaniiite @imbearlythere @kitastowel @vminelove @yougivemeglobalwarming @averyaviary @blackstaw @april-avenue

if your name isn’t linked it’s because it wouldn’t allow me to tag you. check your settings and i can try again <3

want to be added? shoot me an ask!

#i’ll say it again #iwaizumi is the one character i don’t think i could dom #so…..this is the product #anyway happy b day tooru ily #i know it’s a lil late but i’ve got the spirit #there’s no one i’d rather have absolutely destroy my body 🥰#oikawa smut #iwaizumi smut #iwaizumi x reader #oikawa x reader #oikawa x reader x iwaizumi #iwaoi x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader

911 notes · View notes

lacontroller1991 · 3 years

Text

Burnt Skies (Rick Flag x Fem!Reader)

@h-hxgirl

Requested by Anon: Saw this captain boomerang fanfic where he finds she's pregnant while they're on mission, I was wondering if you could maybe do something similar for Rick

Author's Note: He would be so protective of the reader fr fr, also this is gonna be angst angst angst so just beware

Warning: Death, pregnancy, language, blood, major character death, spoilers

“Hey (Y/N), you ready to go?” Rick’s voice echoed through the room before he halted, seeing you on the floor, head in the toilet.

“Yeah, give me a minute,” you replied weakly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand and flushing the toilet.

“Are you sure? Are you feeling alright?” He asked, rubbing your back as you looked up at him with a small smile.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I’ll meet you there,” nodding his head, he walked out the door with guns strapped to his body on his tac vest. Looking at your reflection, you noticed a slight greenish tint to your face. Ignoring the wave of nausea, you made your way out of the base and to the plane. Walking up the ramp, you took a seat next to Rick who looked at you with concern in his brown eyes.

“Baby, maybe you should sit this one out. You aren’t looking too hot,” he whispered in your ear as you brushed the notion off. After all, you did have a really bad gut feeling about this mission.

“I’m here. I’m going,” you stated firmly as he looked you over one more time before shrugging his shoulders, knowing it was of no use to argue with you.

----------

The plane ride was hell. With the criminals being loud and Harley’s non stop chatter accompanying your periodic bouts of nausea, you were ready to get the hell off of the plane and right into combat.

“Alright guy, get ready to drop,” Rick shouted as the cargo door opened to reveal water beneath you. Once he gave the signal, you jumped into the cool water and began to swim your way to the mainland, waiting for the rest of the team to catch up to you. After everyone, save for the Weasel, had made it to the shore, you glanced over to your boyfriend who was laying next to Harley.

“Hey guys, it’s me. I’m the guy who called you and I brought my friends,” Blackguard shouted into the open, raising his hands while ignoring the shouts coming from the rest of the team and your boyfriend, Waller’s distant cursing ringing in your ear. Next thing you know, there was gunfire in every direction and things went to chaos. You quickly sought shelter behind a rock and shot off a few rounds into the woods, hoping to take down some of the Corto Maltese soldiers. “(Y/N), watch out,” Rick shouted at you as you turned to see what he was talking about, but it was too late before a large piece of debris from one of the trees knocked you out cold.

You woke up to machines attached to your body. Feeling the bile rise in your throat, you tried to get out of the restraints and look for a place to dump the contents of your stomach. Suddenly a pan was placed in front of you and that was all you needed to release the bile. Groaning at the light, you looked around the room and was surprised to see a cleanish room which plenty of nurses occupied.

“Ah good, you’re awake,” a voice commented as a rough hand pulled your head back, forcing you to look up at one of the generals you were tasked to take out.

“What the hell are you doing to me?” You asked, squirming your body against the bed, trying to loosen some of the restraints.

“Mi amore, we are treating you. Seems you have caught a parasite,” he replied before summoning the nurse over to you, carrying a plate of food and some juice, “you’re government must really be struggling if they’re sending pregnant women into the field,” he mentioned as your blood ran cold.

“That’s impossible,” muttering to yourself, your head went fuzzy at the concept of you being pregnant. With Rick’s kid.

“On the contrary, when we brought in your friend and you, we noticed certain things,” motioning down to your stomach only brought awareness to the fact that you were practically naked in a room full of the enemy.

“Let me go,” you pleaded, pulling your arms as much as you could.

“I think not,” he replied before nodding to one of the nurses who moved to turn on a machine and attach it to your head. Screams of agony soon left your lips, blocking out the sudden spurts of gunfire in the halls.

----------

Harley laughed maniacally as she gunned down multiple soldiers, enjoying the way they were dropping to the floor. She needed to get out of there. She needed to find the others. After the last one dropped to the floor, she moved toward the door before hearing a piercing scream echo down the hallway.

“Sounds like someone’s having fun,” she ran her tongue against her teeth before skipping toward the scream. Slamming open the door, she raised the guns in her hand, ready to fire, until she saw you laying on the table surrounded by nurses.

“No one messes with Flag’s girl,” she muttered to herself before unloading the magazine in the room. All of the nurses slinked to the ground, covered in a pool of their own blood. Rushing over to you, Harley unstrapped the restraints and head piece before taking out the IV and looked for your clothes.

“Where the hell are ya clothes?” She asked, searching high and low before she found a bag filled with your bloody uniform. Helping you sit up, she noted the way you looked super frail but practically glowing at the same time.

“Harley,” you whispered out to her before passing out on her shoulder. “Awww, this would be really cute if not for the circumstances,” she stated out loud to herself, peering out of the window and seeing a guy in a helmet run across the street with Flag. Wait a minute, Flag! Running out the door, she ran around the corner before stopping in front of the two men.

“Hiya guys! What’s up?”

“We’re here to save you, is (Y/N) with you?” Rick asked with hope in his voice as Harley nodded, wrapping pale fingers around his wrist and dragging him back inside and through the pile of bodies she had claimed. At the sight of you, Rick ran to your side and hugged your limp body.

“What’s wrong with her?” He asked, fighting the tears that were beginning to surface.

“Don’t worry puddin’, she’s just asleep,” shrugging her shoulders, she left the room as you stirred, fluttering your eyes open.

“Rick?” You questioned as he rapidly nodded his head, placing kisses all along your face.

“Thank God you’re ok. I thought I lost you.”

“Rick, the doctors found something,” memories of the conversation you had moments ago replayed in your brain. You’re pregnant.

“I’m pregnant,” you whispered, mind still not comprehending the fact that you were pregnant. After all, you had been infertile most of your life. Avoiding his gaze, you waited for his response.

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m going to be a dad,” he whispered, causing your head to snap up and see a smile play against his face.

“You want this? I don’t know if it’ll carry to term. You know that I’m infertile.” Placing his lips against yours, he pulled you into his arms, hugging you as close as he could to his body. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you kissed back before a throat clearing interrupted you.

“This is sweet and all, but we have a fucking monster to kill,” DuBois stated as you looked up at Rick who smiled.

“Stay here, I’ll come back and get you.”

“I’m not leaving your side,” you replied as he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“You’re pregnant. No way in living hell am I gonna allow you to do this. You’ll stay here and that’s an order,” you and he both hated when he had to pull his rank, but you realized it was necessary in cases like this.

“Just come back to me,” pulling his lips down against yours for what feels like the last time, you encoded this moment into your brain, remembering the way he tasted.

“For you? Always.”

----------

He should’ve known you were going to follow them into Jotunheim. Not only were you stubborn, but you still had that nagging feeling that something was going to happen. Sneaking past the military, you found a window and busted it open with your elbow before entering the building. Landing with a soft thud, you looked around the room and noticed Peacemaker going down a dark tunnel. Running after him, you made sure to stay hidden by the numerous pillars. Peering around the corner, you saw Ratcatcher standing next to Rick, however Peacemaker was pointing a gun at Rick.

“Nobody is saying what they did was right,” Peacemaker stated, hand unwavering.

“They experimented on children!” Rick yelled as more explosions went off in the distance.

“That information gets out and it causes an international incident. Keeping the peace is worth any price, including the life of a hero like yours, sir, so please. Don’t make me do this,” your stomach churned. You knew that Captain America wannabe was no good, and now your love might just pay the price. Suddenly, rocks collapsed all around you, obscuring your view of Rick and Peacemaker.

“No,” you whispered to yourself, picking up rocks and trying to make a hole for you to get your body through. Your efforts became faster the more you heard the two men grunting. After successfully digging a hole big enough for you, you crawled through as you heard something like porcelain shatter and choking.

“You mother fucker,” Rick stated through gritted teeth as you watched in slow motion, Peacemaker’s hand grasping a large shard.

“Rick!” You shouted out before tackling him off Christopher’s body, not getting out of the way soon enough as Peacemaker lodged the porcelain into your lower abdomen. “No!” Rick shouted as Peacemaker threw you off. In the distance somewhere, you heard a gun go off before hands wrapped around your body. “(Y/N)? (Y/N)?” Rick called to you but you couldn’t hear him, your mind venturing off.

----------

The sun lit your face through the blinds, dancing in your eyes and creating a multitude of hues, a warm body pressed against you.

“Morning sweetheart,” voice deep from slumber, Rick rubbed his eyes as he let out a yawn. Stretching in bed before your 5 year old daughter came running into the room.

“Mommy, daddy. It’s Christmas!” She squealed excitedly, waking up the baby that was next door.

“Yeah it is baby, you excited for your presents?” You asked as she rapidly nodded while Rick slid out of the bed.

“I’ll go grab little Digger,” he commented, kissing your forehead and your daughter’s head. Getting up, you went to grab a coffee before the doorbell rang. Moving to open it, you saw Harley’s painted face waiting for you with Nanaue, Cleo, Robert and Abner carrying presents.

“Merry Christmas dollface,” she exclaimed, pulling you in for a hug before running off to see her god daughter.

“Come in guys,” you motioned for them to enter as Rick rounded the corner, your 10 month old in his arms.

“So this is the little guy, huh?” Cleo asked as Sebastian waved a hand at the newborn, earning giggles from the baby.

“Yep, Digger Anthony Flag, meet your family,” Rick lifted up the baby’s arm, making him wave to everyone.

“I’m proud of you guys,” Robert commented, slapping a hand on Rick’s back as everyone shuffled into the living room, Nanaue taking up most of the space.

“Thanks man, it wouldn't have happened without you.”

“Alright, everyone ready for presents?” You asked the room with Harley by your side, Harleen in her arms. Rick placed Digger in Cleo’s arms before walking up to you and bringing you into his side.

“I love you, Mrs. Flag.”

“And I you, Mr. Flag.”

----------

Groaning, you felt an excruciating pain in your abdomen and a feeling of loss?

“(Y/N), baby, you’re awake,” his tired voice resonated in your ear as he leaned down to kiss your forehead, his hand not leaving yours.

“I feel like I got hit by a truck,” you commented as he sniffled, trying to suppress the tears that threatened to escape.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he noted, petting your hair and placing another kiss on your forehead.

“And leave our kid without a father? I don’t think...”, realization dawned on you at that moment. The sudden feeling of loss and the pain in that general area washed over you as you began crying. “Oh God, the baby is gone, isn’t it?” You asked through tears as he let a couple slip down his face, nodding and trying to smile through the pain. Choking back a sob, you turned your face away from him as tears continued to fall.

“Hey, look at me,” he whispered, squeezing your hand. Shaking your head, you refused to meet his hazel eyes, “(Y/N), look at me.” Turning your head, your eyes locked onto his as he continued to smooth down your hair.

“We’re alive. We’re both alive. That’s all that matters,” he replied, crawling into the hospital bed with you and pulling you against his chest as you cried into his shirt.

“What if I never get pregnant again?”

“We will. I’ll make sure of it. I’m done with the fucking task force. Waller can find someone else to puppet. But I’m done. You’re done. We’re gonna get married and have a nice house. I’ll get a new job and we’ll figure it out. I promise.” Kissing the top of your head, he wrapped his arms around you as you calmed down.

“I love you,” you whispered against his chest as he hugged you closer.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

Author’s Note: Well this was way longer than I intended it to be. But hope you enjoy!!

479 notes · View notes

noteguk · 4 years

Note

bro bad influence! jk and reader are 100% the type of couple to argue mid-sex i love this culture

They are!!!!

Taglist: @ft-multi @cryinginmypromdress @kooafraid @kissestothesky @dianaaviny @ggukkieland

[ ! ] this drabble is for “bad influence” — it can, however, be read as a standalone.

— words; 1.8k

— contents and warnings; hmmm smut, semi-public sex, oral (m rec and mention of f rec), unprotected sex, dirty talk, mention of cum play, playfully “arguing” mid-sex, the endless adventures of bad boy!jk x good girl! reader

“I can’t believe you, Jungkook,” your voice came out as an irritated murmur against the warm skin of his neck, barely interrupted by a soft whimper. “We’re gonna be late for class.”

His hand grew tighter around your thigh, pushing your leg higher up. Jungkook was buried deep between your folds, filling you up in every way that you loved, and yet you were a bit too paranoid to fully dive into those sensations. “Hmmm don’t care,” he groaned, the slaps of his skin against yours filling that small cabinet in a rhythmic symphony. Twice already, a broom had fallen on top of you, knocking you right on the forehead, and so you refused to let it go. That entire scene was ridiculous. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he moaned.

You rolled your eyes, amazed at how he managed to ignore everything else but the feeling of your walls clenching around him. The fact that you two were having a quickie in the janitor’s closet, exactly fifteen minutes before your most important class, was bad enough as it was. Your escapade was far from heavenly, with the stiff air impregnated by the nauseating aroma of a hundred different chemical products, the annoyingly flickering lightbulb over you, and, as stated, the paraphernalia that was knocked over every time Jungkook’s thrusts got a little too rough.

“God, why are you like this?” you complained.

He hummed, his fingers digging into your flesh. You could tell that Jungkook was starting to lose himself in you, for the roll of his hips started to get slower, less coordinated, as they always did when he was trying to prolong his pleasure. “Like what?” He breathed out.

You leaned your head back against the wall, looking at those devilish eyes of his. Jungkook’s hair was a mess, exploding around his head like a failed scientific experiment, and you knew that one look was all it took to know that it was sex hair. “Why do you always have to pick the worst time to do this stuff?” you clarified.

He scoffed. “Excuse me, princess, I think it was you who locked us in here,” he said. He wasn’t wrong, but, to be fair, you weren’t expecting that your make-out session would escalate to that. Then again, you were often naive when it came to his antics. “Now stay quiet or people are going to hear you.”

“Fuck off,” you whispered — whispered, because he was right. You had been controlling your moans and whimpers fairly well, but your normal speaking voice wasn’t a good idea either. There was no way to lock the room from the inside, and anyone could open that door at any given second.

Jungkook smirked like he knew what you were thinking about — that fucked-out, greek god smirk that had your knees weak for a second. His face was bathed by the golden light from the bulb, dripping in shadows and lustful gazes. “Wrong answer,” he teased. “You were supposed to say ‘Oh, Jungkook, I can’t keep quiet when you’re fucking me so well’.”

As if to prove his claim, Jungkook placed his face on the crook of your neck and pressed himself even deeper inside you. The feeling of his cock stretching you open was intoxicating, and the timid moan you let out was enough to make him throb inside you, gasping against the sweet scent of your hair.

Still, you wouldn’t bulge. “Gooood, shut up, please,” you whined, interlacing your fingers in his hair. There was a thin layer of sweat on his nape, the expected result from fucking in a hot, closed-off enviroment. “Are you close?”

“Yeah, almost there,” he moaned, picking his pace back up. You had to bite your lip to suppress a particularly loud moan after one of his hands slithered up your abdomen and grabbed your clothed breast, playing with it as he continued to seek his own high. His other hand still had its iron grip on your thigh, keeping your leg up as he continued to pound himself in and out of your wet heat. “Fuck, I love these skirts you wear. Easy access.”

“You’re such a caveman,” you said. Jungkook was breathing heavy against your ear, fighting for air as he mumbled sweet nothings just for you. You were almost overtaken by him — the pounding of his cock inside your pussy, his delicious moans and curses, the praises that he threw your way for being so good for him. Almost. “Don’t cum inside.”

Jungkook visibly tensed up at your request. You could tell that some part of his primitive brain was thinking of repeating one of his past endeavours — one that he came inside you, and made you walk around campus with his cum in you for the rest of the day. It was really hard to keep an upper hand when Jungkook was always knowingly smirking at you from across the room, loving the way that only the two of you knew of that little nasty secret.

(Miraculously, it was one of the few times that he didn’t feel slightly jealous when he saw you talking to other guys, but you didn’t have to know that).

Still, you weren't wearing pants that day, so the whole ordeal wouldn’t be so easy to hide.

A small whimper left his throat as he leaned forward, placing a wet kiss against your lips. You were looking at him with those big, doll-like eyes of yours, and he couldn’t refuse your request even if he wanted to fill you up so bad. “Awn, you’re so mean,” he whined, forehead touching yours. Every shove of his cock inside you had you bouncing up and down against the wall, that stupid broom threatening to tilt once again. “Can I cum in your mouth, baby?”

You hummed, trying to torture him with a fake thinking session. “Don’t know…” You hesitated. Jungkook cursed against your shoulder, his cock throbbing inside you once again. “Do you have gum?”

“Jesus, woman,” he complained, almost choking on his own pleasure. “Yeah, I have gum. Can I do it?”

You smiled. “Suit yourself.” You had to use all the force inside you to place your hands on his shoulders and push him away. Jungkook almost sobbed when he pulled himself out of your heat, his cock glistening with your wetness, swollen and reddened. “And cum quickly or I’ll kill you.”

You got to your knees before Jungkook had the chance to respond, your hand wrapping around his base and pumping him tentatively. He bucked his hips towards you, hissing at the sensitivity. “Listen, I’m really fucking close,” he told you, “and I don’t think you’d fancy a facial right now, so stop with that teasing.”

You chuckled at his comment, fumbling closer to him. “You know me too well.”

With that, you wrapped your lips around his tip, sinking his member inside your mouth until it almost reached your throat. Jungkook cried out in delight, louder than he had the entire time, and you were sure any passing strangers had heard him.

Yet your paranoia was forgotten when he started talking.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he moaned, placing his hand on the back of your head and tugging at your hair. Jungkook guided your movements with little force, watching as you had your fun around his cock — sucking and slurping him like it was the best thing in the world, the tears that accumulated at the corners of your eyes looking like a divine gift to him. “God, I love when you suck my cock, fuck—“

You moaned around him, the vibrations feeling like heaven to the boy. With a few more pumps of your mouth around him, Jungkook was coming undone with a loud hiss and a desperate buckle of his hips, calling out your name as he released his cum inside you. “Swallow everything,” his voice was hoarse as he told you that, meeting your watery eyes as you fought to drink every drop of his cum that you could. Jungkook smirked at your efforts, fingers caressing your scalp as you finished cleaning him up. “Good girl.”

You sighed happily at his praise, taking his hand as he helped you back on your feet. You could only hope that your knees wouldn’t be red by the time that you arrived at your classroom.

“Love watching you with my cock in your mouth, baby.” Jungkook leaned closer to you, wrapping his arms on your lower back. He gifted you with a quick peck on the lips, still breathing hard against your mouth. “I hate that you don’t let me snap a picture.”

You laughed at that, running one hand through his messy hair in an attempt to save it a bit. In the end, you decided it would be better if he just pushed it back. “I’m not an idiot, believe it or not.” You smiled. “Gum?”

Jungkook nodded and reached for his jacket’s pocket. “Here you go.” He handed you the small colorful wrapping. You promptly threw a piece in your mouth, humming at the sweet taste. He pouted. “You’re going to class like this? You didn’t cum, baby.”

“I’m aware,” you told him, fixing your panties and skirt. Jungkook didn’t seem to worry about the state of his pants, though, because he didn’t follow your movements. “But I’m not gonna be late to this class, today’s topic is half of what’s gonna be on the test. Pick me up after the lesson and maybe you can deal with my delayed orgasm situation. If I’m feeling nice.”

Jungkook smirked, pulling your body closer to his. “Hmmm, love when you boss me around.”

He kissed you again and, when the kiss started to get a bit too long for your liking, you pushed him away. “Jungkook, listen, I have two fucking minutes—“

“Okay, okay, go.” He rolled his eyes, noticing that his attempts at prolonging your little escapade wouldn’t be fruitful. Jungkook stepped back so he could tug himself back inside his underwear, and you turned around to open the door. As your fingers were curling around the handle, he made sure to add, “Don’t exhaust your wrist with all those notes, princess, you’re gonna need it later.”

And of course he smacked your ass when you walked out.

Thirty minutes after your class was over, Jungkook was happy to have his face buried between your thighs, eating you out on the backseat of his car. Suddenly, it seemed as if you weren’t so worried about being caught, because he never heard you moan so loud.

He made a mental note to do that more often.

BAD INFLUENCE COLLECTION

3K notes · View notes

calaofnoldor · 3 years

Text

In Your Dreams

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean, Garth

Words: 7,393

Summary: In a world where your dreams are your soulmate's memories, a call to Garth for backup changes Sam's life forever. (Soulmate AU)

Warnings: heavily implied smut, angst, the slightest allusion to ptsd, flashes of huffy!sam (is this just a thing in all my fics now??), fluff, language as always, also i was deep in my sam girl feels when i wrote this so please proceed with caution.

A/N: written for @idabbleincrazy’s "what do you mean this is classic rock?" 1k follower celebration! my prompt was the song "are you gonna be my girl" by jet and the quote "oh, come on!" which is bolded in the fic. also written for @swiftlymoniquesblog’s 300 followers celebration, for which i chose the song "confident" by demi lovato from her playlist.

congratulations to both you lovely babes!! i am SO sorry that this is incredibly late and probably not what you wanted lol. it really got away from me and i didn't know how to deal with it so here's 7k words that literally no one asked for 😂

Square Filled: Soulmate AU for @spnfluffbingo; Garth for @spnmixedbingo; Mistaken Identity for @girl-next-door-writes’s make me feel bingo; Soulmates for @samwinchesterbingo

MASTERLIST

It played out like a movie scene. Sam’s breath halted the minute the rusty ‘78 Ford Ranchero pulled up to the motel, frozen as he watched the passenger side door open in slow motion, making way for one black booted foot after another to step out onto the pavement. Attached to them was the most beautiful pair of legs he had ever seen, and Sam was only vaguely aware of his continuously drooping jaw as his eyes roamed up the rest of your figure, utterly and unprecedentedly thunderstruck when you flung your hair over your shoulder like a model in a goddamn shampoo commercial.

You oozed confidence, which was sexy as hell, but it was much more than that. Something deep within him startled awake, and it wasn’t just his man parts twitching with interest, though that definitely happened when you adjusted your daisy dukes and caused your top to ride up ever so subtly. God, you must’ve been the most sublime being to ever cross his path. Sam could hear Jet’s “Are You Gonna Be My Girl” playing in the background, but it was impossible to tell whether the sound was coming from the car speakers or his own head.

Either way, the music was cut short when Garth killed the engine and sauntered around his coupe with a winning smile. “Heeey brothers! I brought backup! Allow me to introduce you,” he offered excitedly, throwing a casual arm around you when he got to your side, a gesture that seemed to send Sam’s heart leaping off a cliff, “Guys, this is Y/N and Y/N, these are the Winchesters, Dean and Sam.”

Sam tried to smile but you seemed so comfortable and content beneath Garth’s touch, he really wasn’t ready for the sour taste of envy that rose inside him, filling his throat like acid reflux.

“Garth, you wily son of a bitch!” called his brother from beside him. Sam didn’t need to look over to picture the smirk of approval Dean was sporting, and the thought alone brought forth more bile, which he desperately tried to swallow down with a couple violent bobs of his Adam’s apple.

“Oh Deano,” Garth shook his tilted head as he genuinely professed, “you always say the nicest things to me.” And as he launched himself towards Dean with puppy-like fervor for a somewhat one-sided hug, Sam felt bad about the groundless feelings of resentment he’d began to harbor for the scrawny yet respectable hunter. Still, he couldn’t help but try to catch your eye during the reprieve, only to find your soft gaze fixed on Garth’s back while the slightest vestige of a smile ghosted across your divine features.

She’s taken, Sam. Soulmates most likely, with the way you’re looking at the guy, his brain augmented bitterly. Damn it, Garth really was one lucky son of a bitch.

“And don’t think you’re not getting one too, Sam!” the oblivious bastard let go of Dean and came at Sam with open arms and nothing but love, so with a forced smile and mind full of warring thoughts, the younger Winchester had no choice but to awkwardly accept.

“So did you get us rooms yet?” Garth asked when he finally pulled away, “You know I’d love to bunk with you guys but ever since Y/N’s gotten used to my snoring, we’ve kinda become a package deal, you know what I mean?”

“Oh, I sure do, buddy!” Dean exclaimed with a lewd grin, “Yours is Room 4B, but we’re right next door in 4A so try and keep that in mind when you’re uh- snoring it up, will ya?”

Having long since grown accustomed to Dean’s base brand of humor, Sam was surprised when he realized his usual reflexive eye roll had been supplanted with a deep breath and forceful clench of his teeth.

“I’ll try my best, but I can’t promise we’ll be quiet as mice through the night!” Garth’s good-natured retort felt like a twisting blade through Sam’s chest. He pulled his brows together and placed a large palm tentatively above his heart, unable to understand why the involuntary reaction felt so tangible as he watched Garth set off.

Following suit, you grabbed some luggage from the Ranchero’s cargo bed and made for your room. Sam knew he should try to stay away from you, but like a magnetic field, you pulled him in, so when he turned around to see you strutting by, Sam fumbled to help you with your duffle. But the fierce glare you shot him quickly stopped him in his tracks and he only barely managed to stay upright as he backtracked and scurried out of your way, big feet and long legs suddenly forgetting their own size.

“Woah, get it together, little bro,” Dean sniggered as soon as you were out of earshot, “You alright there, kiddo? I’ve never seen you fall so hard so fast… almost literally,” he teased, ignoring the bitch face Sam sent him in response, “Think you can make it through this hunt without jumping Garth’s girl?”

This time Sam did roll his eyes, though he left the question unanswered, feeling a bit skeptical himself.

“You think they’re soulmates?” Dean wondered aloud, turning to look off in the direction you’d gone, “Not sure how else to explain that. But either way, damn, did Fitzgerald hit a home run there!”

Sam was speechless as he stared alongside his brother, choked up on the unshakable yet impossible suspicion that you were somehow… his. But that couldn’t be, could it? Even if you weren’t with Garth, there was no way for him to know for sure. The demon blood Yellow Eyes had fed him as a baby inhibited his soulmate bond so not once could he remember dreaming of their memories, and Sam had never been more disappointed by the fact.

The case was cracked with almost no help from Sam, as his ability to focus on anything other than you proved a hopeless and desolate enterprise. Paired with the way his impetuous attempts to connect with you in any sense were harshly rebuffed by that gorgeous yet venomous get back stare of yours, and Sam was a complete mess of shaky hands and pained smiles. So when you announced you’d be retiring early for the night, claiming to want catch up on some rest before the big monster showdown the next day, Sam was both crestfallen and relieved.

“Have a good night,” Garth gave you a meaningful look that Sam couldn’t begin to decipher, a cruel reminder of the inexplicable nature of soulmate connections.

“So… what’s up with Y/N?” Dean asked whilst Sam was still gazing in vain at the door you’d left through.

“Oh, she’s uh… she’s complicated,” Garth responded slowly, nodding along to himself as an uncharacteristic expression of melancholy replaced the grin on his face, “Most people think she’s outta her mind… I mean, she’s not! …But it’s a pretty common misconception,” he shrugged in a ‘what-can-ya-do’ type of way, but the Winchesters’ frowns prompted him to continue, “She’s just… had it kinda rough, ya know? And the people around her haven’t exactly been empathetic about it all so she’s put up some walls over time and she comes off a bit strong and standoffish to most, but her heart’s in the right place and she really is a fantastic hunter so you don’t have to worry about her having your backs out there tomorrow, eh?”

Dean seemed to subscribe to this explanation, but the hunt wasn’t what Sam was worried about. Now, on top of the need to be close to you, he was also experiencing a compelling urge to hold you, understand you, and comfort you in whatever way you needed. His entire body throbbed with the desire to run to the adjoining room and kick the door in just to breathe the same air as you again, while his fingers itched to touch you – brush the hair from your eyes, caress your cheek, envelope your hand, explore other areas… Maybe in your dreams, Sam... He almost laughed at the ironic mockery of that saying, but instead pushed the corners of his mouth up as sincerely as he could before proceeding to ponder his inner dilemma with his elbows on his knees.

FIVE HOURS LATER

You awoke to your own scream, bolting upright and gasping for air. Shit. That one had been particularly bad; you’d probably made a lot of noise. Glancing over at the other bed in your room, you weren’t surprised to find Garth starfish-ing above the sheets and blissfully unconscious. That was part of why you liked the guy: he could sleep through just about anything, that and he’d never once judged you by the nightmares that plagued you since birth and reflected your soulmate’s preposterous life thus far.

Wait. As you blinked, you realized something felt different. On impulse, your eyes fluttered shut, but the flashing image of a malicious face that appeared behind your eyelids had them flying open in an instant. That was weird. You never remembered the faces from your dreams.

The names and faces always became blurry as soon as you woke up, but it’s said that once you meet and identify your soulmate, it all comes rushing back to you through a mental, movie-like recap of their life story up until that point, although exceptions to this rule weren’t unheard of, and many believed that every soulmate connection was unique.

Regardless, there was one thing you could never forget about your dreams, and that was the way they made you feel. Or was it the way your soulmate had felt? Starting from a tender young age, you’d dreamed nearly every night, so frequently they were beginning to feel like your own memories. You knew the in-depth tale of your soulmate’s existence, shared just about all of his experiences. From waiting alone in crummy motel rooms as a kid, overcome with the fear and anxiety of not knowing when or if his dad and brother would ever return from a hunt, to being physically and emotionally tortured and violated within a magical cage where time and the limits of the human body adhered to no laws, and his abuser wore a smile that could light his veins on fire, as you’d just had the pleasure of envisioning.

More often than not, your dreams were nightmares, and you’d make sounds of protest as you slept. It was why you had chosen to hit the sack early, with the hopes that their drunken hunter rowdiness might help mask your shouts. But it hadn’t been easy to walk away, harder still to fall asleep. Something had been eating at your subconscious since you got here, or rather someone. Most of the time, you avoided people at all costs, so often that it’d become instinct, but you found yourself actually wanting to be around that stupidly tall Winchester, to the point where it almost hurt to pry yourself away from him. And now that you’d recalled a face from your dream for the first time in your life, you couldn’t help but wonder…

No. Don’t get your hopes up, Y/N. There was no way. Sam was far too… normal. Besides, you’d imagined what your soulmate might look like before, and even in your wildest concoctions, he hadn’t looked that good. You’d kept your defences up until now so you weren’t about to let them drop just because you ran into a pretty boy. You really did need to stop thinking about him though, maybe grab a glass of water to soothe your sore throat.

Sam couldn’t sleep. His mind was racing as he laid atop the scratchy covers and stared at the ceiling. If the hunt went well tomorrow, you’d be riding off into the sunset in Garth’s Ranchero without so much as a ‘goodbye’. He couldn’t let that happen, not when every atom of his being was propelling him towards you, screeching at him to get his girl. But you weren’t his. You were with Garth. So why couldn’t he just respect that?

With a sigh, Sam let his eyes fall shut, squeezing them tight in a pointless effort to erase the image of you from the backs of his eyelids, but they shot wide open again when he heard your voice cry out from the next room.

Sam was up before he knew what he was doing. There was only one thing of which he was certain: you didn’t sound like you were in the midst of pleasure. You sounded like you were in pain, and that set every hair on his arm erect.

He noticed his breathing was harder than usual as well when he quietly got to his feet and crept toward the shared wall between your rooms, although he couldn’t seem to constrain it. Pressing his ear against the peeling wallpaper, he listened to your whimpers and wails crescendo until they peaked with a harrowing yell that made his heart feel as if it would burst through his ribcage. Dean grumbled in his sleep and rolled over but Sam was frozen in his spot, despite the erratic pumping of blood through his lengthy vessels.

It wasn’t until he heard the creaking of your bedsprings turn into running water in the communal dining area when Sam finally moved, drawing a deep breath and wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. He didn’t know what to say to you, but he knew he had to try, so he made sure to let his footsteps carry sound and make himself appear as small as possible as he opened the back door and walked into the kitchenette.

You were standing by the counter, facing away from him, but before he could take another step, you’d whirled around with a gun in your hands, aimed directly at his heart.

Sam’s hands shot up before he whisper-shouted, “Whoa, whoa! Hey, it’s just me! It’s me!”

Advancing toward him without lowering your gun, you produced a flask from out of nowhere and threw its contents on Sam’s face before he could react.

He blinked the wetness away as you finally dropped your weapon, shrugging through a half-hearted apology, “Sorry, you can never be too careful on a demon case,” you explained lowly, flashing him the label that read ‘holy water’ before tucking the silver flask back into your pocket.

You took a moment to examine him, aggrieved that he somehow looked even better when he was wet. Trying to be cool about it, you crossed your arms across your chest and waited as he wiped a huge hand down his face.

The first words to come out of his sinful lips after your unceremonious attack took you by surprise, “Are you OK?”

“What?” It sounded harsher than you’d meant it and you had to remind yourself to stand down. He’d given you no reason to get combative; on the contrary, something about him just screamed… good.

“I- I heard you… it sounded like you were having a pretty bad nightmare.”

You gave him a slight nod, gulping your usual defense mechanisms back down your throat, “Oh, yeah… my soulmate has um… been through some things.” It was impossible not to huff at your own dramatic understatement.

“Right, yeah, I’m sure Garth has seen his fair share of monsters and other ordeals in his life.”

“Wh- what do you mean, Garth?” you questioned with a furrowed brow.

“Sorry, I just assumed that you guys were soulmates with the way you are and… everything,” Sam confessed with an adorable cock of his head.

You nearly laughed out loud, “Garth isn’t my soulmate. I mean, I wouldn’t be upset if he were, but we’ve exchanged dreams before and our souls definitely aren’t tied together.”

“Oh,” he heaved a sigh that seemed to emanate relief, “So the whole uh… ‘snoring’ thing is-”

“A cover. He knows I get loud during nightmares, and we room together because he has the unique ability to sleep through an entire torture sequence being played out in my head, as he just proved again tonight.” Shit. What are you doing, Y/N? Stop talking. “Oh, I should probably apologize for waking you. You can go back to bed though; I’ve gotten enough sleep for the night.”

Sam’s eyes were wide as he shook his head emphatically, “No, you didn’t wake me! I- I couldn’t sleep anyway. But please, don’t apologize for something you can’t control,” he beseeched with soft, imploring eyes that you immediately dreamed of letting yourself melt into. “Y-you said you were being tortured in your dream?”

Forcing a deep breath through your nose, you slowly conceded, “Well yeah, or at least remembering it the way my soulmate does, I guess… if he even exists.” The last four words were added sourly beneath your breath, but Sam caught them right away.

“You don’t think your soulmate exists?”

You looked up to find his eyebrows drawn together, color-changing eyes fraught with genuine concern. You weren’t sure why you were still talking to him but something about the guy made you feel safe, impelled you to open up to him, “I find it hard to believe he’s still out there functioning like a normal human being with all the shit he’s gone through... I mean, if I’ve been ostracized just for telling people about my dreams, I can’t imagine how he’s survived.”

“You’ve been ostracized because of the things your soulmate remembers?!”

The way he seemed almost offended for you buttered you up even more, “Yeah, Garth is pretty much the only friend I have left,” you admitted with a quiet, sardonic laugh.

There was pity in Sam’s eyes now, a reaction that had always irked you virtually just as much as the fear and revulsion, but it was clear that his was forged out of empathy rather than the usual disdain. And it didn’t stand alone among the emotions displayed across his face. His expression seemed to say ‘please, tell me more,’ and you did.

“I was raised in the suburbs by conservative folks who knew nothing about the supernatural… so they thought I was out of my mind the first time I told them about my dreams, took me to a soulmate bond expert and everything, tried to ‘fix’ me. When they couldn’t, they ignored me, soundproofed my bedroom walls while telling everyone I was crazy. Pretty much disowned me as soon I turned eighteen, fearing I might bring home a sociopathic serial killer one day. Word got around and people avoided me like I was a ticking time bomb. When I started hunting and finally made some friends in that community, I thought they’d be more understanding, but it turns out some things aren’t normal or acceptable even on hunter terms. So, I never really told anyone again, never tried to make friends again. Until Garth came along, that is.”

A small smile took hold of your lips, as it always did when you thought about the lanky and lovable dork, “He never judged me by my nightmares, never treated me any differently, never looked at me through a lens of apprehension.”

“Well, I’m glad you found him,” Sam said, a closed-lip smile of his own peeking through the stubble. Then, after a pregnant pause, “I don’t mean to intrude, but h-have you ever considered breaking your bond, you know, just to stop the nightmares?”

“Never.” Your response was instantaneous and adamant. “I couldn’t. If I-… He’s overcome odds of impossible proportions, suffered fates that no one should ever have to endure, despite doing nothing wrong, been blamed for things that were either completely out of his control or that he was manipulated into doing through a kind heart and good intentions-” you had to stop yourself before you got too riled up.

“You talk like you’re already in love with him,” Sam observed.

“Well, it’s hard not to be. It’s also why I stopped giving a fuck about what other people think of him. I used to try and hide it, lie about what I’d dream of, but they’d always find out. And then I realized it didn’t matter to me because I’ll always side with him, and having narrow-minded people in your life is such a chore anyway.”

“But how can you be so sure of someone you’ve never met?” There was no malice in his tone or body language, only earnest curiosity, and it made you wonder how someone so large could be so very cute.

“Because if he exists, he’s a hero.”

“Well if he’s so great, why does everyone in your life run away from the idea of him?” Sam chuckled lightly, but you thought you heard something that resembled envy within his words. Maybe people were right, maybe you really were out of your mind.

“Because he’s done things that most people can’t even begin to imagine, not even a hunter. Honestly, you probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you half the things I’ve dreamt of.”

Though you didn’t expect to be rewarded with another glimpse of those splendid dimples, you were nonetheless grateful as they seemed to fill your chest with unfathomable peace and irrefutable joy. “Try me,” he said, with a beckoning grin.

“Well, I mean for starters, he’s been through literal hell.”

Sam’s jaw suddenly hung a littler looser, but you’d encountered far more theatrical receptions.

“Yeah, he’s been dealt some real shitty cards,” you started, “Been tormented by pure evil in more than every imaginable way for longer than any conceivable human lifetime, been stripped of his bodily autonomy and rights more times than I can count, been used and manipulated by a demon since he was a literal baby, and that’s on top of losing nearly everyone he’s ever loved including both parents at a young age… But did I mention he managed to stop the fucking apocalypse?”

The surprise on his face was more palpable now, and you almost laughed at his frozen expression.

“And we haven’t even gotten to the bizarre stuff yet. Would you believe me if I told you he’s died more than once? Or that he’s met a prophet who writes books about he and his brother’s lives? Oh, he also once traveled to an alternate universe where his doppelgänger was the actor who played him on a TV show. And, there was even a period of time, about a year ago, when the dreams got all fuzzy, which I later learned was because he was-“

“Soulless.” Sam finished your sentence with such gravity, it felt like the entire earth lurched beneath your feet.

“H-how did you know th-“ But even as you spoke the words, it dawned on you: that there was a reason you’d felt drawn to him, that he was in fact the answer to everything, the person you’d been dreaming of your entire life. And in that moment, you discovered that the stories were true, because your question was both interrupted and answered by a sudden onslaught of images flashing through your head, a fast-forwarded montage of every memory you’d ever dreamed, in chronological order, with the names and faces all filled in.

You doubled over and closed your eyes as Sam’s life replayed itself in your mind, unaware that you were panting loudly and clutching at your head until his beautiful yet distraught voice faded back into the forefront.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong? Are you OK?!”

Sam’s hand instinctively reached out for you, but when it made contact with your arm, his brain was instantly flooded with moving images of a young girl, developing rapidly into the woman standing in front of him through what must have been every momentous memory he’d been denied the privilege of seeing, forcing him to recoil and mirror your startled stance.

So when you finally reopened your eyes, it was to see Sam bent nearly in half, close-eyed and open-mouthed, while big hands grasped at the luscious mane on his head.

“Guess I should be the one asking you that,” you laughed, but the way his chest visibly rose and fell when he straightened back up made you feel breathless again, “Did you just-“

“Yeah,” he exhaled, shutting his eyes once more before blinking repeatedly, as if he could still see the images, “And I’m guessing you also-“

“Yeah,” you parroted, glancing up at Sam with an awestruck expression that unwittingly floored him with its beauty, “I can’t believe this is happening.”

The elaborate fortress you’d built around your heart and soul after an entire lifetime of facing scorn and neglect and repugnance from nearly everyone around you had effortlessly dissolved at his touch, and as you fully came to terms with the giant revelation before you, something within you gave way, letting every emotion you were feeling appear written across your face.

“You’re real?” Your whispered words sounded just as much a statement as they did a question, though in reality, they might have been a plea.

Taking a small, wary step toward him as your eyes flickered between his, your hand – with a mind of its own – slowly reached up to embrace his chiseled jaw, and your lips were incapable of resisting their joyous quirk when his light stubble tickled your palm and the skin beneath it proved warm and solid.

His long fingers wrapped around your wrist reverently, “Yeah, baby, I’m real.”

Your breath hitched at the gorgeous depth of his voice. “How are you real? And so fucking gorgeous?” you breathed, fingers dancing across his cheekbones before reveling in the silky softness of his hair, “And tall? I mean, I kinda guessed you’d be on the above average side with the way most people look up at you in your memories but jeez... You’re perfect.” Your body moved on its own accord as it traveled the short distance to anchor itself against his, wasting no time to pull him down and kiss him with every ounce of ‘you’ you could muster, to which Sam instantly and eagerly responded.

It was easily the best kiss of your life, decades worth of anticipation that balanced a delicate pendulum swaying between hope and desperation, combined with the fierce love you already felt for this impossibly perfect man poured through you until it found its release in Sam’s mouth.

He slid his fingers into the hair behind your neck, cradling the back of your head, while his other massive hand settled in the valley of your waist, pulling you snug into him until you could feel the lines of his abs. “You’re pretty damn perfect yourself. Been dreaming of this since I saw you step outta that damn car.”

“Yeah?” The single, slightly smug word was all you could articulate.

“Fuck yeah, that’s why seeing you with Garth felt like such a cruel joke, especially since I’d never had a single dream of your memories until I touched you just now, so there was no way for me to gauge anything.”

“Right, I guess I should’ve been more alert, but I figured brothers hunting together wasn’t all that uncommon. Can’t believe I couldn’t smell the co-dependency though,” you giggled but Sam shut you up with a swift kiss. “Mm, well now that you have seen some of my memories, what do you think?”

“I think you’re everything I could’ve possibly dreamt up and more.”

“Wow. I didn’t take you for the cheesy type,” you deadpanned.

“I’m just being honest.” Sam’s dimples broke through with a mirthful smile and already you knew they‘d become one of your favorite things in this world and beyond.

Biting your lip, you nodded, “OK, well in the spirit of honesty, I have to tell you that it was way more arousing to see you make those monster kills in that director’s cut in my head than to dream about it from your perspective.”

Sam’s smile turned into a smirk, “Yeah?”

You trailed your hands down his impressive torso, relishing every ridge and groove, mapping out the thick cords of his long neck, grazing the taut nipples beneath his cotton t-shirt, and lingering within the deep trenches of his V-line as you made your way down to the waistband of his jeans. Hooking your fingers into his belt loops, you tugged him toward you with a force that seemed to both surprise and excite him, if his quiet grunt and darkened pupils were any indication. “Fuck yeah,” you echoed before pushing your lips back against his.

Having waited much too long for this, you couldn’t hold back. Sam must’ve felt similarly because he pushed back just as hard, until you were forced to grip him tighter, digging your fingers into his muscled back just to hold on. His own fingers applied a similar pressure to your butt cheeks, squeezing them with a rough hunger that only spurred you on more.

But just as your tongues began to get acquainted – though it felt more like lovers reuniting after an unspeakably long and unbearable period of time – Sam somehow managed to retreat an inch from your hold, hissing through his teeth with crinkled brows and closed eyes. His chest heaved into yours a few times before he spoke, sounding about as regretful as you felt, “Wait… Maybe we shouldn’t do this. I’ve already ruined your life by being your soulmate. I can’t be good for you.”

“Sam, you do realize that our souls are literally bound together, right? And there’s nothing you could say or do that would make me stay away now that I’ve finally found you.”

“Y/N, I started the apocalypse!” Sam swore it took almost as much willpower to untangle himself from you as it had to overpower Lucifer in that godforsaken cemetery. He backed up in fear that your pull was stronger at closer distances, though he still couldn’t look at you, choosing an unfocused spot on the speckled floor to eye instead, as the shame and guilt began to cloud his mind.

“No, you thought you were saving the world!” you countered immediately, feeling the fiery mass of restrained ire you’d been carrying inside you for years blaze alight, as if with the click of a switch, “And then you did! By risking and sacrificing everything! Not to mention there were sixty-five other seals that had nothing to do with you!”

“Well how 'bout the fact that I was addicted to demon blood?” Sam’s voice grew louder. There was nothing like recounting his own sins to get him fired up. “I had a sexual relationship with a demon! Surely, you’re not OK with that?!”

With a scoff, you dismissed him, “You think people don’t have sex before they find their soulmates? I mean, yeah, it was a weird thing to dream about, but I’ve always felt what you felt, remember? So I know it started because you were desperate to save Dean and I know the weight of the grief you were feeling when you were with her. I know how you thought you were helping people by exorcising demons instead of killing their meatsuits. I know all of it. You can’t scare me off, Sam!”

While he was finding it surprisingly hard to dispute your claims, true to his Winchester genes, Sam was much too stubborn to give up. You were brilliant and beautiful and deserved so much more than anything he had to offer. “What about all the things I did when I was soulless?” he tried again.

But you had a retort on the ready for that one as well. “Sam, don’t you get it by now? That was out of your control. The same way you wouldn’t blame someone for all the things they do when they're possessed. Besides, as your soulmate, I’m not too concerned about your douchey behaviour when you were literally missing your soul.”

That seemed to shut him up, but the confliction swirling within his prismatic eyes told you he wasn’t convinced. “Look,” you sighed, “you always think you’ve got this darkness inside you, that you’re not ‘clean’… but you are.”

As you let that sink in, you smiled to yourself, “You know, you and Garth actually have that in common: you’re both good to the core. You’re clean, Sam. You’re the cleanest, purest soul I’ve ever known, but baby, you’re not normal.” Shaking your head apologetically, you resisted the temptation to kiss that disbelieving, forlorn look off his face. “I know you’ve always wanted to be but you’re anything but. I mean, you saved the fucking world, Sam! When the world has done nothing to deserve you. You suffered nearly two centuries of torture by the devil himself to save it, and not only did you never get any acclaim, but the whole thing has left you racked with wrongful blame and unreasonable guilt!? And I know you don’t think you do, but baby you have every goddamn right to be mad, to be furious.”

Your soulmate’s ridiculously puppy-like gaze almost had you leaping to wrap him up in your arms, but you willed yourself to continue, “But in the end, all the bullshit crap you took didn’t make you jaded; it didn’t make you violent or vengeful or bitter. No, you turned it into love, and strength, and empathy. You still care so deeply, still carry on saving everyone you can, still manage to find hope. Fuck, Sam, you’re the only reason I kept fighting. Cause I figured if you could do it, then I had no fucking excuses. You were always my light! There’s gotta be a reason we’re soulmates. I know you never felt the bond but I-”

Sam’s lips cut yours off with a forceful kiss, the first one he’d truly initiated and my god did it feel good. So good that you weren’t even embarrassed when you let out a soft whine as he pulled away tragically soon. At least his hands were still cupping your face.

“I did. I did feel the bond,” he declared, forehead resting on yours so you could feel the truth of his words through his breath on your skin, “I knew you were mine the moment I saw you, but I tried to push it down because I thought you were with Garth and every time I tried to reach out… you shot me down with that look.”

“What look?” Your fingers found their way to his thick and vascular forearms for it seemed unwise not to touch him whenever you were given the chance.

“You know, that get back stare.”

“A get back stare?” You pulled away slightly to shoot him a somewhat amused, questioning glance.

“Yeah, it was really hot but also very off-putting when you’re trying to get to know your soulmate.”

Rolling your eyes playfully, you suppressed your laugh into a smile, “Well, it’s not my fault I’ve had to learn to defend myself and my misunderstood soulmate from nearly everyone in the world. And sometimes that means playing offence,” you admitted with a shrug.

Said soulmate’s giant hands glided down your arms to take hold of your significantly smaller hands, and his eyes, teeming with resolve and vivid remorse, were fixed on you as he said, “Well, I hope you know you don’t have to anymore now that you’ve got me.”

Sam was undeniably surprised and frankly a bit hurt when you snorted a chuckle in response, “Yeah, I highly doubt that. If anything, I might become more menacing.”

Though he didn’t pull away, you could tell by his expression that you’d bruised a somewhat masculine part of his ego. Sighing at his misinterpretation, you dropped one of his hands in favor of grasping the other with both of yours, fiddling with his gorgeous fingers as you began, “Hey, just because you’re all big and strong doesn’t mean you can’t also be a victim or ever need protection. You’ve been abused, Sam. And not just by the devil and every other monster. Sometimes the worst of it came from the people in your life, and I swear to god, there were times when I wanted to rip them to pieces!”

You looked down when you felt his free hand land on yours, its thumb running gentle circles along your skin that instantly calmed you and made you aware of how tight your grip had grown around his fingers. When you lifted your gaze again, Sam’s features were alight with awe, staring at you as if he were shocked that anyone could ever love him so much. It brought you back to how adorably sweet he’d been when you first met, not even twenty-four hours ago. That humble and innocent demeanor had led you to assume he couldn’t be your soulmate, the one who’d been through hell and back.

“I still don’t understand how you seem so… well-adjusted. I mean, after everything you’ve been through and never getting a chance to properly recover from or even address all the trauma.”

He raised your conjoined hands and kissed your knuckles while smiling softly at you. “It hasn’t been all that bad… you’re making me sound way more heroic than I really am.”

“Sam, your life was a prophecy from the very beginning, but you changed it. It was your destiny to destroy the world, but instead you saved it. Do you not realize how incredible that is?” Catching the glassy look in his beautiful eyes, you hurried to change the mood. This day would undoubtedly become one of the most important in your lives and you didn’t want to commemorate it with tears, so you released his hands and wound your arms around his neck, pressing yourself against him as you lowered your voice to ask, “Or how sexy?”

Your soulmate closed his eyes and breathed you in, strong arms automatically pulling you closer, until his nose caressed your cheek, “Fuck, what did I do to deserve you?”

“Do you want me to recap the things I just said, or do you want a comprehensive list of it all? Because that might take a while and I really wanna kiss you again,” you moaned across his jaw.

“Yeah, me too,” Sam exhaled into your skin before your mouths met in a passionate exchange of love and acceptance. This time, it was completely mutual and felt like a dream come true in every sense of the saying. What’s more, kissing your soulmate felt like a big ‘fuck you’ to the rest of the world, it felt like celestial invincibility and dazzling euphoria. But most importantly, it felt like home, and you never wanted to leave.

Though he still found it hard to believe this was really happening, Sam knew he could never let you go now. He just didn’t have it in him. Kissing you felt like rapture, better than any high demon blood could grant him and infinitely more satisfying. There was a healing component as well, as if the simple touch of your lips could cleanse him of his wrongdoings and wipe away his self-contempt. All his life, he questioned what it was he’d fought so hard for, and this was it, right here in his arms.

Even within his boggled mind, one thought rang consistently clear: that you and this bond you shared must be cherished. So Sam kept the kisses slow, deep, and sensual as he backed you up into the wall, pressing a large hand against it to temper your blow. Wet and wanton slurping sounds filled the room, interspersed with muffled moans and shortened breaths. His soft lips and talented tongue wouldn’t release you until his lungs were begging for air, forcing him to pant into your mouth as he gazed down at you with unrestrained wonder.

You stared up at him with an equivalent expression as you caught your breath, that stunning, miniscule trace of a smile he’d first seen you giving Garth, now pointed at him and loaded with a whole other level of fondness.

Wordless communication must’ve been a part of your soulmate connection for the two of you seemed to know exactly how to move together, where to touch, and how to feel, like you’d been doing this since the beginning of time. Sam believed every nerve in his body sparked to life as you hooked a leg behind his knee and pulled him close, so close that each bulging curve of him pressed seamlessly into each gorgeous nook of you.

The loudest harmony of moans yet pierced the air and reverberated through him, and Sam knew right away that he would spend lifetimes chasing that sound. He felt himself respond in ways he never knew possible as your lips moved from his jaw to his collar bone, and your delicate little hands roamed eagerly across his shoulders and back.

“Mmm, it makes sense that you’re so big though,” you mused into his heated skin.

“Oh yeah, why’s that?” Sam couldn’t hide the smirk in his voice.

“How else would you fit all that bravery-“ you paused to plant a kiss on his upper chest and continued to work your way up his neck after every subsequent word, “compassion… strength… forgiveness… devotion… and love?” This time his lips met yours in a tender kiss. “Not to mention brains.”

Sam was dizzy with joy. He had never felt so loved, so understood, or so appreciated. “You know, I’m starting to think we were made for each other?” Your smile stretched so big against his own, he wanted to drown in this moment forever. “And you know you’re incredible too, right?” Brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, he chuckled at your suddenly bashful disposition, such a stark contrast to all those glares you’d sent him throughout the day. “Baby, you’re so strong. I mean, at least I almost always had Dean. You were alone practically all your life, thrust into this world you knew nothing about, with no one to teach you or guide you, and yet... Garth tells me you’re one hell of a hunter. And even if I hadn't seen those badass memories, just with the way you pulled that gun and holy water on me earlier, I’d be very inclined to believe him,” Sam joked.

It earned him a subtle roll of your beautiful eyes and a loving peck. “Well that’s not exactly true because I did kind of have someone to teach me… in my dreams. You might even say I learned from the best,” you whispered seductively whilst leaning up on your toes to run your nose across his cheekbone and your fingers through his hair.

Closing his eyes at the feeling of your gentle nails along his scalp, Sam released a content sigh as his hands found their way to your hips, squeezing lightly. “You know, you’re probably gonna get even more shit from all those people for actually being with me?”

“Screw all of them. They don’t understand that my soulmate isn’t just the boy with demon blood; he’s the man who saved the fucking world.” Your words were a low growl in his ear, and he just about jumped when he felt you rubbing up against his crotch to emphasize them.

“Oh fuck! Ungh, you really know how to talk me up, you know that?”

“We’ll see about that,” you answered with a wink.

And that was why when daylight rolled around, bringing with it a chipper Dean and the scent of bacon, both were greeted with the sight of Sam half seated on the table against the wall with you stood before him, chests nearly melded together and legs intermingled, both topless and groaning the other’s name.

“Oh, come on!”

The wafting aroma of breakfast had done nothing to alert you of Dean’s presence and you gave a little yelp at the abrupt outburst while Sam’s bulky arms hastily wrapped themselves more securely around your back, pressing you tighter to his chest in an attempt to hide yours. You huffed a laugh and nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck and Sam couldn’t help but smile at how right it felt to hold you in his arms, in spite of the awkward circumstances and pending conversation.

Before he could answer his brother, however, Garth walked in, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he peered up at the unfolding scene. “What’d I miss?”

TEAM IDJITS: @mrswhozeewhatsis @carryonmywaywardbucky @swiftlymoniquesblog @moosewinchester @sams-sass @thinkinghardhardlythinking @jotink78 @winifrede @writingforthelonelysoul @turtletaylor98 @lyarr24 @deanwanddamons @peridottea91 @allys-creative-bubble @idreamofplaid @samsgirl2020 @katwed @asgoodasdancingqueen @austin-winchester67 @nerdyfangirl67 @fangirlxwritesx67

TEAM MOOSE: @mind-of-a-girl @samfreakingwinchester @regainedworld @sam-winchester-love44 @maddiebwrites

@lovealways-j

please let me know if you’d like to be added/removed/moved :)

#sam winchester x reader #sam x reader #spnfluffbingo2021 #spnmixedbingo #girl next door's make me feel bingo #samwinchesterbingo #1kClassicRockChallenge #swiftly300followerscelebration #sam winchester fic #soulmate au #sam winchester angst #sam winchester fluff #supernatural x reader #spn #fanfiction #bitter sam girl #love letter to sam #my writing #text

658 notes · View notes

quilna · 2 years

Note

HI!!! I just found your tgs shadow/persona au and I love it!! Do you have any other content/info of it? My brain can't stop thinking about it, it's such a cool au!! Also love all the art you've made for the au/just your art in general! Your art style is so funky and I love the way you do shading and how theres so much emotion in the expressions you draw!

Aaaaaaaa Thanks so much!!!!

And also thank you for activating my trap card by asking about my daydream au because I have way too much information. This is about to get very long and not very proof-read.

Setup

The au starts with Jekyll doing his canon experiment to try to split himself into good and evil. He mixes together the concoction, he takes a deep breath, he drinks it and is wracked with the most terrible pains.

Yet, as the pains subside, nothing has changed except a lighter, more free sensation. He's happy again but with no explanation as to why or what truly happened to him.

Jekyll's only theory is that his experiment was a success but his evil has gone missing.

Meanwhile, in another world born from the sea of human unconsciousness, Jekyll's shadow, the manifestation of everything in himself that he's trying to ignore, the very thing he was trying to get rid of, becomes aware for the first time.

Looking around at the Palace surrounding him, Jekyll's shadow realizes that he doesn't need to stick around and ditches, running freely around the other world doing whatever he pleases.

On it’s own, this could have been fine but Jekyll’s experiments unsettled the delicate balance between worlds and, the longer it remains, the more dangerous it becomes. (Also, maybe it summoned a god or something because all the persona games I know end with the main characters fighting a god of some kind. It’s tradition by this point.)

A few years later, Frankenstein shows up, the exhibition is around the corner, and the ruined balance begins to show its effects.

As a result, people close to Jekyll one by one begin to experience the other world as a new 25th hour in the day, starting with the very closest people to Jekyll - Lanyon and Rachel.

As Jekyll’s closest and the person he has the most confusing feelings for, Lanyon is gifted with the power of the wildcard - the ability to use multiple persona.

The two of them wake up in the middle of the night to a changed world, filled with monsters and no other people to help. The pair latch onto each other as the only company in this strange new nightmare world and run for their lives.

However, they manage to stumble into a seeming safe zone - a strange garden filled with small animals.

And strangest of all, another Rachel.

Rachel’s Palace

Although the existence of a doppelganger is creepy, the pair are grateful for any kind of safety. The other Rachel is friendly and sweet. She offers them both a sanctuary from the monsters outside and promises to help them get back home however she can.

There is just one firm rule. The animals that she cares for are not to be touched and Lanyon and Rachel both quickly learn that she is violently protective over them.

Even if she’s sweet though, the original Rachel instinctively hates her guts. It’s not just the face-sharing either, it’s some far deeper discomfort running under the surface. Yet, the alternative is monsters so she’s willing to play nice for a while.

The pair explore around for a while and find out things about this garden. The animals, for instance? Each and every one of them is dressed like someone Rachel knows. Even shares a few of their mannerisms.

There are a group of animals that are bigger and scarier than the others like wolves, panthers, and lions protecting the smaller ones. Rachel recognizes their clothes look like members of the Forty Elephants, lead by Lucy, Patrin, and Elsie.

And then there’s the small bird cages, containing what the other Rachel calls painful memories. Please don’t open those.

During all of this, original Rachel gets more and more irritable until finally, she decides she’s had enough. She stands up and opens her mouth to say something.

But she doesn’t get the chance. Because other Rachel stiffens at that exact moment.

One of the animals has been hurt and her accusation quickly falls on Lanyon and Rachel, the only people there.

Lanyon insists that they didn’t touch the animals but Rachel is too ticked off with the other Rachel and quickly gets into a verbal fight with her about the accusations. At last, the other Rachel takes her away to speak with her, leaving Lanyon alone.

He doesn’t know what to do. He can’t go home without Rachel but whatever was going on between those two felt like more than a normal squabble. Worse, the garden has become aggressive towards him now. The larger animals that protected the garden have now turned on him and he doesn’t know what to do.

Until, out of nowhere, he awakens to his persona and is given a way to protect himself.

As he defeats the wave of animals attacking him and he’s trying to catch his breath, suddenly a strange new person appears, curious by his abilities.

Lanyon is instantly wary of this person. For one, he has the same yellow eyes as the fake Rachel. Secondly, the stranger admits that they were the one who accidentally hurt the animal. The stranger gets defensive about it, claiming that he only touched the animal and only because it looked like someone he knew. As it turns out, the animals aren’t only small but as fragile as glass - even the slightest touch cracks them.

The stranger introduces himself as shapeshifter known as Edward Hyde and explains to Lanyon how this world works. He tells him about shadows, explains that the world around them is how Rachel sees her world - as fragile and needing of her protection. Explains to him that shadows and their original hosts don’t tend to get along very well. (”Or maybe I’m just projecting.” Hyde hums to himself.) If they don’t save Rachel soon, her shadow might kill her.

So, off the pair of them go. Lanyon acts as offense with his new ability, Hyde acts as the information (and occasionally kicks shadows in the face. He doesn’t have a persona but he does have the power of kicking.)

They find Rachel and shadow Rachel. Rachel denies to her shadow that they’re the same person, shadow Rachel goes berserk, a boss fight ensues ending with Rachel finally accepting that the two of them are one and the same.

And so, Rachel gains her own persona.

Lanyon introduces her to Hyde and she instantly warms up to him.

Yet, they can’t stay, as Hyde explains. The hour is ending and, if they don’t leave the palace by the time the hour ends, they’ll be trapped there until the next 25th hour.

The two hurry out of the garden into the monster infested outside and, sure enough, the hour ticks over and they find themselves home at 1 in the morning.

However, to Rachel’s horror, Hyde didn’t come with them. He’s still in that monster infested other world.

Other palaces

I haven’t fully decided on the other palaces yet or which shadows they face but they definitely keep going through palaces, saving the new people who fall into the other world and get snatched up by their shadows.

Frankenstein definitely has to be one of them though I haven’t fully decided what I want her palace to be. So far I’ve considered her palace being a disease-ridden prison because of how she views London and her treatment there. Though I’ve also considered an isolated icy castle.

Jekyll also gets a palace but his is later in.

Personas

Personas are another thing where I haven’t decided on them for everyone. The only ones I have so far are Lanyon having his persona be Sherlock (because of him investigating the truth in canon) and Jekyll having the persona of Romulus (Aka, a leader type character with a twin who he squabbled with)

Further than that, though, I have no ideas.

Jekyll’s Palace

Jekyll’s palace comes in a little later, after the group has already picked up a few people. It takes the form of a circus.

Over the course of the adventure, the group passes Jekyll’s palace a few times on the way to other palaces but they never go in. Partially to respect Jekyll’s privacy, partially to avoid fighting more shadows than they need to, and partially because Hyde is weirdly adverse to that particular palace. And, as someone who knows the other world very well, Hyde would know quite well which palaces are the dangerous ones.

Yet, as Jekyll’s health decays in the real world from Frankenstein, from the exhibition, from the secrets that everyone around him seems to be keeping, and a sudden new doubt in him about his old experiments with their complete lack of physical evidence that they worked, Robert gets worried and decides to sneak in alone for a peek.

However, he is surprised to find that Jekyll is missing. The place has fallen into disrepair without its leader, crawling with monsters with nobody keeping them in check.

He quickly leaves, perturbed by his findings.

It isn’t long after this that Jekyll finally falls into the 25th hour and the group have to go to save him from his own palace and, supposedly, from his own shadow. Hyde is violently against the idea, wanting to leave Jekyll alone there to die, but he’s quickly outvoted and the group venture inside.

The further they go in, the more the group starts to notice Hyde acting erratically. He starts to wander off on his own, muttering to himself about things, starting to act less like himself and more like... an actual shadow..?

At long last, the ball finally drops when they run into the cognitive version of Lanyon. Cognitive Lanyon has been searching hard for the circus’ missing ringleader and, as it turns out, took the real Jekyll temporarily as a replacement. After all, he’s close enough.

Yet, when he lays eyes on Hyde, he grabs Hyde immediately. Demands to know what he thought he was doing running away? He has a duty here, he can’t just ditch that.

“Oh, did you really think that little face-changing trick of yours could work on me?” Cognitive Lanyon asks, poking Hyde hard.

Before their eyes, everyone watches Hyde change shape in Lanyon’s grip, twisting and changing until, dangling there in Lanyon’s grip is no longer Hyde.

It’s Jekyll’s shadow.

“After all, I was the one who taught you that trick.”

With that, Cognitive Lanyon takes Hyde away to take his place in the circus, leaving the group confused and alarmed by this turn of events.

The group quickly hurry after, finding Jekyll and Hyde in the same place, both brought there by cognitive Lanyon.

In such close proximity to his original, Hyde goes full shadow, telling Jekyll exactly what sort of person he is, shapeshifting into his friends to taunt and torment him. Jekyll denies Hyde, Hyde goes berserk, the group fight, the group succeeds.

Then, like every single time before it, Jekyll accepts that Hyde is him.

Yet, Hyde proceeds to deny him.

He’s his own person now! He refuses to go back to being Jekyll!

The group is left in bewilderment. This has never happened before - now what?

But they don’t have time to figure things out because the 25th hour ends. The palace disappears around them and they all find themselves back in the real world.

After such an ordeal, people immediately jump to checking on Jekyll to see if he’s ok.

As a matter of fact, Jekyll’s actually acting really weirdly. He keeps looking around himself like he’s never seen the real world before, seeming shocked to be out.

Everyone puts it down to the weird experience he just had. He was in a really weird other world for a pretty long time, of course he would be surprised to be in the real world again.

Unbeknownst to them, what they’re looking at isn’t actually Jekyll but Hyde in Jekyll’s body. The real world is new and strange to him.

And free from the other world that he had been trapped in so long.

Yet, as the day goes by, people quickly notice Jekyll’s erratic behaviour and eventually put together the truth of the situation.

Further than that?

Honestly, I don’t have clear ideas after that. Eventually Hyde accepts Jekyll and becomes the most loud-mouthed persona in the history of personas, taking back on his own Hyde form whenever he’s not fighting for Jekyll and ignoring Jekyll’s instructions most of the time.

I have some older posts here with a bit of outdated information (and some information that’s still relevant) and some sadly old and terrible art from 2020. However, I haven’t redone the drawings and, therefore, they’re still the best (and only) references I have.

https://lifedrake.tumblr.com/post/615090651633156096/steps-up-to-podium-clears-throat-tgs-persona

https://lifedrake.tumblr.com/post/630636943447916544/persona-au-again-feat-hydes-shapeshifting

I should redraw some of it at some point.

#tgs au #Quilna's asks #ask #shadow au

26 notes · View notes

oro-e-diamanti · 3 years

Text

Quiet Music: Scherzo (Chapter Six; Part One)

In collaboration with @bethanysnow

Dreams turn into reality on smokey breaths. Inner turmoil melts away with the touch from warm skin. Promises make the evening decisions go from complicated to deliciously easy.

Content | Fluff, slight smut warning, tw soft drugs (marijuana)

Pairing | fem!Reader x Damiano

Word Count | 4421

Taglist | @damianodavide @lizstans @unitersmoonshine @its-afucking-mess @ethaneskin @dont-let-me-drown-in-you @vampirtet @lividisuigomiti @juststalking @tabi-toast @ethan-torchio-angelo @cheese-toastie-11 @thewitchinthemountain @ethanesimp @sofckinelectric @man3skin @daddydamiano @finelinejpm @superchrystaldrug @ginny-lily @everythingisdefinitelynotfine @nientedaridere @rainbowmarta @tiaamberxx @shaunthesheesh @enjcltaire @rocketqueen @aleksanderwh0r3 @damianodavidhands @megann-duff @teatrodellavita @coven-daddy @till-you-scream-and-cry @solasullabarca @fanfictionandfluff @makapaka11 @slave4yourlove @geklutst-ei @marriedwithmarktuan @bookish0918 @mehrmonga @kanevill @butterfly-skinnylegend @lidiyabest @killerqueen1985 @ccweasley @bluscryn @deluxeplanteater @ohtorchio @messyhairday-me @bidet-and-legolas @maybanksslut @katyldamusic @fuckim-so-gay @demoiselle-en-detresse00 @petit-poussin @fedorable-killjoys @luvbadass @buttercup-beeee @navs-bhat @etaerealboyv @tryymebitch @mell-bell @fenhakwe @solacestyles @softforlukescurls @vicsangel @theimpossiblehologramtree @alina-exe @cherricola66

***

Soft skin against his fingers. A hand running down his chest to his pants. Heavy breathing filling the room. The flesh underneath him felt warm and welcoming, hot to the touch and begging for more. Her perfume filled his senses as she pulled him close. Nails running down his back. Whispers of "amore mio, just like that", "keep going,” “cara mia, vita mia, please".

A “Dami, fuck” leaving her lips as his hand started gripping her thighs. Running between them, as she threw her head back, fingers tangled in his hair, pulling on it. Biting her neck. Coaxing more moans out of him, on a mission to make him lose his mind. She was heaven on earth. Supple breasts moving with every breath as he let his mouth descend on them, one at a time, desperate to consume all of her. Kissing every inch of her, exploring her until he knew about every curve, every ridge, every little spot of her body. He wanted to know all the secrets she ever had. Drawing noises out of her that he wanted to keep hearing for the rest of his life. Her hands on his shoulders, on his back, on his arse. Pulling him further into her. Letting his mouth wander lower, getting wrapped up between her legs. She looked at him with dark eyes, nodding, and he was ready to suffocate in between her thighs.

Wait, was he actually suffocating on her thighs?

Damiano woke up with a start, face pressed deeply into the pillow, restricting his breathing in a way that was much less sexy than the one in his dream. A circle of drool had escaped his mouth and dropped onto the pillow. Well, that's embarrassing, he thought to himself.

He was in the middle of pushing himself up and out of bed, highly aware of the situation in his boxers - only to be interrupted when a knock on the door startled him. Trying to wrap the sheet around him, suddenly overly self-conscious of his state, he hastened to the door, almost tripping several times on the way. When he finally unlocked and opened it, he just about let his head appear in the opening, awkwardly hiding between the door still. Y/n’s face was painted in confusion. He forgot how stunning she really was, his brain not even coming close to painting her image in his dreams.

“Yes, hi, good morning, I’m up! I’ll be down in an hour!” He was rushing to finish his sentence, not giving her a chance to reply before he let the door fall back into its lock. A deep breath out. Her face instilled in his mind like a photograph, unable to be separated from the extremely vivid dream he’d just had. He felt bad. He had essentially slammed the door in her face while wrapped up in a bedsheet. Not a very good impression considering he liked the woman behind the door. This was going to be such a long day.

***

“Why are you so awkward?” Victoria nudged Damiano as they had settled on a couch on the bus. He had been looking off since she had first seen him that morning, which was odd. Especially considering he was usually more of an early bird than the rest of them. “Sleep badly? Bad dreams? Good dreams? Or did you scare Y/n away again with another morning wood incident.”

Damiano’s face burned up as if suddenly ignited, making Victoria gasp.

“Oh my god, did you?!” She smacked his chest with her hand as she let out a gasp.

“I wasn’t even aware you knew about the first time,” Damiano mumbled, slumping down deeper into the seat. Crawling into the shirt he was wearing. Anything to get out of this conversation.

“Word travels fast on tour, you should know that by now,” she giggled, repositioning so she had her legs spread across his thighs. “So what happened?”

“I’m not going to talk about that with you,” he scoffed. Victoria’s grin only spread further, though. She was loving this side of Damiano more than she would like to admit - shy, awkward, unsure of himself. He was one of the best people she knew, an amazing frontman, a talented musician, a loyal friend. Yet with one little addition to the team he had turned into a quivering mess.

“You know I’m just going to ask Y/n what happened, right?”

“Yeah good luck with that, she didn’t even notice. At least I hope not.”

“Wait - so you hid your boner from her? I mean, at least you didn’t traumatise her again. What happened though, did you have some good times before the wake-up call?” She once again nudged him obnoxiously, loving how uncomfortable she was making him. “Did you have a wet dream? Did- Oh my god, you’re blushing, you did have a wet dream! Tell me everything! Was it hot? Did she go down on you or something? Did you see her tits?”

“Fuck off Victoria, I’m not telling you anything, now stop! It’s no like-”

“Hi! Attention, everyone! I know it's early and everyone is probably still asleep. But - announcements! That includes you Thomas,” Y/n said pulling the curtain of the guitarist’s bunk back so he could listen too.

Victoria noticed how their assistant didn’t seem spooked by Damiano’s presence at all - it seemed like he had been right after all. She hadn’t noticed a thing. If only those two would stop playing cat and mouse and finally do something, anything, she thought.

"Now, I know we're all excited about going to Amsterdam today, and I'm not looking at anyone in particular here," she explained as she shot a pointed look at Damiano that no one missed. "But I have one ground rule: no weed before the show. You got tomorrow off, so whatever you do after the performance tonight is none of my business. But god help you if I find you with a joint in hand any time before that."

She smiled, but Victoria had no doubts she would be deadly serious if it came to it. Y/n passed out a map of the local area, highlighting the Leidseplein in the middle of town, and in red circles were the venue, the hotel they were staying at, restaurants, and several coffeeshops, all within easy walking distance.

“Do with that what you like,” she concluded. ”As long as you do it after the show.”

***

The band had gotten to the venue straight after lunch, excitedly discussing some new covers they were thinking about playing that night. Soundcheck consisted of a number of conversations all at once, trying to figure out how to change the setlist. Damiano found himself participating less, instead, staring down at Y/n sitting in the audience. She was busy writing in her notebook, the seats next to her taken up by her bag, folders, and laptop. He knew she needed a break. They all worked extremely hard all the time, so it wasn't difficult to spot the signs of a fellow overworked person. He made it his own personal mission to get her to go out with them that night. Spend some time outside of work, see the city, anything that made her put her phone down.

As day turned to night, the concert loomed on the horizon. As soon as they hit the stage, it was clear it was going to be a good night. Amsterdam was the best kind of crazy. Going from Zitti e Buoni into Billie Eilish's Bury a Friend, the crowd went wild. Damiano noticed with amusement that Y/n was absentmindedly dancing along from her spot on the side of the stage as well. His attention had only been diverted towards her for a second, he was sure, but it was enough to suddenly feel something hit his head. Soft, red fabric.

"Was wondering when the first of those would come around," Damiano chuckled into the microphone in between songs, swinging the bra around a few times, before draping it across his mic stand.

Yet as much as the energy of the audience rubbed off on the band, all of them felt like collapsing after the show, feeling like they'd given it more than their all. A perfect chance to unwind for the night, in a way only Amsterdam really knew how. It was legal, after all.

***

“I am absolutely not getting high with you lot.”

Everyone was gathered in Y/n’s hotel room more or less uninvited. It seemed like they were dying to drag her along on what was supposed to be one of the best nights out on that tour. After getting ready, they had simply stormed in as soon as she had opened her hotel door. Now they were perched on her bed, her desk, and her armchair, trying to convince her.

“I gave you all a map to see where you could go. I, for one, would like to stay in my room, just me and my bed, and sleep till my alarm in the morning. That sounds like a brilliant time in my book.”

“Boring!” Thomas shouted, hurling a pillow from the bed at her that she quickly caught and threw back with much less force.

“If you come out with us, we’ll be ready before your wake-up call for the rest of the week!” Victoria tried to bribe.

“If you come out with us, we’ll have breakfast ready for you every day!” Y/n shot a look at Thomas, knowing fully well this was not going to happen. The idea alone made her laugh.

“If you come out with us, you can keep me company while the other three go crazy?” Ethan finally offered. She knew she was close to giving in, no matter how wrong it seemed to blur the lines between working relationship and friendship. She barely even agreed to drinks when she was on the job, and technically, she considered herself to be on the job 24/7. Yet these four had grown close to her heart so much more than anticipated.

Out of nowhere Damiano appeared next to her, slinging his arm around her shoulder. The way his fingertips brushed her neck as he did so left goosebumps. “Come on, darling, I promise I’ll take care of you.”

It turned out, that was all she had needed to hear.

***

The coffeeshop didn’t differ much from the usual pubs and bars; people stuffed in every corner, a low murmur of talk with the occasional loud laughter over the music playing in the background, tables full of glasses and bottles. Only the smoke lingering in the air, its distinct smell, and the relaxed atmosphere let on that it was a slightly different kind of place. Y/n made short work of weaseling through the crowd and securing a table at the far end of the place, just enough space to accommodate all of them, as the others went to order.

“Do you want one as well?” Damiano asked as soon as he had let himself fall onto the couch next to her, already preparing to roll a joint.

“I think I’m getting a second-hand high just sitting here. Maybe take a puff of one of yours, but I won't be able to finish one myself."

Damiano nodded, licking the inside of the blanks as he prepared his joint. Victoria came bouncing in like a tidal wave - her usual fashion - and crashing into the others already sitting down. As soon as Damiano was happy with his creation, she snatched it out of his hand, making short work of lighting it and taking a drag.

“Hey, that was mine!”

“Make another one,” she grinned, obnoxiously blowing the smoke into his face. Rolling his eyes, Damiano quickly prepared another one for himself, everyone now happy and content with their smokes, until only Y/n was left holding at a glass of water.

She preferred to observe the scene from her little advantage point in the corner like she so often did. The mellow music in the background was loud enough to underline the atmosphere but quiet enough to easily talk to everyone around you without having to shout. She liked this much better than loud bars in the evening. Most people were minding their own business, in small groups or pairs, some on their own. Victoria was quick to start chatting to a pair of girls sitting at the table next to them. She wasn’t going to lie - while not her usual spot, she didn’t exactly feel uncomfortable.

A hand appeared in front of her face, seemingly out of nowhere, and it took her a second to realise it was Damiano, trying to pass her his joint. She hesitated - still not convinced whether she should be smoking at all, but one look into his eyes only proved to her that she was weak to his suggestions. Parting her lips ever so slightly, she let him push the blunt between them, his fingertips grazing her. She took a drag, careful not to breathe in too much too quickly, before releasing the joint. Damiano pulled it back towards himself immediately, putting it back between his own lips, and she felt hypnotised. The moment came to an abrupt end when a cough took hold of her.

“Easy, easy,” Ethan soothed from the other side, his hand on her upper back. “Breathe.”

Everyone around the table seemed to be looking at her now, but she quickly got her composure back, holding up her hands in a gesture that was meant to signal she was fine.

“Fuck,” Y/n choked, taking a drink from her glass to wet her throat. “This is why I don’t smoke.”

“Wrong,” Thomas threw in. “This is because you don’t smoke!”

Y/n shook her head, giggling at the guitarist and the know-it-all look in his eyes.

“Up to try again?” Damiano whispered in her ear as the attention had finally ceased to be on her. She found herself staring into his eyes once again, a fluttery feeling erupting in her stomach at having him watch her so intently, at being able to capture his attention so easily.

The look on his face was enough to get her to try again. And again. And again.

She couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but for once, she genuinely didn’t care. The people around them had changed, old ones leaving, new ones arriving, but the music stayed the same. She wasn’t quite sure what the joke Thomas was telling them was about, but she found herself giggling along nonetheless. This was the best she had felt in forever.

Unaware of what she was doing, she leaned back, finding Damiano’s arms carefully wrapping around her, holding her softly. To her own surprise, she was sinking into him.

“Having fun?” He asked in a voice so low she barely heard it. A voice so soft it made her heart melt. She nodded, slightly twisting around in his embrace to look at him again. She couldn’t get enough of his face. She’d stay and study it for all of eternity if he let her.

"Have you ever seen brown zircon?” She suddenly asked out of nowhere. “It's a gemstone that looks like they made sparkly salted caramel bonbons from rock. They mine it in Tanzania, I think? Your eyes sparkle just like that." She grinned at the man beside her. "I can attest to that from this angle at least. It’s like the one scene in Aladdin! 'She's got these eyes, and this hair and…’ Ah oh god, what am I doing?" She couldn’t help but laugh at how ridiculous she was being. She found her face resting on his shoulder, completely content. His eyes never wavered from her face, listening closely to what she had to say.

Then Y/n watched her hand brush Damiano’s hair to the front, attempting to style it in a slightly different way. “Did you mean to look like Eren Yeager or was that some sort of subconscious coincidence? Not that it doesn’t look good, of course.”

“You watch Attack on Titan?” Dami looked down at her with surprise.

“No I don’t, but my friends do. So you learn the names of the people they yell at through the TV screen very quickly,” she laughed, remembering the way her friends would huddle in the living room, shouting at whatever the characters were doing wrong in their opinion.

“The more I get to know you, the more I’m convinced you’re my kinda woman, you know?” he mumbled, a smile grazing his lips. The more she looked at him, the more she felt her brain shutting off and her heart taking over. Or was it the high? She wasn’t interested in trying to differentiate.

Once again, he pushed the joint between her lips, holding the eye contact and it felt so much more intimate than it should have. It felt like her nerves were on fire. When he pulled his hand back again, she wanted to grab onto it, keep him in place, keep the moment.

I could stay in this forever, Y/n thought to herself.

"Also, I'm not religious by any means, but whatever God was responsible for creating you sure took their sweet time doing it…" The words spilled from her mouth before she realized she was talking, eyes flicking back and forth between his. "You know?"

She caught herself looking at his lips. A small blush grew on her face as she looked away. Staring out into the room, out at the people sitting next to them at other tables. Something distracting to take the rising heat off.

***

Damiano could feel his defenses wearing away. All ideas of staying away completely vanished into the smoke that lulled them in as he was holding her in his arms, her back leaning against his chest. He could feel her breathing, giggling at nothing at all, or maybe something Victoria had said but he hadn’t heard.

“If anyone’s been made by the angels, it’s you, amore,” he mumbled more to himself than anything, but she had heard him. Another chuckle running through her body. The atmosphere was fogging up his brain. He watched in amusement as he let a finger run up her arms, from her wrist to her upper arm where the fabric of her shirt began, and goosebumps appeared as if standing tall in a row. He tried it again on the other arm, getting the same result.

“What are you doing?”

She was turning around in his arms, just enough to look at him without removing herself from his embrace. He wondered if it was the dim light or if she was always this radiant. His hands travelled to the elastic that was holding her hair together and carefully removed it, eyes on her. Her hair fell around her face, framing it beautifully in its typically wild manner.

“I…” Her eyes seemed to twinkle as the light of the bar reflected back at him through them. “I don’t know.”

He looked away, suddenly insecure. What was he doing? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he couldn’t keep his hands off her, now less than ever. He wanted her. Wanted her all to himself. Wanted to keep holding her like this forever. There was no denying that.

“You’re sweet.”

Her voice took a second to get through to him, but as it did, he turned his head as if in slow motion. All he had wanted to do was look at her again, but that wasn’t what happened. Instead, her lips were on his.

***

All Y/n had done was lean forward to press a kiss against his cheek. Now their lips were meeting and she didn’t know how she had gotten there. She wanted to pull back - no, actually she didn’t. But she thought she should. Though the spirit was willin - to pull away, that was -, the flesh was weak. Delving deeper into his arms, she found herself kissing him like she meant it. Her hands found his chest, feeling the rising heat from his skin. Being closer to him than ever before was driving her crazy. His soft, warm lips against hers. Just the tiniest movements, as if he was afraid of breaking her. She let herself enjoy it. For a moment. That was all her brain allowed before switching back to the rational part. She pulled back in surprise.

She moved out of his embrace, stiffening at the contact. All of the twinkling lights of romance that had just appeared around them now popped as the kiss ended.

I just kissed my boss. I just fucking went and kissed Damiano! I am so, so fucked.

Yet, she couldn't deny that she wanted to kiss him again. And again, and again until they ran out of air to breathe. She looked back at him and the expression on his face said it all. His lids lowered, a small smile appearing on his face. Eyes twinkling in the soft light. He hadn’t wanted the kiss to end either. Either that or the weed was affecting him more than she had thought.

But as cold air started to seep in between them he blinked a couple of times, only now noticing that she had pulled away.

"Sorry - about that. I was trying to- I wasn't trying to kiss you. Well, I was - but not on the mouth. That would have been very forward of me. I would never. That's not me. I don't know how that happened - sorry." Y/n rambled on, unable to stop talking.

Damiano smirked, pecking her cheek. "Y/n, it's fine, you're fine. I turned my head and we kissed. It happens." He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. As if this was some sort of common occurrence. As if she was panicking for nothing. Was she?

***

Damiano desperately tried to hide the turmoil inside of him. It happens?! Damiano, what the hell are you thinking! Not the right thing to say in this situation! Now it just looks like you’d kiss anyone, great. He looked down at his hands, fumbling with his rings. Trying to get his breathing back under control. He needed to be cool.

"I mean - not that I didn't enjoy it. You kiss good!"

You kiss good? What the? That wasn’t even English. He was well and truly losing his mind.

***

Y/n took a deep breath, sitting back in her seat, making sure not to be as close to Damiano as she had been before. Victoria and Thomas had migrated to get more drinks and Ethan was deeply entrenched in some conversation with a man next to him. Luckily the rest of the band hadn't seen what just happened. Grabbing her glass once more, the cold wet condensation gave a stark contrast to her warm skin.

The kiss still left a tingly feeling on her lips. Quickly looking at Damiano, she met his eyes. He had not looked away yet, it seemed. She watched as he bit his lip in contemplation. Whatever was playing on his mind, Y/n didn't know. His words left her believing he wasn’t quite as put together as he tried to pretend. He certainly wasn’t making much sense. Although, she wouldn’t dismiss his compliment of her kissing abilities. She wondered if he would think similarly if they did it again, or did more than that…

Her wandering thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a loud crash. The culprit was quickly spotted. The middle of the coffeeshop, which had been empty of people until then, now had Thomas lying on his front, surrounded by liquid and broken glass.

Y/n didn’t hesitate, jumping up to offer her aid. The worry only lasted for a second though, until Thomas turned on his back, giggling maniacally. She barely managed to kick some shards out of the way before he could roll onto them.

She let out a deep sigh at the state of the guitarist, before quickly apologizing to the people at the bar.

“Everyone help me grab Thomas, I think this is our sign to call it a night.”

***

Y/n thought she’d have an easy time going to sleep. The effects of the joint were lingering, plus, the day had just been plain exhausting. Yet, as her head hit the pillow, she felt restless. Her mind kept circling around Damiano. The way he had looked at her. The way he had looked in general. She had seen him basically naked at this point, but she still thought about how it would be different up close and personal. She wished she had been able to read his eyes more. Had he been thinking about the same things she had? Had he wanted to kiss her again and again, get lost in that bubbling excitement of finally being close, finally let his hands wander to new places? She wanted to pull his hair. See what kind of sound would leave his mouth when doing so.

She wanted his hands and his lips, all of him really, badly. She wanted to know what he felt like when he really kissed her. What his fingers would be able to do to her. Biting and moaning. She desperately needed some release, wishing it would come from him, but knowing there was no chance, at least not tonight. Her hand wandered between her legs as she let her mind run wild. Imagining it was him instead, letting his fingers run along the inside of her thighs, exploring every inch of her. How he would treat her just right, hit all the right spots, do so much better than her own fingers ever could. The words he’d whisper in her ear, seducing her with his mother tongue, breath fanning her skin. How he would kiss her senseless. Feeling the rhythm of their bodies take over. Watch his tattoos start to glisten with a sheen of sweat from what they would be doing.

She found her release almost embarrassingly quickly, burying her face in her pillow. Her body felt more at ease, although her heart was still craving something more. She had almost calmed down, getting her breathing back under control. In a moment of clarity, she checked her phone to see when she had to wake up the next day, when the sound of a moan caught her attention. One that definitely wasn’t her own, but seemed to come from the room next door.

Damiano’s room.

#maneskin fiction #damiano david imagine #damiano david x you #damiano david x reader #damiano david fiction #maneskin imagine #maneskin x you #maneskin x reader #quiet music #bethanysnow #mywriting

238 notes · View notes

zaffrenotes · 3 years

Text

To Ruined Friendships

Fandom: Westworld Pairing: Logan Delos x Reader Rating/Warnings: PG-13; spicy language, alcohol consumption, heavy smoochin Author's Note: This entire thing was inspired by a dream I had about one black hat cowboy who cannot for the life of him consume a drink without looking like he's going to inhale it. I tried to work on my other WIPs for an entirely different fandom, but my brain refused to focus on anyone other than Logan Delos. I don't have the energy to create a sideblog for this, so any Logan fans who happen to find this from the tags, please don't judge me for the other fandom(s) I'm in. I already know, lol. Word Count/Reading Time: +/- 2600 words (10 minutes reading)

hell if I know who to tag for this...if I ever write more and you want to get an update, leave a comment, I guess?: @the-blind-assassin-12 @ao719 @the-soot-sprite possibly @ofpixelsandscribbles @burnsoslow

Another night rubbing shoulders with the elite in a penthouse, and all you want to do is retreat into one of the half dozen empty rooms to rest your feet. Beauty always has a price, and tonight your feet were being sacrificed to the stiletto gods in the name of fashion. As a waiter weaves between guests, you deftly trade the empty crystal flute in your hand for a fresh one off their tray, the slim glass chilling your fingertips.

A tiny, imperceptible sigh slips past your lips as you look out at the wall of windows, city skyline twinkling in the distance. Glancing through the crowd, you try to find a familiar face of one of your girlfriends, when you feel someone’s fingers on your back, ghosting over the ink at the base of your spine. Over your shoulder, a warm, though somewhat world-weary voice makes your body tingle. “Hey gorgeous, I was wondering if I’d see you here tonight.”

You know he’s grinning before you even turn your head; a sly smile spreads across your painted lips when you see you were right, and you lean in to press your cheek to Logan’s in greeting. His beard tickles your face, and the movement is small, but you feel him pull you closer to him, pressing his fingertips into your smooth skin. “You know me,” you reply, gently squeezing his bicep for balance, noses nearly touching as you both move to kiss the other cheek. “Any excuse to squander part of my father’s fortune on a party dress.”

His cheek twitches up as he grins wider, and once more, the grit in his voice makes you want to find a dark corner and do unspeakable things with him. “Only you could make a napkin’s worth of fabric look like couture,” he teases, stepping back to admire your outfit. “I own pocket squares larger than what you’ve got on!” His gaze lowers appreciatively, taking you in, before settling at your feet. You shift your weight from one hip to the other; tilting your head back to take a sip of champagne, you’re surprised to see his dark eyes on you as you swallow and lower the glass. There’s a hint of something there, the way the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Been here long? Why don’t we find somewhere quiet to catch up? You can let your hair down, along with… anything else, to get comfortable.” Were it not for the playful expression in his eyes, his proposition would warrant throwing the remainder of your drink directly into his exquisite face.

But you know Logan. You’ve known him too long for the invitation to be anything but amicable, much to your dismay. You’re well aware of the caliber of women he’s taken to the bedroom, and while you consider yourself attractive enough for the circles you keep, there’s no way he would ever see you as more than just a family friend. Knowing that doesn’t keep you from stroking his ego and taunting him at every opportunity, though. “My hair’s already down,” you tease, grinning as you roll your eyes at him.

“You know what I mean,” he replies, brushing your tresses over one shoulder. His thumb lingers on the strip of silk there, slipping between the material to rest on your skin, before pulling away. “We’ve known each other for years now, you’d think there would’ve been one night of indecency.” Before you’re able to respond, he glances up, noticing one of the other guests. “To be continued,” he says, raising his brows to you. He’s already begun to walk away.

“As always,” you reply, raising your glass to him.

You catch his eye more than a few times as you both make the rounds, catching up with friends and being introduced to new acquaintances vying for a way into social circles and business ventures. He winks at you before throwing back a drink, appearing as if he’d take a bite out of the glass to get every last drop of liquid from it. You nod as you pass by him while he converses with another guest, your arm linked with a friend’s as you walk off to powder your noses. You even catch him looking at you from across the room like he wants to ask you something, but the moment disappears when he pulls his phone from his pocket to take a call.

The evening goes on much longer than you anticipated. Even with windows of interesting conversation to pass the time, you begin to grow weary of the company, drowning out a discussion around you while you stake a claim on one of the pristine white couches. Your legs are crossed in front of you, one foot dangling in the air, while the one closer to the floor looks like it’s about to snap away from the rest of your leg. You’re balancing the weight on a sliver of one side of the heels, and you gaze out at the outdoor pool, wishing you could sit by the edge and dip your feet in the cool, chlorinated water.

Scanning through the guests once more, you notice Logan at the bar. He’s in the middle of a conversation with two gentlemen, but he catches your eye, glancing over long enough to notice your legs again. He flicks his eyes upwards to the rooms, tilting his head at an angle in silent question. You scoff and shake your head, blinking slowly to dismiss his invitation, and give up your position on the couch to go to look for the bathroom. He simply smiles as you cross the room, before returning to the conversation at the bar.

You’re outside on one of the balconies, forearms resting on the brushed steel railing as you lean against metal and glass, absentmindedly staring out at the city. The cool night air feels refreshing against your skin, now warm and flushed from too much champagne and not enough food; there’s never enough food at these things, and you would sell your soul for a plate of loaded nachos or even a tiny slider. Behind you, there’s a click and a hiss from the plate glass door opening. Jovial music and conversation from inside filters through the temporary break, and you sigh to yourself in preparation of putting on your party face to make idle conversation.

“That is one hell of a view.” An all too familiar voice fills the air after the door hisses shut. Logan.

You respond without turning around to acknowledge him. “Your family sure knows how to pick a party venue, I’ll give you that.”

“We do, but that’s not the view I was talking about.”

Body warming at his suggestive tone, you turn around to see Logan’s eyes fixed on your backside, unashamed of his blatant ogling. There’s a glass tumbler in his hand, with barely a sip’s worth of what looks like whiskey in it. “There you go again, getting a girl’s hopes up,” you tease, fidgeting with your hair.

“You know you’re fucking gorgeous, especially in that dress tonight.” His voice travels as he walks over to a darker part of the balcony, swirling the remnants of his drink.

Emboldened by the alcohol still coursing through your system, you play along, walking slowly towards him. “Let me guess, next you’re going to tell me it would look even better in a pile next to your bed.” You roll your eyes at him, but your heart begins to race at the idea.

He grins warmly at you, a tendril of hair knocking loose when he tilts his head and shrugs. You want to reach forward and smooth it back in place, and run your fingers against the side of his scalp. His hair’s longer than it was before; he’s been away at the park for a longer visit this time around. His unnervingly dark eyes are practically black in the shadows, eyeing you like prey. Extending a hand towards you, he reaches for the strap on your shoulder again as if to adjust it, but instead he lifts it and lets it fall off the slope of your skin, staring at the unblemished swath of flesh before him. You feel the material fall until it rests in the crook of your elbow, thankful to be holding up a glass to keep the silk from falling away any further off your body. “A dress like this? I’d have the decency to hang it up first.” He tugs at the fabric again, pulling it up over your shoulder to return your modesty.

“Keep saying shit like that, and one of these days I might believe you.”

“Should I keep talking then?” He chuckles.

You exhale, shaking your head with disbelief. He takes another step away from where you can be seen, and you follow him. “I’m not drunk enough to take you seriously,” you scoff, looking just beyond his gaze.

Logan reaches forward again, fingers landing on the base of your glass, and he pushes it up towards your mouth. “Then by all means, take another sip,” he grins.

“Bullshit,” you utter through a nervous smile, though you don’t stop yourself from tipping the edge of the flute to your lips and tilting your head up, downing half the contents in one gulp.

“Fuck it,” he whispers.

You swallow, and effervescent bubbles tickle the length of your throat so much that it takes you a second to register feeling Logan’s lips at the juncture of your jawline and earlobe. The way his beard brushes against you as you pull the glass away from your lips makes you lose your grip, and the flute falls to the ground, shattering near your feet. You gasp with surprise, unsure if it’s from the shock of dropping the glass or from the fact that Logan fucking Delos just kissed you.

In one swift movement, Logan wraps his unencumbered hand around your waist to pivot you away from the broken glass. His drink-laden hand blindly stretches out to set the glass on the thin metal railing, and he kisses you properly this time, impossibly soft lips on your open mouth and both of his hands are on your waist. He tastes sweet, smokey and woody from the whiskey, setting your lips on fire as he kisses you. Your hands fly up to his shoulders, gripping at his suit jacket as he leads you both towards an exterior wall. The shock of the cool wall against your exposed back makes you gasp again, and you push Logan away. “What’re you doing?” Your head is swimming, blood pulsing from the alcohol and the rush of emotions as you search Logan’s eyes for an answer.

“Might be ending our friendship,” he laughs wryly. His eyes land on your lips, before looking up to meet your gaze. “Want me to stop?”

The look in his eyes is intense; two black pools stare into you, daring you to continue. You tug the lapels of his jacket, pulling him close as your pelvis tilts forward to meet his. “Finish what you start,” you whisper, Cheshire-grin giving away your desire. He kisses you again, grabbing hold of the back of your thighs as he lifts you. You spread your legs, wrapping them around his waist as he presses you up against the wall, the pair of you kissing each other like it’s your last night on earth. There’s an urgency in your actions; if there’s a moment of hesitation from either of you, the spell will break, so you ignore the burning in your lungs to kiss him again. When you feel how hard he is pressed up against you, you tilt your head back and let your eyes flutter closed. He takes it as an opportunity to swirl his tongue against your neck, and you think about feeling his tongue elsewhere on your body.

Your back presses against the wall even more, causing you to wrap your legs around his waist tighter, pinning you in place. As you utter curses of pleasure into the night air, your feet feel relief for the first time all night, weightless as you destroy any propriety that existed with Logan Delos.

You can feel the sun against your eyelids, and the soft sounds of someone typing away at a keyboard. Between the dull ache at the base of your skull and your throbbing temples, you smack your lips together a few times, grimacing at the dryness in your mouth. You turn your face into what you think is a pillow, but determine to be a fleece blanket due to its soft yet formless design. There’s a faint aroma of coffee in the air, and you hope your roommate left some in the carafe. “Dear god, don’t let me drink that much ever again,” you groan, voice strained and scratchy from dehydration. “I made a complete ass of myself in front of Logan.” A minute passes without your roommate’s usual prodding; all you hear is typing now and then. “How’d we get home?”

You’re met with more silence, but your level of irritation is nothing compared to the hangover headache growing with each passing minute of consciousness. You’re about to ask for Tylenol, when you hear the click and hiss of a glass door opening, followed by the sound of someone splashing in a pool. The apartment you share with your roommate has no access to a pool, let alone a back door made of glass. Opening your eyes feels like peeling apart pieces of tape, but with effort you blink slowly and allow your eyes to focus, trying to ignore the glare from the midday sun. You realize the fleece blanket you were resting on was your arm, nestled in the sleeve of a plush bathrobe. It was the kind of robe often seen hanging in the bathroom of high-end hotels.

“That was a side of you I haven’t seen before. Good morning, sunshine.” The voice is distinctively, impossibly Logan’s, with a new note of lightness to it that wasn’t present during last night’s party. “Care to see something interesting?”

You push yourself off the sofa slowly, adjusting the robe on you - apparently you fell asleep wearing it, and you have no idea where your dress or shoes are - and sit up. Logan’s dressed casually in black, seated at a desk a few feet away, with multiple monitors in front of him. One looks to be running code or tracking stock market activity, but he disconnects the laptop in the middle of the desk and carries it over to the couch, taking a seat next to you. There’s a video clip paused on the screen, and he waits to make sure you’re alert enough to watch, before letting it play.

The video shows a clip from the hotel’s CCTV cameras, pointed at the infinity pool. The only lights are coming from the pool walls, and the timestamp reflects it was the middle of the night, long after the party would’ve ended. There’s a naked male figure treading water matching Logan’s build, and then an undressed woman appears from the bottom edge of the frame, preparing to jump into the pool with him. You gasp, covering your mouth with one hand, making out a tattoo on her lower back - your tattoo - before cannonballing into the pool and making out with Logan just before dipping under the water’s surface.

Logan pauses the video, beaming an annoyingly adorable smug expression across his face as he resists the urge to tease you right away. Instead, he leans over, pecks your cheek, and eyes the glimpse of cleavage availed to him between the folds of your robe. “Lady’s choice - I could fuck your hangover away, or there’s coffee in the kitchen. What’ll it be?”

#logan delos #logan delos x reader #westworld #zaffrenotes writes #apparently for more than one fandom now #is this a fluke?#cw: alcohol #cw: swearing #cw: mild citrus #more than a lime but less than lemons #I love the way Ben cannot drink or eat like a normal human #it's endearing and I love him for it #chomp chomp Bennie

292 notes · View notes

hey-there-love · 4 years

Text

Apologize: The Morning After

Summary: Was it an accident waking up in Bakugo’s bed or was it grand design

Content Warning: Aged up, NSFW, 18+, Masc oral receiving, penetration, little tiny dacryphilia, AU, Adult Language, Enter at Your Own Risk

WC: 2.3K

Type: Imagine

Hot. You were unbelievably hot. You kicked your leg out from under the comforter and let it hang over the edge of the bed. The bright sunrise flooded through the cracked blinds, beating down onto your skin. Refusing to open your eyes to let the reality of being awake sink in you remained completely still. That was until you heard soft snores from your bed.

Your eyes shot open, confused on who the snores belonged to until it clicked in your head. You slowly rolled your head over to make sure. This wasn’t your bed or your room. This was Bakugo’s.

Shit!

You internally screamed. You had never shared a bed with him before. Spending the night was more intimate than what you did in the dark. It brought everything into a different light. A light that you weren’t ready to confront.

You took a minute to admire the sleeping being infront of you. There he laid, blonde hair splayed against the pillow and his forehead. His smooth face was illuminated by the sunny glow. Not a furrow or frown line in sight. Slightly parted rose colored lips blew small puffs of air. He looked peaceful, angelic almost.

Your chest felt tight, feeling guilty for gawking at him while he rested blissfully. Memories flooded into your brain from the night before. The dull ache between your legs was a reminder of your actives. You came to the realization that you loved this boy, you couldn’t deny it anymore. You had to escape before you languished in your thoughts any longer.

You quietly sat up and threw your legs over the side of the bed. You were ready to run as soon as your feet hit the ground. You felt Bakugo’s hand reach up and grab your wrist gently. “You’re not leaving are you?” His husky voice rang through you ears. You had been caught.

You turned your head slightly to meet his eyes. His once hard, crimson glare was different. Now they were soft, searching for something. It made you melt. You mentally cursed before saying, “No...just brushing my teeth.”

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly and released your wrist. “Proceed.” Bakugo stated. You reached inside your bag and pulled out your toothbrush.

Hastily, you retreated to the bathroom and shut the door. Leaning against the counter you took a ragged breath. Your head hurt. You were aggravated with yourself that you came to your deduction in his presence instead of the privacy of your own thoughts. A place where you could sift through it all and try to make sense of your feelings. As much as you wanted to run, you also wanted to go fall back into Bakugo’s waiting arms and snuggle into him.

You inspected yourself in the mirror, utterly grossed out with how you were presented infront of him. However, you didn’t mind falling asleep in his trademark black shirt and briefs. You threw some water on your face and scrubbed the smudged mascara from under your eyes. While brushing your teeth, you worked diligently to finger rake the tangles out of your hair.

“Oi, hurry up. You’re not the only one with shitty breath.” Bakugo’s muffled voice came from the other side of the door. You flung the door open, revealing the man in a pair of black sweats that hung off of his waist deliciously.

“Wow.” You sighed. He shot you a confused, sideways look. “Your breath really does stink. I can smell it from here.” You grinned and poked the flesh of his cheek.

Bakugo’s face lit up red before saying, “Shut up before I melt your eyebrows with it.” You crinkled your nose in response and moved out of the bathroom. You laid back into his bed and awaited his return.

When the door opened, you were aware that the Bakugo you were used to still wasn’t present. His stance wasn’t rigid like normal, it was light and airy. The tension he always carried was gone. It was different, a good different. He slid back into bed under the covers next to you, his arm slinking around your waist to pull you closer.

Delicate kisses were littered across your neck, tickling you. You bit your lip to suppress your giggles. It didn’t work. “Love that sound.” He smiled and continued to pepper them along your collarbones. Bakugo’s long fingers began to poke at your sides, earning more giggles.

“Stop it, we’re going to wake up Kiri!” You whinned, attempting to grab his arms to stop the assault. This only made him work faster. Your ribs were burning with the pain of laughter.

“Can’t wake someone up if they’re not here!” Bakugo hollered and laid ontop of you, making sure there was no easy getaway. Deciding that you couldn’t flee safely another idea came into mind.

You grabbed his jaw and pulled him towards you, landing a slow kiss on his lips. This halted his actions, instead his hands moved to prop himself up. You bit his lip lightly, earning a groan in response. You throughly enjoyed the noises he made. Maybe this sleeping over thing wasn’t half as bad as you made it out to be.

His hand slid down to the briefs you adorned, toying with the band that laid across your skin. You lifted your hips slightly, not breaking the kiss. Bakugo slid the underwear down your hips to your knees before taking a finger to play with your clit. Hushed noises escaped your throat to his lips.

His finger slowly made its way inside, collecting the slick to bring it back to your clit. Bakugo rubbed back and forth leisurely before continuing to pay attention to your core. He thrusted two fingers in, making your back arch from the bed.

“Your pussy is so perfect, Y/N.” He groaned, pulling down the briefs with his free hand and freed your legs. “What if I just cockwarmed myself for a little while...” Bakugo trailed off as he curled his fingers, drumming against the spongy spot inside of you.

You nodded quickly, before connecting your lips with his. You could feel his grin against your mouth as he slid off his sweats, freeing his dick. You instantly grabbed it and began to stroke his length. Bakugo replaced your hand with his before looking into your eyes. “Can I? I’ll put a condom on in a minute I swear.”

You had never had Bakugo raw before. You contemplated for a moment. You weren’t as worried because you both had been very open about your health and he revealed he wasn’t with anyone else in a long time. Plus, you were on the pill. You licked your lips slightly before answering, “Okay, you can Katsuki.”

That’s all it took. Bakugo began to tease your heat slowly with the tip. Sliding up and down to dampen himself with your slick. He finally aligned himself with you and pressed in slowly. It was a foreign feeling being skin to skin. “Shit, you feel so amazing.” He hissed, sinking himself into you. Pretty soon you were completely filled with his dick.

Bakugo pulled you into a tight embrace and rested his head against yours. Your walls fluttered around him as you adjusted to the new sensation. “Holy fuck, so good.” You moaned wrapping your arms around him, enjoying the new level of closeness. You had never felt more safe.

“Mhm, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to feel you like this baby.” Bakugo whispered and planted a kiss against your cheek. Time seemed to slow down. You tried to blissfully enjoy being in the moment with him, but your arousal grew immensely. You wanted more. You needed more.

“Please, move Katsuki.” You begged, moving your hips to urge him.

“Only for a few.” He murmured, drunk on your velvety walls. His thrusts began short and swallow. Making sure to map out each crevice and rib inside of you. Your whimpers were music to his ears.

You ran your hands through his hair, gingerly pulling at the roots. The Bakugo that was nestled between your thighs was new. It was Katsuki.

You wanted to treat him for once, make him feel like he deserved to be treated like he walked on air. You placed your hand on his chest, lightly pushing him to lie on his back. “What are you doing baby?” He whinned at the loss of contact between you.

“Switching things up.” You responded, straddling his waist. He folded his arms behind his head and gave you a smirk indicating for you to start. You began to leave kisses on his neck, trailing down to his chest. You licked a strip of heat down his abdomen to the blonde tuff of hair, planting a kiss onto it. You grasped his cock and looked up at him through your lashes in an attempt to be seductive.

It definitely worked. Katsuki’s eyes bore a hole in you, awaiting your next move with anticipation. You began to kitten lick the tip gently before pressing your lips upon it. He hissed in approval as a hand reached to the back of your head. You slowly took him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks out on the way down. There was no way your could fit his whole dick in your mouth comfortably so you used your hand to massage the rest.

“Damnit,” Katsuki moaned and pulled the hair in your eyes away from your face. “You look so pretty while your sucking me off.” You felt your cheeks turn red. It was either a result of the compliment or the interrupted air flow. You took a breather, but still toyed with him. The hand that rested on your head cupped your cheek, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip.

“So fucking perfect.” You braced yourself and pushed Katsuki’s cock to the back of your throat, swallowing the majority of his length. “Fuck.” He groaned and pressed your head down, urging you to go past your limit. You allowed him to fuck your mouth throughly for a few minutes. Tears welted in your eyes. Animalistic growls escaped his chest indicating that his release wasn’t far away.

You knew he was about to be pissed at you, but you didn’t care. You quickly removed him from your mouth and straddled his waist again. “What the fuck.” He whinned, throwing his head onto the pillow.

“Would you just be quiet for once.” You said, lining yourself up with his cock. You hardly ever rode Bakugo. He was always the dominant one, constantly pinning you in place and fucking you into the mattress at any given time. You always took it, enjoying letting someone else take control for a while.

You teased yourself with his dick. Sliding up and down his length. “Oh you’re one to ta-“ He attempted to say, but was quickly cut off by you sinking onto him slowly. You bit your lip as you adjusted to the pleasure of him being that deep. “Fuck.” He hissed and gripped onto your thighs. There were definitely going to hand marks later on.

Leisurely, you moved making sure to glide on every single inch. Your hands moved up to clutch your breasts through the thin material of his shirt. You were a moaning mess, it had never felt this good when you practiced riding alone. This was a whole new feeling, his dick dragging against your walls and hitting your spot perfectly each time.

Katsuki looked like he was enjoying the same amount of pleasure. His eye brows furrowed together, while his jaw hung slack. Instead of the grunts and groans that he normally made he moaned and whinned like a little bitch under you. You relished in the fact that you were the one who was making Katsuki Bakugo fall to his knees.

You increased your pace, feeling a knot growing in your stomach. You threw your head back as you gear shifted him. Katsuki could feel your walls clenching, indicating that your orgasm was in sight. He began to encourage you. “You’re so beautiful when you fuck yourself Y/N.” He thumb connected to your clit and began to rub circles. “You take my dick like a pro. Are you gonna cum all over me?” He prodded stroking your clit faster.

You were speechless, you were swirling down the drain. “I’m cumming!” You screamed, seeing stars. That was all it took for Katsuki to take control once again and flip you onto your back, still inside. Your walls fluttered, grasping onto his dick. It made his own release speed up. He rammed into you roughly, every word that left his mouth was dirty.

Your legs began to shake. “This is my fucking pussy.” He growled possesively, “Will always be mine.” Katsuki quickly pulled out and stroked himself a few times before finally unloading and painting your stomach with his seed.

He jumped up and returned a few moments later with a warm wash cloth. Inspecting each area carefully, he made sure to wipe all your crevices and his load from you. He laid beside your silently as he ran his hand through your hair.

You both stared at each other blissfully for a few minutes until he looked down at the mattress. “Don’t make this awkward okay?”

You scrunched your face together lightly. You were obviously confused. Could he tell you had more feelings than what you led on? Katsuki sighed before hiding his face.

“Will you go on a date with me?”

#bnha x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou x y/n #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou smut #bakugo smut #katsuki smut #bnha

622 notes · View notes

ellsbclls · 3 years

Text

White Winged Dove

warnings ➛ COUNTRY!TOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MY BELOVED!!!!!!!! smut, baby! (PLEASE do not interact if you are a minor), hurt/comfort, minor angst, happy ending: guaranteed!, a handful of swear words, and y/n has no choice but to have a country accent, i don’t make the rules here. extended warnings will be under the cut!

word count ➛ 9.5K

authors note ➛ i saw that gifset of tom taking a shower in cherry and my brain short circuited, so here! have a cupcake!

synopsis ➛ Tom feels like his world is falling apart, so he turns to you, the only person that reminds him of home.

extended warnings ➛ nsfw, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, praise kink, multiple orgasms, unprotected f/m intercourse (please practice safe sex, kiddos! wrap it before you whack it!), a tiny tiny tiny sliver of blood!play if you squint with one eye closed.

You remember the night in waves, docile, fleeting waves that tease the rim of your consciousness before reeling back. Golden whiskey licks at the seam of your lips with each pass of the bottle, and the pond is glittering beneath the blinking trails of all the lightning bugs — tens of hundreds of fireflies, dancing in the night’s misty skyglow, rivaling the pale moonlight.

You remember the night in waves, but he is a mighty current.

You can’t scrub the memory of him from your mind, that bleak, hopeless expression that hollowed out his features. You remember how your heart split into a million little shards the second it appeared, and just when you thought there was nothing left to break, his fragile voice pleaded for you to take him somewhere, anywhere, as long as it was far.

By the time the sun spilled past your window pane, you were nothing but a drowsy amalgamation of lithe limbs, coated in morning glow as it spilled through the glass.

But behind your eyelids lives an imprint of the night before — a shimmering reflection of the night sky, and the moments that unraveled beneath its sweeping gaze.

9:17PM — You’re belting into your hairbrush, not a care in the world, and pouring your heart and soul out to a crowd of none. Somewhere between all of your clumsy twirls and impromptu choreography, you stumble over the shoebox that was poking out from under your bed, and a flurry of damp tresses and musical giggles fan across your comforter.

The walls in your house have always been notoriously thin, but what could you possibly expect from the weathered planks of wood paneling that lined your bedroom? You could hear your father’s creaky footsteps whenever he ransacked the fridge for leftovers in the dead of night, and the heavy thump of laundry that your mother would throw down to the basement, but once your radio crackles to life, and Stevie’s enchanting croon permeates the air, all those subtle nuances fades to a dull, lifeless roar.

With each passing note, the white winged dove becomes you, and you soar above endless miles of Mississippi wood. There’s not a soul that can drag you back to the outskirts of town, force you to confront what may become of you when you land, there’s no room for trepidation where you go. There, in your own little corner of the woods, it’s just you, Stevie Nicks, and the moon.

And, technically, Thomas.

Minutes have gone by, you still can’t find the strength, nor the energy, to lift yourself up, and as your downy blankets hug your tired frame, you remain blissfully ignorant of your peeping tom.

Thomas, affectionately penned Tommy, has been your best friend, your confidante, since the very first day of kindergarten. You had pulled a pack of scented markers from your tiny, pink barbie backpack during free time, and he had pulled out the empty seat beside you, plucking, sniffing, and ultimately discarding each and every pen until the box was empty. When you asked him which one was his favorite, he asked you the very same in response, just so you’d “coincidentally” have a shared affinity for coconuts. He was oddly endearing, which is a trait that’s always stuck with him. So, even at a young age, you never wondered if he was just using you for your nice possessions, or trying to take advantage of your courtesy — he always offered himself to you at face value, and you never stopped taking as much of him as you could get.

Had you been aware that your childhood friend was waiting expectantly at your window, you may have handled your alone time with a tad more discretion — but you weren’t, and each act of your private concert forces him into an even harder position. To what extent does he let you embarrass yourself before he makes his presence known, and for how long will you bury your head in the sand before the embarrassment mulls over? He sees your stage dive as a golden opportunity, and seizes it before you begin to stir.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Three short, mild raps, uttered in quick succession, jostle you from your lavish daydreams like a bucket of ice water, and you have to squint just to make out his fair features amidst all the darkness shrouding them.

“Tommy?” A flash of his soft, earthy hues tame the wild drum of your heart, confirming your suspicions, and you fight the urge to chuckle when he innocently waves at you.

“Well don’t get all shy on me now. Come in.” You open the window just enough for him to slip through its frame, allowing your eyes to graze the sculpted plains of his back, and admire, albeit shamelessly, how his muscles ripple beneath his fitted t-shirt.

Yet, there’s something about him being in your room, towering over fixtures that once towered over him, that makes you feel uneasy. A part of you adores the way he instantly makes himself at home, but the remainder is doused in fear, fretting over his wandering hands and what they may discover, surveying little trinkets and souvenirs that decorate your desk.

“Hasn’t changed much since the last time I was in here, has it?” He notes, absentmindedly shaking the contents of a snowglobe your grandma brought you from New York, a miniature skyline of Manhattan continuously buried in a flurry of snow. Most of your playdates took place in his house, so as your friendship flourished past elementary school, and the time that spanned between your meetings grew shorter and shorter, you’d found yourselves frequenting his home for all of your endeavors. It was just easier that way.

That’s the sole reason you rarely visited your room. It surely wasn’t the suffocating atmosphere that plagued your home, or your hormonal, angst ridden brain convincing you that you’d scare him to the high heavens if he caught a glimpse of your relationship with your family — how dismal it is. How you build entire worlds, cycle through dozens of bountiful lives, in the luxury of your mind in hopes of retreating.

You’d be lying if you said the poster of Zac Efron, now lurking precariously behind his shoulder, wasn’t a glaring reason as well.

“Yeah, couple things here and there, but it’s pretty much the same.” You try to be discreet as you wander around your own room, Destination: Tiger Beat. Once you reach it, you rise up on your tiptoes to cover as much of the poster as humanly possible, but scramble for an excuse once you notice him turning. “You actually left something the last time you were here. It’s on the top shelf.”

RIP! The poster is crumpled in your grasp no sooner than his back turns to you. You’d have to give a formal apology to your wildcat once you were left to your own devices, but until then, he was banished to the most unsuspecting corner of your room.

“Jesus Christ Y/N,” His thumb fondly strokes a small, yellowed testament to your friendship, a weathered page of loose leaf etched in awry plumes of ink that perfectly encapsulate his very essence — egregiously passionate, regardless of the outcome. He had written it when he was about seven, intending to give it to the “girl of his dreams” once he met her. You can still hear his sweet, little voice echo between your ears, endearingly mistaking his r’s for w’s. “You kept this?”

“Of course I did.“ Candor coats your tongue before you catch yourself, the tail end of your answer turning to dust as soon as it hits the air. You can’t bring yourself to admit just how many restless nights you’ve allowed yourself to clamber up that oak dresser, just to read that letter over, and over, and over again, praying that if you had stared at it for long enough, his messy scrawl would transform into the words you yearned for most — that it was meant for you, that he’s loved you from the very start. “Wasn’t sure if you were planning to repurpose it for some other lucky gal.”

You lock eyes with him for the first time since he appeared at your window, and stowed beneath his reservation are faint embers of warmth, kindling behind ebony curtains as you indulge in the hearth of his gaze. Lifetimes seemingly pass before his eyes are flickering back down to his hands, and it prompts you to offer him the note. “You can have it back.”

“No, you keep it.” Your brows pinch together, and a thousand questions collect on the tip of your tongue. You wonder if he recalls the same memory you do, if he remembers the significance buried in that little scrap of paper, but ultimately choose not to dwell on it. He knows just how much you love to collect memorabilia — keep cherished memories stowed away for safekeeping — he’s just being thoughtful. “Consider it undeniable proof that I know how to read and write.”

“Ain’t nothin’ in here about knowing how to read.” You tease, catching your tongue between your canines as a smirk conquers your lips.

“Ya got me,” He chuckles, smile reaching for, but never quite meeting, his faraway stare. You are so accustomed to his teasing quips, his usual flair for the dramatics, that this half-hearted attempt at replicating it fills you with discomfort. He tries to punctuate his words by tossing his arms to the sky, but they don’t reach high enough to convince you that he’s okay. Something is plaguing him, and you won’t settle for anything less than the truth.

“Tommy,” His name is sweet on your tongue, all honeyed vowels and soft, descant consonants that command his attention. “What’s wrong?”

“No, nothin’, I just-“ he’s avoiding your eyes, which is a clever strategy on his part. If eyes are the windows to the soul, then his are a stained glass mosaic, a vibrant display of all his emotions, and you — you are but an avid observer.

“Hey, look at me,” Two slender digits underline the curve of his jaw, and with a firm grasp of his chin, leave him no choice but to meet your gaze, tender and resolute all the same. “ You don’t have to tell me anything if you’re not ready, but I can tell when someone’s been rode hard and put away wet.”

“I just, I need to get out of here, and I thought I’d ask my favorite distraction to accompany me.” He stumbles over his words, faltering over his messy façade, but you’d rather this over nothing at all.

“And where might we be goin’?” You query. You can tell that this is going to be a long night, but luckily for him, you don’t have any plans that can’t be rescheduled. Your adoring fans will just have to wait another night.

“Somewhere… Anywhere,” He murmurs hopefully, and your heart nearly sinks to the floor. You’ve never seen such a chasm of joy, not in those bright, amber orbs you study so adamantly. You’d almost deem it pain, whatever’s tugging at the frame of his optics, whatever’s depriving them of that usual, warm glow. “as long as it’s far from here.”

9:39PM — “Watch your step.”

“Can you help me?” You whine — one hand reaching out for his assistance, the other firmly clasped around a bottle of Jack Daniels. There is an awkward incline just below you, only a few inches off the ground, but tall enough to make you stumble, and he could already see you bumping your knees on the way down, so he offers his elbow as a point of leverage.

“Atta girl, you’ve got it.” He coos, reluctantly abandoning your grip once you’re safely on the ground.

Mystical, and buzzing with life, you introduce him to the farthest corner of the woodlands. Whenever the walls of your room become suffocating, your legs always give out right about here.

Your secret hideaway.

Where you let your most worrisome thoughts roam free, and when those thoughts seemingly wander into nothingness, you chalk it up to wishful thinking, and fail to realize that they haven’t disappeared, they just don’t belong to you anymore. They belong to the babbling brook, constantly replenishing itself and its inhabitants with fresh, spring water, belong to the frogs and crickets as they fill the night with their moonlit ballad, they belong to the night, and it’s reflection, as it wades across the face of the creek; dotted with lightning bugs or the cosmos themself, you weren’t sure. All you know is that you always returned, as if a piece of you was tethered to the very spot.

“Where are we?” He wonders aloud, raking his fingers through his downy, chestnut locks as he explores his surroundings.

“I don’t exactly know.” You confess, making yourself comfortable on the ground. Most nights, you slip off your shoes and sink your feet into the brook, but you know Tom like the back of your hand, know what kind of ideas might venture through that rascally mind of his when he spots you near the water. So, you play it safe, pulling your knees up to your chest as you peer up at him from a safe distance. “It’s nice, though. Quiet. Good place to let your thoughts wander.”

“You ever take a dip in here?” Predictable. You stifle the urge to laugh at his query, sinking ivory veneers into your pillowy bottom lip, and shake your head in response. “Hell, if I were you, with my own nature-made swimmin’ pool, I’d bring all the boys around.”

“You know I don’t waste my time with no silly boys.” You sigh, sending him a wistful glare.

“You sure about that?” He counters, mimicking your perked brow with eerie precision.

“Oh, I’m sure.” You huff. God doesn’t build boys the same way he built him, he took his time crafting that statuesque frame, implemented hawk-eyed precision for each and every beguiling detail you’ve come to adore. He is a man, tried and true, from his sharp, angular structure to the neverending bounds of his heart, but rather than inflate his ego moreso, you let him assume the worst. “You can take a dip if you want, though. I wouldn’t mind.”

You wonder if he can tell just how little you’d mind as a mischievous glint highlights his amber hues, but before he can even open his mouth, you’ve already pinpointed the source of his glower, already voicing your adamant refusal. “No, absolutely not. Not a chance, Tommy.”

“But why not?” He whines, bellowing over your feeble chant, conjuring the most convincing set of pleading eyes he can muster. “It’s dark, it’s humid, and ain’t no one around to tell us not to.”

“Sounds like all the more reason to not do that.” You scoff, scooting further away from him and the strength of his hopeful gaze.

“I hate to pull out the big guns, but... what if I told you that it’d make me feel so much better if you accompanied me?” You’re left to wonder what the big guns are supposed to be, if they aren’t the way he is encroaching on your personal space, crawling up the length of your legs until there is only a sliver of space between you.

“I’d remind you that there are much drier ways to make you feel better.” You could feel your warm breath fanning across his lips, distracting you with the scent of minty toothpaste and your vanilla chapstick, ultimately failing to notice his hands, and how they’re positioned just below your waist.

It would only take one swift move to reach the small of your back, two to scoop you up in his arms, and about six more to drag you into the pond — kicking and screaming, but successfully so.

And he doesn’t chance it.

SPLASH! You’re no sooner submerged in the brooks’ murky depths, reaching out for lily pads and cattails that fail to provide you leverage, and your screams bubble into thick, smothered embers of a once irate flame. He better pray you never emerge from usunder, because he’s merely a howl away from being swept up in the tide — the tide being your arms as they force him to the bottom of the crick.

“Y/N,” your name scrambles between the slosh of the water and the pounding in your ears, but you manage to break the surface and blink spare drops of water from your eyes.

“I was drowning!’ You gasp, struggling to keep your head above water as you kick, and splash, and writhe around in the stygian abyss.

“In two feet of water? I beg to differ.” You can barely make out his comeback over his fit of giggles, but a part of you would rather this bright, teasing version of himself that what you’ve been dreading beforehand. Taking his outstretched hand, you stumble to your feet and, much to your dismay, find yourself standing in about two feet of water (which, in your defense, is a far more daunting threat to someone your size as opposed to his). You cool his inflating ego with a cold splash of water, dispersing tiny droplets from your fingers as they wave in front of his face.

You splash around in the water for what feels like forever, transforming stray lily pads into makeshift hats, dressing to the nines in the latest collection of aquatic couture, and as the moon casts a pale spotlight on the babbling brook, you occupy it’s centre, huddled in one another’s embrace, swaying back and forth amidst the shallow pools.

10:02 — You're still wet.

Drenched, really.

You’ve resorted to wringing out your hair with your bare hands, twisting the dampened locks between your fists until water pours from the follicles. You’d never once pondered the benefits of freshwater landings, but you were about to find out. A glare threatened to slice through the air, but immediately wavered at the sight of him — desolate, void, so lost in his thoughts that you’d wondered if he were even there.

God, you’re worried sick. You’ve dealt with bouts of sadness, sprinkles of melancholy, but this was downright depressing. You wouldn’t even know what to do if you tried, and that’s what worried you the most.

Thomas, your best friend, your crush, your light — the best parts of you all wrapped up in a clumsy little package while the best parts of him threaten to snatch up your heart, as if it wasn’t already his.

“Tommy?” You break him out of his reverie, but press on, scooching closer to his form, dangerously standoffish, like an uncaged animal winding up to attack, until you cross the threshold into his personal space. With a sturdy hold on his bicep, he melts into the palm of your hand, practically leaning all of his weight into you, stealing a reprieve you didn’t know he needed. “You can talk to me, y’know. It’s just us.”

“She left, Y/N.” The evening air seems still, in perfect tandem with your breath as you fear what might come out once you finally exhale. You know he’d shove all of his feelings down if he caught you shedding a single tear, and this isn’t about you, it never has been. So you hold your breath, latching onto the heavy silence that follows his confession, and pray that your chest is strong enough to smother the sob bubbling beneath its surface.

Fortunately, he takes your silence as a cue to continue. “The closet was empty, and all her cookbooks were gone. I looked downstairs and there was nothin’ there.” You don’t know if he’s finished, watching as he toys with a loose string on his jeans, but he breaks his own silence with a newfound waver in his voice. “I had a feelin’ she was ‘bout to leave, but I didn’t think it’d be so soon. I thought I had a lil’ bit more time to say goodbye.”

Edie was a good mother, the best of mothers, and never had she drawn a line when it came to who she nurtured. When you were little kids, you’d race each other to his house once the school bell rang, tiny little bodies weaving through the stalks of corn that prefaced the farm. She would follow the shuffling crops with a heavy eye, leading you to the porch with her raspy, whimsical chime, and crouch down to envelop the both of you in a tight hug when you emerged. She was the best of mothers.

But she wasn’t the best of wives. You were both far too young to notice the signs — the nights where you found her sound asleep on the sofa by her own volition, the packed suitcase that hid underneath the stairwell to the basement, the hesitance that laced her tone when she said I love you to his father — and something tells you she wanted to keep it that way.

Her son didn’t need to worry about his parents, and how fast they were falling out of love, and whether they really loved each other in the first place. Her son just needed to be a kid, and that is a belief she devoted the best years of her life to.

But he isn’t a kid anymore.

That’s why she fled in the middle of night, leaving nothing but a ruby encrusted ring on his dresser — her class ring. The same one he’d snatch from her jewelry box whenever she wasn’t looking. The same one he used to propose to you at the wee age of four, promising you as much of the world as a toddler could imagine.

Tears prick at the corner of your eyes as he recounts every detail, and every fiber of your being yearns to just schoop him up in your arms, hold all his broken pieces together with the strongest embrace you can muster. He doesn’t deserve that type of pain, shouldn’t have to relive it, and yet he takes it upon himself to tell you everything, to relive it for your own selfish gain.

You grow envious of the way the moon trails kisses down the slope of his nose, across the high rise of his cheeks, and over the swell of his bottom lip. There were times where you’d find traces of his mother in Tom’s features, lining the curve of his warm smile or, when the sun hit them just right, speckling his earthy hues with tiny rods of gold. Tonight, he is shrouded in a celestial spotlight, mesmerized by its waning body, and if you squint just enough, you’ll find her longing stare hidden beneath his own.

“And the worst part is that I ain’t even mad at her. Not even a lil’ bit.” He concludes, talking more to the sky than to you. “Not even at all.” When his gaze falls back to you, you can only try to cover up the betrayal, wipe the back of your arm across your tear-stained cheeks before he notices they’re even misty.

You inevitably fail, expelling a wistful sigh as he pulls you into his side, comfortingly running his hand over your bicep as he murmurs sweet nothings into the night.

“I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t want you to find out like this,” You furrow your brows, and wonder just how he would want to break the news to you. Would he let you find out for yourself, or would he bring you out to the plantation, and let you sink into the soil until the news began to blossom in the fields? Would they be cornstalks? And would they reach for the sky just like her? “I didn’t wanna make you cry, but... I didn’t know where else to go.”

“It’s okay.” Your voice is a wash of dulcet tones, fingers soothingly raking through his damp tendrils in a silent bid to comfort him. “It’s okay, I’m a big girl. I can take it.” You’re quick to clamber to your knees, wrapping him up in an airtight embrace, keeping him from wallowing into a puddle of tears. “I’m right here, Tommy.”

“I know,” he sputters, with an edge of sorrow to his tone.

“I’m right here, I’m not goin’ anywhere.” You promise.

“Don’t say that” He whispers, and shatters any trace of consolation looming over the encounter. Your brow furrows, your heart pounds against your chest, and for a fleeting second, you feel like you're caught in a lie. What if he knows? What if he can tell just how much you’d surrender to be with him? What if he doesn’t want it?

“Why not?” You’re near hysterics, praying that the intensity in your eyes makes up for the tremor in your voice. “Why not? I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.”

“I just don’t want you to make a promise you can’t keep, Y/N.” That sullen gaze resurfaces, chills the air with it’s haunting presence — that hollow stare which fosters the remnants of a bright, contagious joy, and carves a pit, just as empty, in the well of your stomach, one that aches to be satiated. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear, but his palm lingers against your cheek, trying to smooth out the heavy creases in your expression with the gentle stroke of his thumb. “Hell, I don’t want you to promise that in the first place. You deserve more than all this, you deserve the best this life has to offer you, and I’m not gonna keep you from all o’ that.”

You’ve lost track of your heart long ago, it’s dizzying tempo rivaling a hummingbird, nearly undetectable as it flitted uncontrollably, knocking against your ribs until its ultimate descent to the pit of your stomach.

You pray that he can one day see everything that you see in him, that loving himself is as easy for him as it is for you; you hope that there is a life where he never has to feel as small, or inconvenient, as he confessed, and you wish that this would eventually be that life.

You decide that it’s time to put an end to wishful thinking.

“Let me make something clear to you, Thomas.” You cup his jaw, firmly, and utter each word without a trace of uncertainty. “I’m not sure exactly what I want from life yet. I don’t know if I wanna spend the rest of it in this little ol’ town, or just pack my things and go as far as the wind will take me. I couldn’t tell you if I tried, but… that’s okay.” Slowly but surely, your lips give way to a sheepish grin, feeling lighter, freer, the further into your declaration. “It’s okay, because there’s one thing that’s for certain, and it’s that I’m all yours. It don’t matter how far I go, I’m always gonna come home to you.”

The silence is deafening.

All your emotions hang in the air, crippling your air supply with insurmountable regret. But his gaze is what terrifies you the most; just as suffocating, but in a way that sweeps the air from your lungs. You knew that there would always come a time where all the unrequited feelings you’ve harbored would finally boil to the surface, fueled by the hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t as one sided as you thought; but under the void of his empty gaze, you wonder if you’d made a huge mistake.

Or maybe there really is nothing — nothing to reciprocate, nothing to subdue you, nothing to salvage what little remained of your friendship after such a loaded confession — and so you scramble to assemble an apology convincing enough to overshadow your lapse in judgement.

But he doesn’t even spare you the chance, swallowing your half-hearted excuses with the firm press of his lips, pouring a lifetime of ardent desire, of longing, into the hollow of your mouth. It’s crystal clear that you’re his, the realization comes borderline cathartic. There has never been a day where your heart has not beat for him, and only him, forever threatening to spring from your chest and return to its rightful owner. The days, the months, the years of back and forth felt like a cruel jest from the fates, but now you were here, bundled in the warmth of his strong embrace, tongues curling against one another in an endless battle for dominance, and you would endure it all over again if this was where it lead

He searches for some sign of absolution, paws up and down your back in hopes of grounding himself, and you reverently provide, mustering what little strength you have left to crawl into his lap, brushing against the growing bulge in his jeans without a trace of subtlety, offering him the most sacred parts of you in hopes of bringing him home.

“Y/N,” he sighs raggedly, a half hearted attempt to gain your attention, one that proves unsuccessful as his pleas whittle into a frail, insipid shadow of what they could be. You’re too busy acquainting yourself with the plains of his body, embedding a trail of deep red marks into the column of his neck as your hands slip beneath the hem of his t-shirt. He’s built like a greek statue, you don’t even need to discard his shirt to indulge in the taut muscles tensing beneath your fingertips. “Y/N, darlin’, wait.” He interrupts your greedy ministrations by fastening his digits around your wrists. This is the point of no return, you can feel the fragile divide between friends and lovers, splintering beneath the weight of your heart, and yet you fail to concern yourself.

His digits are free to roam the high plains of your cheeks, pioneering the flushed expanse with beacons of soft, arching butterfly kisses until there’s no skin to cover, ultimately pressing his forehead against yours. ”You don’t- I don’t want you to do anything you don’t wanna do.” Seems almost redundant, you muse, to wonder if you want him when you’ve made it abundantly clear that you’d follow him to the ends of the earth. You are a pillar of salt, and as he showers you in a knee buckling torrent of kisses, you melt into the palm of his hands. If the way you’re draped against his form isn’t evidence enough, then the wetness pooling between your thighs most certainly will be, he’ll come across that confirmation once he tends to the spot you need him most.

You trace the cleft of his chin in delicate pursuit, whining as he tears his lips from their languid path, and peer through your inky lashes to meet his gaze once more. “I want this, Tom. I want you.”

“You have me. I’m all yours.” He echoes your words back to you, reverently, delivering a sacred vow from the hearth of your soul, ove you have, and will continue to, dedicate your humble living to, and you seal that promise with a bruising kiss.

The weight of his palm melts into the small of your back, pulling your chest flush against his own as it sweeps up your spine, and you moan against his lips when your nipples press up against his sturdy chest, aching to be freed as they strain against their gossamer confines.

You’ve only had the pleasure of making out with Tom for less than five minutes, but you can already tell that it ranks high on your list of favorite pastimes. Soft, pink petals brush against your own like they’re a flourishing canvas, and he’s trying to even out the brushstrokes, but all he leaves is a scorching flush in his wake, and your clothing, despite being bathed in pond water, do little to ease the blistering heat. It’s suffocating you, and you begrudgingly tear yourself away so that you can rid yourself of the article.

Besides, the less fabric separating you from his anchoring, toned embrace, the better.

“I’m all dirty,” Your meek voice collapses into a fit of giggles, and your feeble attempt to wring out your clothes is thwarted by his hands, venturing up, up, up, and under the hem of your skirt at a teasing pace, savoring the feeling of your warm, silky skin beneath his fingertips. You can tell he’s as desperate as you are, confronted with acres of new terrain to explore, and only so little of his patience to spare.

“I know, I’m sorry angel.” His voice is soft, and soothing, and riddled with mischief. Even if there is even an ounce of truth in his apology, you can still make out the devilish grin that toys at the corner of his mouth. “May I, m’lady?” He croons teasingly, flashing those whiskey glazed hues in a way that you could never refuse.

“Proceed, good sir.” You counter in the most refined timbre you can dictate, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he bunches the hem of your dress in his palms, hoisting it over your head to expose the breathtaking contours and curves of your body. You can’t remember what compelled you to forego your bra, but the thought is soon pushed to the corner of your mind, making room for the warm, fuzzy feeling that conquers your insides when Tom lays his eyes on you, bared to him and only him. His gaze alone makes you feel like you are a spectacle to behold, the most enchanting vision to ever cross his line of sight. If there was even a speck of insecurity buried deep in the back of your mind, the sight of Tom’s eyes, blown wide with adoration as they worship every sinful inch of your skin, instantly quells those fears.

He struggles to find his words, to occupy this infinite silence with anything, everything, as his calloused palms caress the sides of your waist, but all he can manage is a husky growl. One that prefaces the reappearance of his tongue, and its feverish descent from the column of your neck to the tops of your breasts, bathing your skin with gluttonous, broad strokes, and coaxing pretty, little whines from the back of your throat.

There is something so unhinged in his actions, so carnal, it summons another wave of arousal to pool against your soiled panties, knowing you have such a strong clutch on his resolve. Though, another branch of your mind races at a mile a minute, consumed by the endless possibilities that come equipped with Tom’s skill.

You try not to dwell on the little flings that came before you, especially now, in the afterglow of your confession. The taunting, pitious gazes you shared with his hookups in the hallowed halls of your alma mater, toting a reminder that they could indulge in everything you yearned for, scorched you more than the thought of the act itself — but the rumors were just plain inescapable. If even a fraction of them hold a candle to the truth, then you are in for one hell of a night.

“You’re just as sweet as I imagined, angel.” Angel. The nickname sends sparks flying in the well of your stomach. “Can’t wait to taste that perfect little pussy. Just know it’s gonna be even sweeter when you cum all over my fingers.”

You whine softly at his words, but clench hard around nothing, aching to be filled by those unbearably long, slender digits. Nothing could have prepared you for the scene unraveling below you — his lips latched around the stiff peak of your nipple, a husky groan reverberating around the pebbled surface, and head slightly moving against the palm of your hand as your fingers tug at his chestnut locks. The long, covetous laps of his tongue mingling with the vibrations of his contented little hums make you desperate for more, arching, writhing, trembling against him in hopes of finding a semblance of relief for the ache between your thighs.

“Tommy, please.” You plead in the most convincing, fucked out tone you can muster, but he doesn’t budge, showering your other bud with a flurry of quick, relentless kitten licks. Even mother nature joins in his relentless teasing, making you squirm as the gentle breeze blows cool, summer air against the glistening bud.

This is torture, a blissful, euphoric form of torture that, despite your irritability, you would surrender to time and time again. But you fail to notice just how hard your canines puncture the swell of your bottom lip, too immersed in the stroke of his tongue, in the ghost of pleasure that stirs in the pit of your stomach each time you rut against his clothed cock. A sharp, metallic tang seeps into your mouth, hitting the tip of your tongue and forcing a trembling whimper to the front of your mouth.

The pitiful sound piques Tom’s interest, and before you can wipe the blood from your lip, your face is already cradled between his palms. “Fuck, Y/N, look at you,” His eye were wide with concern, and your heart sputters over the blistering scorch of need his compassion arises in you. “C’mere.” Dropping his forehead against your own, his tongue tentatively brushes the curve of your lips, lapping up every last drop of blood that is smeared against it. He applies pressure to the wound, cauterizes it with a searing dance of bloodstained brims, as his one hand weaves into your damp locks. You barely know how to respond, but your body compensates with an untapped sense of hunger, scraping your teeth against his lower lip as you desperately claw at the toned valley of his back.

“Please, Tommy, please. I’m dripping.” You mewl, teetering over the perilous edge of delusion, foraging between your stomachs in search of his free hand. Yet another wave of arousal pools between your thighs at the sight of him, with his puffy, saliva stained lips slightly parted, and his eyes blown wide with the insatiable need to indulge himself, to spoil you. Once your fingers circle around his wrist, you guide his hand to the apex of your thighs and urge him to feel for himself, applying the lightest of pressure against his fingers, urging him to caress your tender lips through the sodden barrier of your panties. To feel what he’s done to you. “You feel that? It’s all for you.”

“All for me,” he echoes back, mesmerized, cognac hues fading into obsidian orbs as he rubs deliberately teasing circles over your covered clit. “And you ask oh so pretty. Let me take care of you, my pretty girl.” Before you even get the chance to reply, he’s pushing your panties to the side, dipping the pad of his middle finger between your silky folds — feeling, exploring, acquainting himself with the tight ring of muscle that he plans on stretching open.

His hesitation is nothing more than a plight at this point, you are more than willing to take anything he has to offer, and he can gather that much from the wild gleam in your eyes, so he slowly works one finger into your snug, velvety walls and curses under his breath at how heavenly you feel. You’re unlike anything he’s had before, far exceeding the lengths of his imagination as you softly clench around his digit, and it only takes a few seconds to adjust to the lithe intrusion, your walls already twitching against his shallow, testing thrusts, before he adds another.

“So fuckin’ perfect, darlin’. Love the way your pretty little cunt takes me.” A thin sheen of sweat coats your forehead as he rocks his digits at a leisurely pace. Tom is obsessed with the tiny frown forming between your brows, almost like you’re confused by the amount of pleasure building between your legs, struggling to keep your eyes open, your juices spilling past your opening to trickle down the palm of his hand. To say your experience is limited is a bit of an understatement — the whopping two men you’ve slept with prior were merely amateurs in comparison to your lover. Even if there was enough air in your lungs to articulate it, you don’t have the heart to tell him that you’ve never been fingerfucked. Period. The embarrassment almost swallows you whole.

But even without anything to compare it to, you’re convinced that you’re receiving the upper echelon of experiences.

As his pace quickens, prodding against your pulsing walls with an onslaught of keen, ravaging thrusts, you’re too busy gasping for air to notice how he’s switched his angle. Now the heel of his hand is rubbing against your bundle of nerves with each stroke, applying just enough pressure to light a spark without ever setting you off, and as the pads of his fingers pound against your sweet spot, you are reduced to a limbless puddle in his hands, doused in an ethereal glow that only he could surface. “God, Y/N, you look like an angel. My pretty little angel— ‘bout to cum all over my fingers.” he panted, voice biting the air with a wolfish gleam, canines peaking past his thin lips.

“Tommy, I’m so close.” You aren’t sure if you can hold on for much longer, dangling on the coattails of insurmountable bliss, finding a new reason to fall apart with each lewd kiss or sharp thrust. Your orgasm is already creeping up, threatening to crash over you each time he plunges into your slick heat, but you know that you want to feel him — all of him — stretching you to unimaginable lengths as he sinks into your tight little hole for the first time. “I wanna feel you. I wanna- I need to cum on your cock.”

Tom’s brows meet in the middle, and you wonder if you’ve strewn too far, surrendered the remainder of your common sense to lust and her shameless palms. “Such a filthy little mouth for such a good girl.” He whispers, wondering aloud, his free hand abandoning the nape of your neck to cup your jaw as his thumb sweeps over your bottom lip, applying just enough pressure to drag it down before letting it spring back to its pouty default. “You will, angel, you will, but I gotta get you ready first.” He reassures you, and you remember just how prominent his length is, straining against the denim cage of his jeans, and attribute his wavering tone to the sheer restraint he’s been exhibiting. But you have to admit — if his fingers are only a fraction of his length, then you are not sure just how much of him you’ll be able to handle. The thought sends you barrelling toward your climax, but not without the help of his thumb, pressing up to rub fervent, clumsy circles against your clit, his husky tenor cooing sweet words of encouragement into the space just below your ear. “I can feel you, angel, let go for me. I’ve got you.”

With one final thrust, he buries his fingers to the hilt, caressing your g-spot with a tentative come hither motion, until you are ridden with overwhelming waves of pleasure. All you can feel are your tender walls tightening around his fingers, and your thighs starting to tremble under the weight of your high. But he is spellbound, mesmerized by the swirling vision of you at your most content, eyelids hanging low over your blown out hues, your hips absentmindedly grinding against his hand, meeting his timid rhythm as he tries to work you through your aftershocks.

Emptiness soon replaces the stretch of his fingers once he slips them out, but a twitch of excitement follows the path of his slick hand, and you can’t stop from outright moaning at his shameless display.

“Just what I thought,” he murmurs. You are too captivated by the sight of his lips — pink, and kiss-weathered, and frankly obscene — opening wide to welcome his slick fingers, gracing his taste buds with your juices, and humming around them as they coat his tongue in an intoxicating elixir . “Open up, pretty girl,” You‘re torn from your trance by the pressure of his digits, knocking against your bottom lip, begging for entry. “Come taste how sweet you are.”

Hollowing your cheeks, you graciously welcome his fingers, putting on a show as you swirl your tongue between the two digits, moaning softly as the bittersweet taste that hits your tastebuds. You aren’t prepared for the shallow, tentative thrust of his digits, or how he starts up a slow, steady rhythm against the back of your tongue — but god do you welcome it, softly gagging with each steady downstroke, spit already dribbling down your chin as you try to keep up with his quickening pace.

“Atta girl, that’s it.” He offers you a ginger smile, one that makes the tears pooling in your eyes worth gagging for. “Good girl. Good, good girl. I wish you could see how pretty you look.”

You try to reply over his digits, but your words are muffled and faint as they thud against the wall of your lips. Luckily, he’s coherent enough to notice that you’d like to speak — and who is he to stifle that sweet little voice of yours? “Thank you,” you pant, fluttering your tear-stained lashes up at him as you clamber to fill your lungs, disputing your feverish pleas as you wriggle away from the outline of his cock. The sensation of his waterlogged jeans rubbing against your sensitive bundle of nerves has you keening over him, pushing you further from his crotch, and closer to his embrace, back arched with a near-feline agility.

“Can I?” you ask, kneading your palms over his thighs, feigning innocence as you inch closer and closer to his zipper with each upstroke, and he nods, granting you permission to free him from his denim confines. In one fluid motion, your one hand unzips his fly as the other helps him kick off the remainder of his offending items, and you have to resist the urge to drool at the sight of his cock springing from his boxers, let alone his sinfully perfect, exposed form.

He’s a little bit larger than you expected — what he lacks in length, he makes up in girth, but there isn’t much to make up for in the first place. His shaft is decorated with pretty, ivory veins, ones that would no doubt twitch beneath the hot, heavy weight of your tongue, and the crown of his cock is flushed, glistening with a thin sheen of precum that makes your mouth feel conveniently dry. Your walls twitch at the disheartening reminder of your emptiness, but all out spasm as his fingers eclipse the circumference of his cock, using your juices to leisurely pump himself.

“You’re so pretty.” You sigh, a flurry of giggles floating beneath your words as you reach out to touch him, hovering just above the tip in order to send him a cautionary glance — one he hurriedly accepts, nodding his head fervently as he stutters into his grasp. A rosy hue blooms across the valley of your cheekbones as you encircle him, covering whatever he can’t as he all but bucks into your palm. His heart strains against his chest upon the realization that his hand easily dwarfs your own, watches your smaller fingers barely curl around his engorged shaft and fights the urge to cum right then and there.

No, he needs to feel you.

“Are you sure?” He asks once more, granting you a final chance to salvage what little scraps remain of your childhood friendship, but you are already committed, determined to devour every last, glorious piece of him, to prove that he is the rightful owner of you, all of you, every shimmering shade of you.The sentiment would be almost derisive if not so loving, so noble, and yet you dismiss it with three, chaste kisses upon the outline of his profile — against his forehead, the notch on the bridge of his nose, and finally his lips, warm and inviting.

“I’m certain.” You promise, merely a breaths width away from his lips.

You have never been more certain of a decision in your life, desperate to feel him nestled deep inside you, to blur the line where he begins and you end. Your fingers curl around the base of his cock, their pressure neither here nor there as they coax a hiss out of him, and you line him up with your entrance, tossing your head back as you waste no time breaching your needy hole with the bulbous head of his cock.

It’s blindingly clear that you have been given the reins, what with Tom’s finger’s seeking refuge in the soil beneath him, a low groan rumbling beneath his chest, his eyes rapt with an unspoken urgency as they survey the spot where you connect, and you relish in your paramount. Your knees dig deeper into the ground as you lower yourself onto him, and with little resistance, your walls steadily welcome inch after inch with a searing embrace, etching every delicious ridge and vein of his length to memory until he bottoms out, and you’re left with an overwhelming sense of fullness. There is a dull pain laced in the stretch of your opening, intermingling with the remnants of your last orgasm, and as you twitch and pulse around his girth, he appears like an dream before you, sifting through a thick haze of desire, wispy curls clinging to the thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead, and eyes blown wide with ripples of pleasure, of lust, that long to be indulged.

Once you’ve adjusted to him, you test a few shallow, tentative rolls of your hips, lifting yourself off the tiniest bit before filling yourself up again. He just feels so perfect, like god spent a little extra time molding him just for you, rubbing against parts of you that have never known such ecstasy until now, and you struggle to find a rhythm amidst all these new, dizzying sensations. “Poor little thing, you’re so worked up, you barely know how to take my cock.” It’s funny, how he can make such degrading words sound so sympathetic, and regardless, your body responds long before your brain can register, wildly spasming around his cock. It doesn’t take long for his fingers to return, digging into the curve of your hips to assist you, working you over his length in long, plundering strokes that steal the air from your lungs. “That feel better, angel?”

“Mhmm,” you shakily nod your head, fingers finding purchase in the broad expanse of his shoulders as you dig your nails into the freckled expanse, flooding his senses with the weak little uh, uh, uh’s tumbling from your lips each time you’re impaled on his cock. If he could lap up every hitch of your breath, every wayward sigh, he’d be drunk off the height of your unbridled joy. Hell, he can barely sustain himself as is, ravenously lapping up the beads of sweat clinging to your temple, swirling his tongue around your earlobe in its descent. Yes, yes, he’s swept up in sultry waves of you, and as your pelvis kisses his, as the air is filled with the sounds of your hips snapping against his own, he’s less and less concerned about emerging from your enchanting depths. “You got another one for me, angel? I can feel you squeezing my cock, baby, I know you got another one.” He’s delirious, clawing at the altar of your hips, and nowhere near as close to finishing as you are, but god is he eager to tear another orgasm out of you.

You, on the other hand, are a furnace, taunting flames of embarrassment licking up your insides, pooling in the small of your back, racing up your cheeks, at such arduous lengths as to mix with the coil of pleasure tightening in your core. Tom seizes the opportunity to find some leverage, pulling his knees up to rest on either side of you, planting his feet on the ground so that he can thrust up into your sopping cunt at a punishing pace, and you both can already feel the tell-tale signs of your building pleasure. “It’s okay, Y/N, you can let go.” Nothing more than a faint whisper, you indulge in the way his cock massages your inner walls, how your name sounds so filthy, yet beguiling, as it slips from his slightly ajar lips, how it blends so well with the weak little moans of his own name rolling off your tongue. “Let go for me. I wanna feel that perfect little pussy cum all over me.” His hand dips between your sweat slick forms, firmly swiping his fingers over your hypersensitive bundle of nerves, turning circles into your favorite shape, and his change in position makes the crown of his cock curve into your g-spot each time he pounds into you — so your helpless to the crescendo of pleasure that washes over you.

A broken, startled shriek tears through your lungs, and you topple over his thighs, digging crescent shaped indents into his knees as you surrender to your climax, walls fluttering and contracting over his length as he works you over the edge.

“Oh, what a good girl.” He coos encouragingly, reaching his hand out to cup the weight of your breast, swiping his thumb over your peaked bud as his pace eases up, and it isn’t until now that you realize he’s leaning back, holding himself up by his forearms while he drinks in your pleasure-ridden form. “My sweet, sweet girl.” You can tell he’s holding back by the way his hips still stutter up into your overstimulated heat, how his cheeks, his forehead, all of his features are set with a heavy flush, how you aren’t filled to the brim with his cum — and you simply won’t allow that.

“It’s okay, Tommy.” You whisper, carefully lowering yourself until your chest is aligned with his own, sharply exhaling as you feel him push up against your tender core. Your eyes are soft, and dazed, and oh so pretty, glittering beneath a thin layer of unshed tears, but this is about him, it’s always been about him, and as his cock twitches amidst your spasming walls, you firmly believe that you can handle another orgasm if he can coax it from you. “Keep goin’, it’s okay. I want you to fill me up. I wanna feel all of you.”

“Y/N—” His voice is stern, but your lips are fierce, stealing whatever argument may have been building in the cavern of his mouth as you weakly tilt your hips downward, offering yourself to him once more. When he muscles up enough strength to tear himself away, he only finds a bounty of understanding, of devotion, of love, teeming at the brim of your eyes, and he needs no words to indulge himself, to yield to a mesmerising whirlpool of you, you, shimmering you.

Tom wraps one arm around your back, holding you close to his chest while you scatter soft, lingering kisses to his shoulder, smoothing his palm over your damp tresses as he hoists one leg over his hip, prying your legs even further apart so he can fuck up into you — impossibly tighter, and tormentingly more responsive as he slams into your overstimulated cunt. You can feel every square inch of him now, every long sweeping vein, the tiny sliver of skin hidden beneath his tip, it’s all crystal clear as he plunges into your weepy core, and you’re so cockdrunk, so fucked out of your mind, that you don’t even notice your hips slanting down to meet his thrusts. You’re just that greedy for another orgasm, hellbent on tumbling over yet again as he fills you to the brim.

It doesn’t take long for him to work himself to that precipice once again, the coil in his stomach pulled taut with your whimpered chant of his name, with each strong pulse of your cunt tightening over him. He buries himself to the hilt one last time, stuttering into your hips with a loud, frenzied groan, and finally teeters off the edge, dragging you down with him as you sink your teeth into his shoulder blade, pumping his hot seed into you, coating your walls with hot spurts of cum as you milk him for every last drop, the crude sound of your arousal mixing with his own making you shudder.

You both lay there for a second, safe in each other’s warm embrace, basking in the aftermath of your fortuned affair, and you cowered beneath the sky and it’s constellation clad ceiling, feeling infinitesimal, but oh so contented, beneath its glorious gaze. There, wrapped up in one another, two splintered halves mending, healing, into the whole they were destined to become — the sky was but a star in comparison to your light, your bright, everlasting light.

How did we get here? You wonder. How, oh, how is he finally mine?

You follow the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way the moon lounges across his curly lashes in a silver chaise — you survey him at his most vulnerable — and determine that you have more than enough time to find the answer. As long as he’s here, by your side, you don’t plan to wander too far.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! PLEASE LIKE, OR LEAVE A COMMENT, IF YOU ENJOYED!

TAGLIST: @devotion @reawritesthings

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland blurb #tom holland oneshot #I CAN NOT BELIEVE I ACTUALLY FUCKING FINISHED THIS #the way this magically climbed from 4.7 to 9.5k in one day will never cease to amaze me #and i hope that this spawns a new love and excitement for country boy tom because i love arvin but #BOY does that man scare me a lil bit #this is more like a . . hart of dixie type of country #more apple pie! less homicide!#I ALSO DONT KNOW WHA THAPPENED TO THE SMUT THIS IS LIKE 40% SMUT #anyway i really do hope yall enjoy #mine*

215 notes · View notes

comfyswitcherblanketfort · 4 years

Text

Grunge-Metal Geralt

Hi, im fucking trash for the idea of Geralt being the front man for a Five Finger Death Punch type band and my brain wouldn’t shut the fuck up about it. This music genre is my bread and butter and I think Geralt’s repressed but highly emotional ass would fit right in. Yes im using another Hozier song, no i dont wanna hear anything about it. I’m a basic bitch and ive made my peace with it

Warnings: i honestly have no idea, its a little horny, little emotional, but theres no actual character interaction?, its at a concert venue? idk yall.

_________________________

Jaskier was… out of his comfort zone.

It’s not that he didn’t like the grunge-metal music, he just hadn’t listened to much and he was not used to the energy. People were yelling and screaming and the opener hadn’t even come on yet. He didn’t feel unsafe, far from it. Several people had checked to see if he was okay, seeing as he was the only person in the entire arena wearing a sweater that wasn't ripped or faded to hell. It was just a far cry from the shows he was used to.

He played folky-blues. This was nothing like his shows.

When the lights went down the crowd was deafening, all moving as one to rush the front of the floor, not giving a single fuck about tickets.

The openers were exciting, and Jaskier was surprised by some of the concepts and messages behind the music. It wasn’t what he’d expected at all and he found himself searching them up on Spotify to listen later.

Then came The Witchers.

Eskel and Lambert made their energetic entrance, followed by Aiden calmly walking to his drums and sitting as if he were walking into a college class. But Geralt was nowhere in sight. The one person Jaskier had actually come to see.

He’d seen a video clip from a previous concert where they covered one of his songs, and he was praying they’d do it again. It was lovely in a haunting-almost-threatening way, and the expression in Geralt’s posture alone was enthralling. He had to see it live.

But Geralt was still absent as the band started to build a song. First Aiden with the beat, then Eskel’s bass, then Lambert with a melody on his electric guitar. It built and built and built to a fever pitch, taking the crowd with it. People were already jumping and screeching. Jaskier had to stand on his seat to see the stage clearly.

Geralt’s voice echoed through the venue, low and closer to a growl than singing, but he was still nowhere to be seen.

Jaskier thought he’d been prepared, but his whole body was covered in goosebumps. He briefly wondered if this was what his friends were feeling when they listened to ASMR.

Geralt remained hidden for the whole first verse, getting the crowd even more excited than Jaskier thought possible, only for the band to go completely silent for a whole measure. When the crowd's screams reached their absolute loudest, Geralt dropped from on top of one of the jumbotrons, landing on one of the horse-sized speakers before launching into the chorus.

Oh fuck, he was even more beautiful in person.

He was… well he was a beast of a man. Jaskier really didn’t have another word for the way his muscles bulged and how lithe and powerful he looked springing from the speaker to join his bandmates on the main stage. His thighs filled out his black, tattered jeans and there were clear faded spots where his muscles strained the fabric too often. The thin black tank he wore did nothing but pretend the man was semi-modest. It was so tight, the only thing left up to the imagination was tan lines and the color of his nipple piercings.

Jaskier was most entranced by his long, white, wavy hair falling past his shoulders. As the show continued and he started to sweat, a lot, it got curlier and curlier at the root. Jaskier wanted to give him a mask and some curl cream, but only after a, uhm, rough night of getting to know each other. He’d heard rumors about Geralt from hitting arenas not long after they’d left. He was quite sure they’d have a great time.

As he focused on the lyrics more and more, he was more inclined to want to wrap Geralt up in a hug and worship every part of him until he felt whole again.

Either he’d been shown the shitty side of the genre, or The Witchers were exceptions to the rule of content. Jaskier was almost moved to tears a few different times.

Finally, about an hour into Jaskier mindlessly feasting his eyes on the front man, Geralt leapt onto another speaker and sat down, breathing hard and grinning from ear to ear.

“You still with us?”

The unholy screech from the crowd left no doubt they were just as excited, if not more so, than when they’d arrived.

“Good! Good..” he trailed off, chuckling as he lowered the mic to take a breath, “We’re gonna slow it down for a minute,” he leaned forward and held the mic away as Eskel shouted something up at him to which he laughed and flipped him off.

“As I was saying, we’re gonna yearn for a minute or two and do a cover. Song by Jaskier called ‘Talk’.”

The crowd lost their shit again, various pride flags popping up throughout the stands.

Geralt chuckled and raised his combat boot, showing off the bi flag colored treads, earning another round of screams. If this is what the grunge-metal scene was like, Jaskier had been missing out his entire life. Sure his fans were sweet and supportive and loving when he’d come out. But this was electric and feral and completely addictive.

Lambert struck the opening chord to Jaskier’s song and the crowd settled to a gentle hum, setting the tone immediately, as if they all knew exactly what was coming.

Geralt closed his eyes as he tapped his thigh with one finger, keeping time before his rumbling baritone hit Jaskier like a freight train.

“I’d be the voice that urged Orpheus when her body was found…”

Jaskier could have collapsed right there. He knew he was staring like a lovesick idiot, but hell, everyone around him was too. When the chorus hit and Eskel came in with a heavy bass line he nearly fell off his chair. Geralt’s intensity raised with the addition of the backup but he didn’t move. He stayed seated, swaying slightly, with his eyes closed as he crooned out the words Jaskier had sobbed as he wrote, broken hearted and miserable.

It was surreal.

Sure he’d seen other covers. Sure they’d been lovely. But he wanted to listen to this and only this as he fell asleep for the rest of his life. He’d never play it again if he could only hear it one more time.

After the last verse Lambert launched into a guitar solo while Geralt jumped off the speaker and meandered to the center of the stage to slot his mic back in it’s stand. He gripped it like a lifeline when Lambert held one last note for as long as his instrument would allow and only started singing the last chorus when it was almost silent.

“I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things I would do

So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you

I won't deny I've got in my mind now all the things we could do

So I'll try to talk refined for fear that you find out how I'm imaginin' you”

His expression looked hopeless and utterly desperate as he crooned out the last two lines. He let his hair fall to cover his face and Jaskier could just barely hear his panting breath over the sound system as the crowd exploded. Geralt tipped his head back and took two deep breaths before straightening up and getting on with the show but Jaskier was stuck.

He was vaguely aware of someone taking a picture of him, but he really couldn’t care less. The fact that Geralt moved right on to a song called ‘Burn Motherfucker Burn’ didn’t matter either.

Jaskier jumped down from his arena seat, whipping out his phone and sending the band a tweet, because apparently that’s what musicians did now?

“Record it. Please. It’s either that or sing me to sleep every night. You choose.”

He stayed for the rest of the show and walked to his car in a haze. Before he backed out of his spot he checked his phone like always and his heart nearly stopped at the two top notifications.

One public reply: “Both? -G”

And one direct message: “If you’re still here and want to grab a drink, I’m just backstage.”

909 notes · View notes

undersero · 3 years

Text

sweet

please note: i’m aware this work was on the lovingshinso blog- i am the one who wrote it and posted it there. i am the author and i am sharing it to my new blog here.

pairing: hanta sero x fem reader

warnings: breeding kink (this is literally the plot), squirting, swearing, unprotected vaginal sex, overstimulation, feral sero, eventual pregnancy/pregnant reader at the end, labor and delivery is mentioned one time as written here

word count: 5.1k

There were some things in life that Sero really enjoyed. He liked to eat bagels with the strawberry cream cheese, and he liked to nap on Sunday afternoons. He really enjoyed when the weather was nice and he could fire up the grill and make something delicious.

Of course, there were thoughts that he enjoyed too. Being a loved, sought-after hero. Backpacking around the world. Climbing the hero charts. Making a difference.

One such thought was above the others, though.

Breeding you. Throwing his pretty wife’s pretty legs over his shoulders and pounding into your little cunny with no thoughts other than to breed, breed, breed. Feeling your cunt stretch around him. Pumping load after load of his seed into your gushing hole, hoping that it’ll take, hoping that soon, you’ll be full and round with his child.

When this thought crept up on him, a blush normally settled on his ears. It was almost overwhelming to think about- beautiful, yes, but overwhelming. His brain plays the sensations in his head and he has to consciously keep himself calm, take steadying breaths and will his arousal to die down.

Some nights, though… it festered inside him. Hanta felt his heart clench in his chest when he saw you come out of the bathroom, fresh from a shower. His t-shirt adorned your body, hanging off your frame adorably, the hem just brushing the top of your thighs. You smelled nice, like roses and vanilla- he caught a whiff as you crawled into bed with him.

How could he not touch you?

Gently, he tugged you near to him, and you smiled up at him, cuddling into his broad, strong chest. Hanta hummed in content, pressing his nose to your hair and inhaling your alluring shampoo, allowing himself to be caught up in you.

Your skin was so soft, so smooth, smelled so nice. He wanted to squeeze it so hard it turned white, wanted to grope that soft area on your lower belly that made you mewl. That soft skin, when touched, always made you shiver and whine in the most beautiful way. You’d always shiver, pressing your head against him somehow. Were you showing submission when you did this? Or was it simply a need to be close? He never quite figured that out, but each time you did this, it unleashed something from inside him so possessive, so feral that he had to be careful to prevent it from taking over.

But maybe he wouldn’t stop it when he bred you. There was a thought.

What?

Oh.

He blinked in surprise, seeing your curious gaze meet his. You were talking to him, expecting an answer. He swallowed hard, chuckling a bit. His ears were red.

“Sorry, what?” He asked, and you laughed, kissing his lips softly.

“Didn’t realize you were so tired,” you said, mistaking his spacey behavior for exhaustion and not horny daydreaming, “I asked if you wanted me to bring you lunch tomorrow. You mentioned it was a paperwork day.”

Hanta loved when you stopped by his agency, he loved when your face lit up when you saw him. He loved knowing that this work was what took care of you both. You didn’t have to work a day in your life if you didn’t want to- but Hanta, of course, never forced you to stay home. He wanted you to have the option to find your dream job anywhere you wanted- and if that job was to stay home and be his adorable little housewife, then so be it. If your dream job was to become a lawyer, so be it. He’d always support you. Always had, always would.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling brightly at you. “Yeah, that would be nice,” he murmured.

With that confirmation, you smiled, kissing him again, feeling your eyelids become droopy and your body feel sluggish and warm. Hanta’s arms felt warmer and more secure than any you’d ever been in before and you couldn’t help but want to stay there forever.

Sleep came to you quickly. It didn’t come as fast for your husband; Hanta stayed awake after he clicked off the bedside light, looking at you sleeping so sweetly in his arms.

That was the best way he could describe you. Sweet. Sweet in everything you did. You gave sweet kisses, and sweet advice, and you made the sweetest brownies he’d ever had. Your face was sweet… your hands were sweet, looking even sweeter when he put that ring on the left one not so very long ago. You smelled sweet…

...and he knew you’d look sweet when he had you in a mating press. When he bred you and filled you up with his cum. Your face would be fucked out, red, eyes hazy and unfocused. Maybe you’d even be drooling- he loved when he fucked you that good. And he’d sure as hell do it when he knocked you up- he’d have you creaming on his cock so much, so often, that the only thing in your brain would be the only name falling off your tongue- Hanta.

A shiver racked through his body. He blinked a few times, taking a deep breath.

Settling back into the pillows, he pressed his nose against your hair once more, inhaling and smiling softly against your head. He loved you so much. But these thoughts…

Well, if he didn’t breed you soon, they might just drive him crazy.

The next morning was pretty uneventful. Hanta woke up and went to work, kissing you several times, making you squeal and giggle with glee as you handed him a thermos of coffee to drink on his commute to work. When he arrived at his agency, his desk was nearly overflowing with paperwork, which surely would have put a damper on his day had he not known you were coming to see him.

This knowledge didn’t do much to make the paperwork any less sucky, though. It was tedious. He signed and initialed so many times that he idly wondered if he could get stamps with his signature on them- that would make this whole, boring ordeal a lot easier on the wrist… might take a little less time, too. He wondered if there were any rules against that, and was still pondering this thought when his receptionist called into his office phone; the shrill ring scaring him nearly half to death.

“Yeah?” He answered after taking a moment to compose himself and ignore the fact that he just shrieked like a twelve year old seeing a very large, menacing bug.

“Cellophane, you have a visitor,” his receptionist relayed. “Should I send her up?”

His heart soared.

“Yeah,” he said, unable to hide the smile in his voice.

Moments later, you came through the door, a bento box in hand, your bag slung over your shoulder. A blush was on your cheeks. Even after all this time, seeing your handsome husband, Hanta the Hero, made you so excited you felt like you could and would explode.

A matching blush and smile on his cheeks, Hanta came around the desk and gave you a soft, loving kiss. You tasted like mint bubblegum, the blue kind, not the green kind, and it made him shiver, just slightly, with delight.

“Hi, handsome!” you said, pulling him back in for another kiss and cupping his face. The cool metal of your rings pressed against his flushed cheek, only making his blush worsen. Sero grinned against your mouth and pulled you closer by your waist, giving you a little squeeze, before pulling away.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said, gently carding his fingers through your hair and giving you a soft kiss on the forehead. “This paperwork has been kicking my ass. So glad you came.”

You eyed the stack of papers on the desk behind your husband, making a squeamish face before looking up at him with sympathetic eyes.

“Yeah that looks… like a migraine waiting to happen,” you said. Sero laughed.

“I know. It is, though. Maybe I should make an intern do it for me,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

Scoffing, you batted his chest before quoting one of your and Sero’s closest friends.

“That’s not very heroic!” you scolded playfully before breaking into a fit of giggles. Sero laughed, pulling you in closer and kissing your cheek and neck, over and over, thus making you laugh even more.

After several moments of kissing and giggling, Hanta stilled and inhaled, smelling that same alluring scent on you that he’d smelled the previous night when you got out of the shower. It was so comforting… if there was ever a time when he was spinning, out of control, losing touch with his surroundings and with what was important or not, that smell… well, he knew that smell would bring him right back.

The problem was, though, that right now, that very smell was sending his mind spinning again. He had no control over it and his ears were turning pink.

His mind raced. He could take you right here, throw the paperwork aside, lay you out on his desk, press you in half, holding your knees nearly by your ears. The desk would give him such a good angle too, he’d be able to fuck into you as hard as he wanted with no worries of his thrusts being impeded by the soft, plushiness of your bed. All he’d have to do was tell his receptionist to cancel any appointments he had for the afternoon- he couldn’t even remember if he had any at that point- tell her to not permit any calls in…

All this ran through his hot, overworked brain in about a second, and in that second, he just smelled your hair, being so relaxed and at peace outwardly while he was, inside, raging with uncontrollable arousal. He had to have you. Had to breed you. Breed, breed, breed.

“Babe,” you said, your voice was quiet, soft. Almost unsure. His heart dropped for a moment, worried that in his haze, he’d somehow spoken or made his thoughts known to you some other way. He pulled back just enough to look at you, tilting his head to the side, willing you to continue.

You were chewing on your lip so adorably that it hurt his heart and made him yearn to be the one chewing your lip. Your cheeks were redder, but your eyes were looking at him earnestly, almost shining with excitement. Clearly he hadn’t slipped and spoke his thoughts, otherwise you wouldn’t have been looking at him like that…

“Hm?” he asked, tilting his head, “you look so serious, babe.”

You smiled a little, looking down, bashful.

“Yeah… um… so, like...you remember what we were talking about the other day?”

Well...that was vague. The two of you talked about a lot of stuff the other day, and every day before or since. Hanta’s confusion was evident on his face and you shook your head, giggling in spite of yourself, before taking a breath and trying again.

“Okay… that’s not clear. I meant…”

Why was this so hard for you to say out loud? Maybe it was because of the way Sero’s brown eyes bore into you, looking intensely, even though he wasn’t necessarily trying to do that. Just looking at you, curiously, wanting to know what was on your mind. Your husband...so caring. So loving.

“I’m listening, Bonita,” he prodded gently, tucking some hair behind your ear. The nickname sent a shiver down your spine, and you smiled at him.

“About starting a family,” you said, shy.

Oh yeah. The conversation that started this whole obsession that was taking over Hanta’s thoughts. You’d been looking on Social Media, on a friend’s profile, cooing over her baby who’d just turned two. And then the conversation...turned.

“I think it might be a good time to think about it,” you said, turning and looking at Sero with hopeful eyes and pink, blushy cheeks. “You’ve got your agency going...and we’re both still young. Seems to be working in our favor, don’t you think?”

Sero smiled at you, his own cheeks getting red; the tips of his ears were starting to pinken, too.

“You think so?” he asked, delighted, butterflies in his chest akin to the ones he felt the very first time he’d seen you smile at him. You nodded enthusiastically.

“I think so! I mean… that’s assuming you want to.”

You had talked about it before with your husband, but in a passing kind of way. Like, ‘one day we’ll be parents’ and ‘we’ll have to remember that when we have kids’. It was never a fully serious thing, never something that the two of you really thought about or planned out. Until this conversation. Until now.

“Yeah! Of course I want to,” Hanta said, giving you a kiss. And then, what started off as five simple words, became the source of his current obsession. Of his current need to breed you immediately and upon every surface of every space you’d been in. Five words that seemed totally innocent at the time but immediately had his heart racing, his libido rising, and his gut clenching in arousal.

“You’ll be a beautiful mommy.”

Presently, Hanta had to consciously swallow to wet his suddenly parched mouth. He grinned at you, that same dazzling, sparkling Hanta Sero grin that made your knees weak and your heart flutter. He leaned in and kissed you, passionately, the lunch you’d brought for him all but forgotten about.

Inhaling deeply and pulling away, you saw Hanta’s expression had changed. It was darker now, more… needy. He nipped your bottom lip, making you mewl in surprise and lean in closer to him; his strong arms kept your knees from collapsing.

“Yeah, I remember,” he told you, voice having noticeably dropped an octave, maybe even two. The change immediately made you blush harder- you were sure you looked like a tomato at this point, but you didn’t care, not when your husband, the only man who’d ever have your heart, looked at you that way.

“I thought,” you murmur, voice sounding softer, like your body would surely be when you carried his child; softer, supple, stretching so beautifully around a stomach full of life, “I thought it would be nice to maybe start trying.”

Hanta groaned, the words having an obvious effect on him. He pulled you flush against his chest, roughly kissing against your jaw, nipping every few times to make you positively melt in his arms. You felt the need waft off him in waves- it was hot and potent, almost making you dizzy as you felt his unquestionable want, his need, to breed you.

He opened his mouth to answer you, when at the exact moment, his office phone rang again, causing you both to flinch in surprise; thankfully, he didn’t shriek this time. That would have changed the mood.

But he still sighed heavily, swallowing hard, before opening his eyes and giving you an easy smirk. He’d been brought out of whatever trance you’d put him in, it seemed.

“I hate that damn thing,” he muttered, casting a disparaging glance at the phone.

He answered the call from his receptionist, and soon, you were on your way home. Hanta gave you many kisses and hugs for the road, leaving you feeling well loved and excited to see him that evening.

But further, the entire visit left you...curious. You’d never seen Hanta act so...possessive. Almost… you couldn’t think of the right word. The way he kissed you, though. How dark his eyes had gotten. The way you felt your husband’s need roll off of him in the heaviest way you’d never experienced before.

Your mind rolled the interaction over and over, prodding and playing and questioning and wondering.

Certainly, you knew you wanted a family with him. Hanta would be an excellent father and you never doubted that for a second, never for a moment. Excitement tingled in your chest- this was a huge decision, of course, but it was one you knew you wanted. Based on his behavior back at his office, and the behavior he’d been displaying before, you could tell your husband was pretty into the idea as well.

A familiar heat settled into your stomach, burning embers of arousal keeping you just warm enough to notice, but not yet scalding enough to make you squirm.

That, like you, like your husband, would come later.

It was an understatement to say that Sero was distracted for the rest of his afternoon. He likely wouldn’t have been able to hit the floor with his helmet, even if he was trying to. His brain whirled in excitement, spun in arousal and possibilities. It was maddening, dizzying. He couldn’t tell which way was up anymore, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t need to know which way was up to know he was the luckiest man in the world.

Not only was he your husband, but he was going to be the father of your child, too.

Sero never considered himself to be the fatherly type- not really, at least. He’d never discounted it either, but then… well. Then he met you, and his entire life changed.

When he first saw your eyes, your smile… heard you giggle… he knew without a doubt he wanted to be your husband, wanted to be your man. He wanted to hold you every night and wake up to you, bed head and morning breath, every morning.

And the more time he spent with you, the more he knew he wanted to be a father. He wanted to be the father to your children, he wanted you to be the mother of his babies.

And the time, finally, blessedly, was here.

Dinner was an interesting affair that night. You couldn’t have been more spaced out while making it… you were only semi-sure that you’d included all the correct ingredients in all the proper amounts. It didn’t taste awful, so that was a good indication; you still would not have put it past yourself to mix up two spices, or forget something altogether only to add an unneeded ingredient.

Sero didn’t complain, though, not that he ever did. But he looked distracted. His cheeks were permanently rosey, it seemed, and he kept looking at you, only to shyly look down when you met his gaze. It was cute, really, like you two were kids trying to figure out your feelings for one another for the first time.

There wasn’t much conversation. Little broken bits of sentences passed between the two of you. Small laughs and hums filled the rest of the otherwise quiet atmosphere and semi-regular sounds of silverware scraping plates.

After about half an hour, and after you both had managed to eat about half of what was on your plate, he finally spoke.

“I don’t know why I feel so nervous,” he said with a shy, almost bashful laugh, cheeks blooming a brighter red.

“I feel it too. I feel like a virgin,” you told him, to which he reached across the table and took your hand.

“I’m sure you were a cute virgin,” he teased with an affectionate squeeze, and you laughed out loudly, maybe a little more harshly than you intended with your shotty nerves. This only made Sero’s expression toward you soften even more.

“Gee, thanks,” you said, leaning in, closing the gap between you and kissing him. The kiss came easily enough; you were pros at this point.

“Should we… y’know?” Hanta asked, lips mere millimeters from yours, breath fanning across your flushed face. Another giggle left your lips, but this one was more high-pitched and nervous.

“Yeah,” you said. You swore you saw the same apprehension mirrored in Hanta’s eyes, but he quickly stood and scooped you up before carrying you, bridal-style, to the bedroom.

The walk there seemed to take ages. You were horny, that dull warmth from your walk home had turned into quite the all-encompassing heat, but your hands felt clammy and cold and were fidgety.

You hadn’t been lying; you really did feel like you were a virgin. Like you’d never been fucked stupid by the man holding you.

It was an exciting thing. A scary thing. An exhausting thing. But it was the start of your adventure, the greatest one you’d take, and it was with your loving, attentive husband.

As you approached your room, Hanta’s body seemed to relax a bit, almost as if passing the threshold made this whole thing easier for him now that he was in an extra safe, comforting space.

As he laid you on the bed, on your back, you didn’t see apprehension in his eyes anymore. They were dark now, nearly black, and just one look alone had your heart racing. The butterflies in your stomach were now the size of watermelons and it felt like there was no way, no reasonable way at all, for them to avoid bursting your stomach, but they never did. Somehow. Heat which didn’t exist before radiated between your bodies, and you were taken back to that same feeling that washed over you when you visited him earlier. Your cheeks flushed and you felt...submissive. Needy. Helpless.

Hanta started rubbing his hands all over your pretty little body, rubbing your sides as he hovered over you, gazing down lovingly at your form through those dark eyes. One hand slid up under your shirt, fingertips gently grazing over your soft belly, the action and the intimacy giving you goosebumps.

“Love you,” you whispered, looking at him with starry eyes, and he smiled back at you.

“Love you too,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss you, “and I’m gonna fuck you full.”

The shivers in your body hadn’t subsided once you both were stripped down. You weren’t cold; there was no shortage of heat between you and your husband’s bodies- it was the thrill of it all. The knowledge that you were going to be bred by such a handsome, capable man. It drove you wild. His touches drove you wild. You wanted to jump his bones, but you were stuck, on your back against the comforter, with Hanta kissing down, down, down…

Then, your legs were over his shoulders and he was lapping hungrily at your already sopping cunt. Long, broad strokes up and down your lips before he spread your folds open with his fingers. You heard his sharp intake of breath, though this was something he’d seen many times before.

Your cunt, pink and pretty, like a tiny rosebud, was breathtaking. Awe-inspiring. Delicious. Hanta leaned forward as you held your breath in anticipation, eventually exhaling with a tiny whine as he licked through your folds with practiced movements. His tongue felt like heaven. He knew exactly what to do, how to swirl his tongue, how to lap at your hardening clit. And there was no room for teasing tonight, not as far as Hanta was concerned. He wanted you to cum as many times as he could.

The first orgasm came quickly; his constant sucking and lapping at your clit, coupled with harsh, efficient swipes to the bud with his thumb, had you cumming in mere minutes. If you hadn’t been so fucked out, you were sure Hanta would have teased you about making you cum in a new record time.

Pleasure pumped through every artery, every vein of your body. You felt warm and floaty, but Sero didn’t stop. Of course he didn’t. He was nowhere near done with you.

A finger breached your hole, pressing inside up to his knuckle with ease. You mewled at the sensation, the slight burning, the overwhelming goodness of being so full.

“Ffff…” you huffed out, cheeks red, squeezing your eyes shut as your toes curled in response to Hanta moving his finger into and out of you at a nearly agonizingly slow pace.

Then, he added another. And a third. Three fingers pumping you open, scissoring inside you, curling to hit that little spot within your spongy walls that made you moan and cry and see stars.

Sero looked like he was possessed. His head was bowed between your legs, watching your cunt suck his fingers in, feeling in delight the fact that you didn’t seem to want to let his fingers out. His eyes were dark, too. His cheeks were flushed. There was so much tension in his body- he held it in his shoulders, in his hips, in his hands...and most especially in his cock, throbbing with need, bobbing heavily between his legs.

Your second orgasm washed over you without much fanfare, though it did feel incredibly good, making your toes curl so hard that you almost felt the muscles in your feet cramp in protest. Almost.

And then, Sero was sitting up and your legs were falling off of his shoulders. His hands rubbed soft, soothing circles into the soft, flushed flesh of your thighs, and he smiled at you so softly that it nearly made you cry. Your husband.

“Ready?” His voice was soft, surprisingly so, considering how rough he looked and how red his cock was. You nodded, smiling, feeling anxious nerves bubble up in your stomach and make your chest feel fuzzy, like soda.

“We’re gonna do it,” you said, voice hoarse from your whimpers. “We’re gonna be parents.”

A silent, intimate moment passed between the two of you; a moment in which eternity spread out before you. You could both see it; a child, growing in your womb, slowly at first, but then quicker than you could ever imagine. You envisioned a nursery, one with soft green curtains and a big, white crib with a soft, pastel baby blanket hanging over the side. Labor and delivery flashed through both your minds, but then, the warm, imagined feeling of seeing your child for the first time. It made both of your chests expand with a love so strong that it nearly consumed the both of you. You surmised, though, that actually seeing your child, in your arms, would be a much stronger event.

Then, like a reel of film, you saw your child growing up. Learning to talk. Walking. Running. Playing, laughing, growing. Breaking your hearts and making them stronger at the same time. Developing a quirk, maybe, but developing a passion, definitely. Knowing how loved they were by mommy and daddy, knowing that they had a safe place to call home. School. Graduation. The real world. Weddings.

It all stretched between you and Hanta, like the vast expanse of an unexplored journey; the greatest and most terrifying and exhilarating and challenging of all.

This all happened within a second, but you both felt it. You saw the same things, you experienced the same feelings. Hanta’s eyes, still dark, but now brimming with emotion, stared into yours, and he touched your cheek.

“Yeah,” he confirmed softly, with a nod. “Yeah, babe. It’s always been you.”

First. Your legs wrapped tightly around Hanta’s waist, resting on the dimples of his lower back as he drove himself into you with practiced, hard thrusts. His hands dug into your hips, his thumbs pressing on that soft skin on your lower belly. You mewled at his presses on such a delicate area. Your first orgasm with him inside you was like being submerged in a warm bath. It was slow, almost, not frenzied, and at this point, it was relatively calm. Sero’s orgasm followed suit.

Second. Your left leg is up over Hanta’s shoulder, the right one pinned to the bed with his left hand. His wedding ring glints in the lowlights of your room as he fucks you, this time with more vigor. Maybe it’s the different position, maybe it’s the harder thrusts, maybe it’s the fact that you’ve already cum three times and he doesn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon, but everything feels amplified. Every swipe of his thumb over your puffy clit. Every drag of his thick, beautiful cock against your sensitive, gummy walls. Every squeeze to your thigh…

Every look that you shared. Hanta’s eyes were even darker now, darker than they’d been earlier that day at his agency. More needy, almost feral. Your second orgasm with him inside you wasn’t as pleasant. It was hot now, not just warm, and sparks of overstimulation shocked you as your body jerked, almost convulsing as the pleasure tore out of you. Hanta came with a grunt of your name, his voice now so deep and gravelly that he sounded feral.

Third. Hanta was feral now. His hair stuck out in a million different directions, his pupils were completely blown. Breed, breed, breed. He held your thighs down to the bed, on either side of you, your knees pressed down on the mattress in close proximity to your ears.

Breed, breed, breed. Tears streamed down your flushed face, and you were babbling nonsense, mostly of your husband’s name and broken little whines.The headboard smacked the wall, the sound reverberating through the room as Hanta thrusted with his entire body weight into your aching, sloppy cunt. He growled, primeval in his need to fill you up- it was no longer a want. He needed to breed you. He’d simply go crazy if he couldn’t.

Your third orgasm felt like an atomic bomb went off within your walls. Arousal gushed forward as you squirted, your entire cunt clenching violently, milking Hanta’s throbbing cock for all it was worth, painfully so, in your sensitivity. You cried out, sobbing, nails clawing at your husband’s bare back and arms. But he continued to fuck into you recklessly. The drywall behind the bed cracked. The bedframe groaned. A feral growl unlike anything you’d ever heard came from your husband as he came, driving his hips and his seed further and further into your womb.

Breed, breed, breed.

The day was sunny and clear. A warm breeze fluttered in through your open kitchen window, rustling the curtains and wafting the delicious smells from the stove throughout your home. A soft smile pulled at your face as you stirred and seasoned as needed- baby corn. Baby carrots. Baby back ribs.

Of course, there was a theme.

Hanta came home, calling for you, and your heart soared, fluttering in your chest and settling down into your belly.

“I’m in here babe,” you replied, turning, and picking up a small box.

The box itself was nothing remarkable. It was yellow, small, and rectangular- like the kind of box one would put a necklace inside of, but this one held something more precious than a necklace.

This box held your future.

Inside, nestled in with sea green tissue paper, was a pregnancy test. The first pregnancy test you’d taken that showed those two sacred, life-changing, little pink lines.

#mha smut #my hero academia smut #hanta sero smut #sero smut #sweet #receipts: works from my old blog

428 notes · View notes