#youre not Jäger though

[macravishedbymactavish]

I love dogs!!

Now I got to know. What kind of dog would you say I was?

There are no wrong answers. 😄

This is 100% biased because I own this type of dog buuuuuut -- gotta be a Newfoundland.

They are the most docile, loving, kind hearted doofs on the entire planet. Our guy Jäger is well over 100lbs but still insists that he's a wee little lap dog who needs to be held and cuddled at all times.

Loves, and I mean LOVES people. Take him to town? AH PEOPLE HELLO. Vet? AH PEOPLE HELLO. Nail trims? AH PEOPLE HELLO.

They're all around amazing dogs, and I've found one of my best friends in one. So it's suiting that you are a Newfoundland

[joelhoney]

#1 girl

pairing: dbf joel miller x afab/sorority sister reader

kenny here... tumblr Blipped me u guys. but i loved this too much to let it waste into nothingness. so here we go again take two using an ancient blog i never even used (from 2016 mind u...) enjoy!

You're too wrapped up in sorority duties to remember somebody's supposed to pick you up and drive you home tonight. One pissed-off Joel, curious conversation, and cowboy hat later, your evening takes an unexpected turn.

warnings: no outbreak au, dbf!joel, self gratuitous age gap (21/51), shy reader w/ some bursts of confidence, blowjob (m receiving), handjob (f receiving), dirty talk, praise, degradation too..., overuse of pet names... must b all

Of all the ways you imagined spending your fifth day of spring break, the last was in your dad’s best friend’s pickup truck with lame rock playing dryly through the console radio. In fact, last is generous—the idea itself had never even been conjured in your head.

The reason why is because you and your dad’s best friend—Mr. Miller—don’t typically interact beyond the confines of dinners, mandatory laughter, and the occasional one-on-one about something like boys in college, or classes in college, or the drive to college. Nothing much had changed when you moved the brief drive away to UT Austin, and between you everything’s remained the same, even now in your senior year.

For instance, a break—summer, spring, winter—would begin with your parents picking you up and shuttling off to the house, and end with an affair of the similar sort. Quickly into your first year, though, you learned to always insist you either leave school late or leave home early for spring break to take advantage of campus parties, especially because your senior year had cemented your shiny new position as President of Alpha Phi.

Any officer position in a sorority already came with a good deal of responsibility, let alone the presidency; and in addition to having recently turned twenty-one, the role required you to exhaust every drop of social battery, every ounce of skill you had at party hosting and alcohol obtaining without the use of a flimsy fake.

The eliminated nerves of using fakes made you much less nervous during parties, which often led to you letting more loose than usual. This party you’re in was thrown by some frat on campus, but this house is your last place of four; first two pregames, then a bar, then here. At some point at the bar your sisters had surprised you with a fun gift for the night, so you’re also wearing a pink sash, onto which rhinestones spelling out #1 Girl have been glued with precision.

Already you’re dizzy, wiping clammy fingers on the stiff cotton of your tight tank top, the curve of your tits spilling over the Alpha Phi logo. It’s small on you, the hem high above your navel and higher above the loose, low hem of your denim shorts. If they fell low enough on your hips, the high arch of your pink thong would’ve shown itself—maybe it did at some point, you’re too loopy to care.

“Oh, no,” you’re saying, but you can barely hear yourself over the rap song playing and everyone singing along, “no, I hate Jäger.” You’re shaking your head at your best friend and Vice President, Lia, who raises two handfuls of the opaque liquid. She shakes her head, sets them down on the table you’re leaning against.

“Lighten up, duuude. We’re taking them to celebrate your first and last spring break as President.”

“Aw, fine,” you muse loudly, giving in. “Only this once.” Out of obligation and genuine gratitude, you allow yourself to stomach your least favorite drink—then another, and another, a bit of each shot dribbling down the column of your throat and stickily onto your chest.

Lia snaps at the red bra strap that peeks out of your tank strap, laughing. “Settle down, Prez.” A partygoer, rowdy as they come, roughly deposits a sweaty cowboy hat onto your head and you yelp in surprise, steadying it. Whoever gave this, I’m keeping it! you holler, laughing as you feed yourself a shot of something your tongue enjoys more.

Absolut crowds the inside of your mouth when you take it back, interrupted only when a hand comes to shake at your shoulder. In your rush to turn, you nearly hit them with your hat.

It’s Cole, a good friend and member of the frat whose house you’re currently getting tipsy in. His eyes are rimmed and the whole air of him smells like weed. He offers one greeting: “Yo.” His eyes slide down to your chest, where your tugged-down tank has exposed a few inches of your red bra’s lacy cups.

“Hey,” you say, the syllable sounding sticky. “Up here, you ass. Jägerbomb?” You offer a smile.

“‘M a’ight. Listen, some…” He shakes his head, like he’s trying to place what he’s here to tell you. Then he nods, having remembered—“Right. Some old guy’s out front asking for you.”

“Asking for me? Old… guy?” Your eyebrows scrunch together, mind foggy. “My dad?” Shit. You’d completely forgotten they’d be picking you up today or tomorrow. Maybe they’d been waiting for hours—it’s one-thirty, the clock on the living room mantel reads. 

“Nah, man, not your dad, this guy’s… he’s got a red pickup truck, um, he’s, like, he’s old looking.” He raises a hand above his own head. “Tall.” His voice is drawly with the weed high, but as soon as he said red pickup, you knew exactly who he was talking about. One look at your phone confirms it—five missed calls and a message, 11PM, sent by your dad: Joel’s in the area for work. He’s going out with buddies but can swing by the house to pick you up. I’m giving him your #.

“Fuck.” You blink. “Fuck! I gotta go.” 

You never usually have to pack shit to go home, considering the drive isn’t too far. Briefly you consider making a detour to collect things from your sorority house, but you decide to sacrifice the laptop and the few important chargers. So, armed with only your phone, you wrench your way out of the crowd, a few goodbyes thrown in your direction and back.

The front door is open so the partygoers spill onto the front yard, intermittent conversation littering the area. Along the pavement, frat guys’ Civics and and Priuses are parked beside an old looking red pickup truck; leaned against it is—

“Mr. Miller,” you blurt out when you’re closer to him, voice steady (your mind is just as well, shocked back to lucidity from his presence). “I’m sorry. I had no idea you’d be picking me up today—tonight—” You heave a sigh, apologetic, refusing to meet his eyes. “Sorry.”

His arms are crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his button-up rolled up to his elbows. Even from a few feet away you can make out the shape, the lines of muscle on his forearms. He looks tired, moody—more than usual—and your heart pangs with guilt at the idea that you could be the reason behind it. But despite your best—really, your best—efforts, your stomach still swoops the same way it did when you were seventeen and naive, enough to find next-door-neighbor Mr. Miller extremely handsome. Hell, extremely hot.

It didn’t make sense. You’d suspected your little crush would be that—an adolescent, childish thing, evaporating more and more into thin air with every drive made to campus. But he never stopped being handsome, never stopped his corny jokes and the pet names that got you warm every time you visited over break. You had plenty of eye candy on campus, athletes and gamers alike, and yes you’d been picky, but had managed to sleep with a select few—despite all of it, only the remnants of your fantasies of Mr. Miller satiated you when your hand creeps into the apex of your thighs late at night, lust wrangling shame into silence for a few minutes.

You blink and the train of thought is over—the real thing is here, eyebrows set low, mouth frowning.

“Kiddo,” he starts, his voice thin with exhaustion, “look, I’ve done my share of… drinkin’, and that. I get it. But you gotta…” He clicks his tongue, eyes looking your outfit up and down. “You gotta let me know, let your parents know, where you are, and if you’re okay. ‘Cause I really did not want to spend tonight drivin’ from house to bar, to bar to house, feelin’ like I was lookin’ all over Austin for you.”

“I know,” you supply quickly, nodding. Your hands, fidgety, find purchase on the fibres of the silk sash strung along your figure. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Miller. I didn’t check my phone the entire evening, and—”

“It’s okay.” He says, nonchalant, lifting himself off the side of the car to walk to the drivers’ side. Gruffly, he adds, “Car.”

You’re quick to tug the door open, settling yourself on the passenger seat and breathing nervously. Your legs are littered with body glitter, your chest with the tack of Jäger. You spot him outside, his walk slow. He’s annoyed—rightfully so—stopping just shy of the door to pinch at the bridge of his nose, his lips miming a slow exhale. When he finally wrangles himself to sit, it’s quiet for a minute, then another.

“Y’have fun?” He starts the car, thrumming it to life. You nod, then offer a verbal answer—yeah. He nods, wiping a palm over his face. “What were you up to?” 

“I, um… I organized a pregame for my sorority.” You toy with the rogue strands of denim of your shorts. “We went to a bar, after… then another… then, well.” You gulp. “Here.” The last question escapes you in a shaky, breathy squeak. “And you?”

“Hah, sure, kid. Had some contractor thing, half an hour from here. Then drinks with a coupl’a buddies from work. Could’ve been home by eleven-thirty,” he says roughly, driving through the still-vibrant streets of campus, “but it’s nearin’ two and I’m on a college campus.” The urge to apologize bubbles at your lips, high in your stomach, but you remain quiet. After a few stretches of dry silence, he asks again. “That party must’ve been real fun for you to leave your old man—and me—on radio silence, wun’nit?”

“Sure,” you manage, stammering. “We were celebrating my sorority presidency.” The dark scenery of Austin blurs past. 

“Oh, sorority presidency,” he repeats, both teasing and genuinely curious. “I did hear your dad mention you were in Alpha Phi, s’that right?” You nod. “What’s that, then? Do presidents get cowboy hats?”

Your face grows hot, hands reaching up to clutch at the rim of the hat atop your head. “No, this—somebody put it—it was a joke, Mr. Miller.” A huffy laugh escapes you. “Sorry.”

“Sweetheart,” he says, and you wrench the reminder he’s 51 he’s 51 he’s 51 through your head while he pauses, “‘m drivin’ you around Austin late at night, and I’ve known you for your whole life. How ‘bout we drop the Mr. Miller act, alright?”

“Oh. Okay,” you say. His hands grip the steering wheel firmly, and your eyes wander to his arms, to how he’s basically stuffed into the shirt he’s wearing, big and broad and bulky. His eyes remain focused ahead, so you let yourself indulge a tad bit more—lower, to the material of his jeans. It’s dark in the truck, so you can’t see much, just the flex of his thighs. “Joel.”

“Attagirl.” You chew at the inside of your cheek, already feeling arousal simmering in you, low and dirty. You’re going to soak through this godforsaken thong. “Mind if I make a pit stop?” You shake your head profusely, watch as he pulls into a gas station parking lot. “Want anythin’, girl?”

“N—” your lips form, but you scrap your original answer. “Gum, if they have it.”

“Be damned if they don’t.” He slams the door shut and you watch him enter the store, watch him through the glass panels. He’s so broad. You’d nearly completely forgotten how stupidly you liked him, and now it’s coming, throttling back full-force, especially with the thrilling aspect of it possibly coming to fruition. You are, after all, an adult. And so is he, paying for his shit with a tight-lipped expression, arms crossed again, arms big and—Jesus.

You squeeze your thighs together, willing yourself to get your shit in place when he pulls the door open again, his eyes scanning your seated figure. He tosses you the packet of gum, and you respond with a sweet thank you, Mr. M—Joel, and you fiddle with the packaging as he starts the car again, driving until scenery grows more and more familiar, closer to home.

“By the way,” he says, voice husky with the unuse of not talking for a while. “Think it’s best you spend the night at my house tonight, kid. It’s late. Later than late.” 2:44, the console digital clock reads in blinky red text. “Your parents don't want the door rattlin’ open at this hour, so I’ll let you in the guest room.”

“Oh,” you say. “Sure.”

“D’you have a change of clothes?” He asks, even if he knows you climbed into the seat with nothing but your phone and a cowboy hat. You shake your head and he tsks. “You’re barely covered, sweetheart. Best be careful walkin’ around when the night’s this chilly.”

Barely covered. You think of every possible response, but what leaves your glossed lips is the riskiest: “What do you mean, barely covered?”

You figure if he starts saying shit like what are you insinuatin’, kiddo? You better sleep at yours tonight instead, it’s an easy out—you’re turning the corner onto your street now, and your stomach is boiling with nerves, sticky and anticipatory. “I jus’ mean… it shows a lotta skin.” 

“It’s sorority merch, Joel,” you reply, half-amused and half-defensive.

“No, I”—he sighs, like he wants to backtrack what he’s just said—“I know, but… always worth somethin’ to be careful. Might catch a cold with all that leg… all that—you—showin’.” He parks in front of his house, this sizey, homey thing, and your heart flips knowing how familiar this place has been to you your entire life.

“I’m not going to wear winter gear to a spring break frat party.” You’re bolder, suddenly, but even if the statement is, your voice is level, meek, even. Joel nods, as if admitting defeat, and gets out of the car first; you follow, sneakers crunching against the asphalt as you follow him into the house.

“I hope,” he starts when you’re stationed beside him at the door, “I didn’t… offend you. I was jus’ concerned, is all.” Then he’s stoic again, slipping inside, straight to the kitchen to pour you a glass of water. He flicks a yellow light on and you squint when you get there, rubbing at your eyes to prevent them from aching.

You’re still rubbing at them when his gaze drops from your fussed-up hair and askew hat down to the shiny surface of your chest. Your goddamn top leaves him nothing to the imagination, your tits spilling out of it scandalously. The low cut even lets your bra peek through, red and bright and hey, you show up from college wearing these large university shirts and sweatpants—not this, never this. And your shorts, the way they’re really just a fucking belt, starting low on your hips and cut off high above your thighs.

Alpha Phi, the pink text on your white top reads on the left chest area. Right where your tits curve into the top, the slogan is printed: Union hand in hand. God, sororities and their fucking… quotable bullshit. And don’t get him started on the sash, this cutesy, frilly thing he wants to loop around your wrists so he can fuck you over the counter. He knows he can’t—it’s so wrong, so wrong. He’s known your dad for ages. 

But you… you're so tempting, a little minx, chirping Mr. Miller all sweet and apologetic, chest out on full display. He blinks when he hears your voice filter through the fog in his head. “—off?”

“What was that, sweetheart?” His eyes meet yours again and he feels a twinge of embarrassment at the way your bashfulness has somewhat melted to give way to the clear amusement on your face. You must’ve spotted the way he ogled you; he wasn’t exactly trying his hardest to be subtle, unfortunately. 

“D’you have something I can use to wipe myself off?” You gesture to your sticky collarbone area. “I got Jäger all over myself. Can’t handle the stuff.” You grimace at the memory, and he goes to grab a wet wipe; while waiting, you hoist yourself up onto the counter, bare legs swinging.

Joel turns to toss you the packet of wipes, but his throat dries before he can even call your name out. Your back is to him, and clearly you’re waiting for his return—you’ve busied yourself by sitting on his counter and letting the hot pink lace of your thong rise above the waistline of your shorts. Lord have mercy, he thinks to himself, adjusting his jeans as he walks back over to you.

“Wipes,” he says roughly, not anything else.

You accept the packet and smile shyly. “Can you…” you pause, the implication hovering over both of you, heavy. “Wait for me?” He nods, inviting. Warm. And he watches, inviting but not very warm anymore, the way you wipe over the expanse of your chest, over the curve of your tits, every other part of you dusted in glitter.

“So,” you say again. “Since we’re on first name basis now, Joel, I, um—I hope it’s okay to ask questions.”

“Sounds reasonable. Go for it,” he accepts. 

“When’s the last time you went to a party?” Your smile is mischievous. 

He chuckles, a huff of air. “...Long, long ago, kid. Back in my day, partyin’ meant beer, maybe a little weed… not that I'm complaining there, you understand.” He nods resolutely. “These days, a quiet home-cooked meal with just the people I really care about… is a party.”

“Wow, what an old guy answer,” you giggle. “Back in youuuur day.” Your raspy, honeyed voice wraps around the your with a teasing lilt.

“Oh, I’m old now, am I?” His stoic demeanor chips away when he laughs. “That makes you what, sweetheart? You’re barely a pup.”

At his words—at the utterance of pup—you roll your eyes and try to shift your seating so your thong doesn’t stick to your folds. “Okay, fine, next.” You’re not even wiping anymore, the material wrung into your fingers, which lay in a fist by your side. “When’s the last time you got shitfaced?”

He gives a grimace of a smile. “Aw… boy, it's been a while.” He comes closer, going from leaning on the opposite drawers to right beside you on the counter. You’re sitting and he’s leaning but still he’s taller, just a bit level. “But there was that one time back in my more adventurous days, when I was younger. A bachelor party wh… well, the details don't really bear talkin’ ‘bout in polite conversation.” He raises his eyebrows. “Why ya askin’ all this? What’s will all the last times?”

“I’m curious, is all.” You smile, leaning back; if his eyes drop just a bit, he’ll see right through your top, maybe even underneath the cup of your bra. “Okay, fine one last… last time.” You giggle, breathy. “When’s the last time you… had sex?”

The air shifts, and Joel clears his throat before chuckling. “S’none of your business, young lady. A gentleman is not raised to kiss and tell.”

“Oh, but he gets shitfaced n’ tells?” You test, pouting and leaning closer toward him so you can quiet your voice. “Come on. I won’t tell anyone I even asked.”

He sighs, contemplating. “Well… it’s been a while.” He gets his fair share of lays, when he goes out to bars with friends or the rare date, but nothing too drastic. It has been a few months. “But you didn’t hear that from me, understood? Now, let’s drop it.”

But you don’t drop it, you brat. “You’re like the born again 40-year-old virgin,” you tease smoothly.

“Try 51, honey,” he grunts out, depositing your dry wipes at the disposal across you. He turns back around, restrained. 

“And what, you don’t wanna change that?” No, he thinks—what he wants is to take you over the counter ’til you’re sobbing and sore.

“Hey now, don’t think I don’t think about it sometimes. But I jus’—I don't wanna get involved with no one, even though... Hell, if I met the right person, I might just change my mind. Ain’t that the way it goes?”

“That’s such an antiquated view of sex,” you quip boldly, pressing your arms to your sides. “What happened to just having one good fuck?”

His eyes flicker down then up. “Well, hey. Slow down with the cursin’, sweetheart. And what in the hell makes you think I don’t do that?” He crosses his arms, offering a raised eyebrow and an insufferably smug smile.

“You didn’t necessarily object when I called you a twice-over virgin.”

He chuckles. “There’s more than one way to let it all out, my girl. You don’t have to just go all in to hit the spot.” The thought of him using his own—or some girl’s, actually, hand, throat… to get off, gets you all hot. You want to be that girl. His girl.

“Like how?” You ask, tilting your head to the side.

“Old man like myself probably can’t offer tricks you’ll find… useful.” He grunts, prepares to go upstairs. He reaches over you for the packet of wipes and your proximity urges him to stop, savor the closeness before the rational part of him reminds him you’re his best mate’s daughter.

“Okay, fine,” you say sweetly, voice much quieter—reserved just for the space between you two. “One last, then.”

Mmm, he huffs affirmatively, greenlighting your request. Impatient.

“Since when did old men do that?” You ask, inquisitive, placing emphasis on his self-proclaimed old man title.

“What? Entertain l’il minxes like yourself?” He responds, intending to break your newly-built façade of smugness.

“No,” you respond coolly. “Pack nine inches.” Then you’re clambering off the counter and walking to the stairs. He inhales sharply at the sudden vulgarity of your words, watches every move, every little bounce of your pert ass under the tiny shorts, the wave of your hair, every flex of the ridden-up lace thong against your back.

You turn briefly. “Coming or what?” And then you slip upstairs.

He hears the pad of your footsteps grow quiet and shuts his eyes, letting his composure waver in your absence.

Had he known Harold’s little girl would turn out to be the world’s biggest fucking tease—Jesus Christ. “Lord,” he rasps under his breath, repeating a mantra, holding back the urge to palm himself through his jeans. “Lord, have mercy.” Then he follows you, already spotting something different—the open door at the end of the hall.

His open door. It’s the one that directly mirrors your parents’, a revelation they all had a good laugh at. Sometimes if a matter was so pressing, a well-aimed pebble to the glass window would get Joel’s attention well enough. The lights are flicked on, cool-warm, in his bedroom. You’re in his bedroom. 

Or you’re not. He walks in to find no trace of you, save for the scuffed white sneakers by the doorframe. He toes off his own boots and spots the walk-in closet light’s also been flicked on. 

“Christ, you’re quick. You’re s’posed to be in the guest room.” He gestures vaguely to the one on the left side of the hall, even if you can’t see him.

“I had to pee. And I needed something to sleep in,” you say politely from inside. He grunts softly to himself at the thought of you undressing in there, the thought of you pulling on something of his. 

“Get out of there,” he orders. “I’ll get you somethin’.” Under his breath he mutters, “S’my goddamn closet.”

You chirp okay but he adds anyway: “Hurry, out.”

So you do follow him, even follow the order to hurry, because you’re hasty in your exit, clutching the cowboy hat to your chest. “Sit.” He points to the bed, watches you set the hat next to yourself gingerly. And one last time he asks the Lord for mercy, quietly and in his head, before shutting off every other rational thought that had stopped him tonight. 

You follow suit, hat still clutched to your torso, and he slowly comes to stand just in front of you, your face level with the buckle of his leather belt. When you shift he catches sight of the side of your bra, the lace of it. Eyes cast to your bare thighs, you pipe up.

“By the way, Mr. Miller—Joel, I didn’t mean to say any of—I mean, I thought we could talk comfortably about it… that… stuff, but I took it too f—” 

“You’re damn fuckin’ right you took it too far.”

He spits it out roughly, harshly. Like he’s scolding you. A zip of shock goes through you—you hadn’t heard him swear so loud before. Maybe he is. “I give you a free ride home at half past one, give you water, give you a place to sleep for the night knowin’ damn well your momma n’ dad would both have killed ya if you stepped foot in that house wearin’ next to nothing. What do I get in return?” He looks down at you, two rough fingers jerking your chin to look up at him.

“I—” you squeak, your voice and confidence betraying you. You’ve soaked through your panties at his sudden switch in behavior. Like you’d broken a dam.

“I get a brat… whorin’ herself out to me like I’m not over twice her age.” He tuts, like he really is disappointed, and your heart almost drops. “I get all these damn questions about sex, like you think I’ll break and fuck you on my kitchen counter.” He was considering it. “All the teasin’, all the skirtin’ around in a thong and a fuckin’…” He shakes your chin. “S’there even anythin’ in that head of yours, honey?”

Your mouth’d been open. You shut it and lick over your lips. “Yeah,” you defend weakly. His hand lowers to stroke at the column of your throat, then to hook under the tight strap of your bra, peeking out under the white of your top. He sidles it back and forth.

“S’this why you asked me all those dumb questions downstairs, huh, sweetheart? ‘Cause you wanted me to pull your top open and fawn over this”—he yanks the hat away, revealing your torso underneath—“little show o’yours?” Your cleavage is sinful, downright—perfect, perky, inviting him to mouth at your tits. Your sash sits prettily above them and he can’t help but pull at it, too, jolting you toward him. 

“N—” you inhale sharply, letting him pull and push you around as he pleases. He observes the blinding glittery writing on the pink material and lets out a humorless, self-satisfied huff of laughter.

“Number… one… girl.” His rough thumb grazes over the divots of the rhinestones. “That’s jus’ about right, ain’t it?”

“Yes,” you reply, voice small. 

“I’m not sure I agree, baby girl,” he drawls. His touch is precise—he knows exactly where to go, what he’s doing—but rough, dirty, almost, and the huge size of his hands don’t help to support otherwise. He tugs down your tank top so it’s tucked underneath your bra, and you yelp, making a move to cover yourself. He laughs again—“Sure, go all shy on me like you haven’t been showin’ yourself off to me all night. Knees.”

You get off quick, so quick you’re dizzy when you steady yourself on two knees. Two lithe hands make their way to his belt but he steps backward, revels in your evident confusion, clumsiness, the flush high on your cheekbones. “Buckle down, sweetheart.”

“But—”

“No goddamn buts. Listen to me.” He ends up being the one to make work of his belt, and while he talks you have to bite your lip to keep from going slack-jawed at the sight of him. You’d been kidding about the nine inches thing, but Christ he’s huge, strained against the tight denim. He’s thick even under the layers of clothing, and all you want to do is choke on him. “You’re gonna let me use that mouth t’get off, first thing,” he grunts, like this is all some chore to him, “because I am not goin’ to put my cock in my best mate’s daughter.”

“How about,” you croak lightly, “your fingers, then?”

“Jesu—we’ll see.” He tugs his cock out then, and he’s fucking huge, he really is, his tip angry and flushed and being rubbed along your lips, sticking them up with his precum. He sighs contentedly, humming low, the vibration sent straight to your half-open mouth. You suck on the tip of him, watch a slow smile form on his face. “That sash oughta say somethin’ else.”

Your silence grants elaboration. “Number one slut, maybe.” You shift on your thighs, trying to hide how aroused you are at his mean behavior. But he can tell, he can watch the way your blinking slows, the way your eyes glazed over, glassy and teary from trying to take more of him. He doesn’t tell you to slow down, or go faster; he just watches, eyebrows knitted, focused. “Budge up.” 

A hand, big and calloused, threads through your hair and gives a tug, goading your mouth open so more of his cock slips past. Your jaw aches from the attempt alone, so you pull off before you start choking too much, tonguing at the parts of him you can’t reach—lower, until you’re laving at his balls. He grunts, pleasured, simmered down. Attagirl. Then you’re back, bobbing up and down, trying despite yourself to take all of him, until your eyes are watery and you’re spluttering, choked.

“Now this is…” He says, and it comes out in a contented little sigh, “a number one throat. Keep those pretty lips open, honey, ‘m gonna fuck them.”

You do, your achy jaw slacked as he begins bucking into your mouth, the sounds of your choking only spurring him on. He’s dominant, taking and taking, and you’re humiliated to find how wet you are, soaked through the lace of your thong and darkening the denim of your shorts.  The tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat only gets him to thrust even faster, watching tears fall from your eyes, streaky with mascara. His best friend’s daughter, taking dick like a fucking champ.

He thrusts harder, each sound emitting a nasty, incoherent noise out of you, choked little gasps that have him harder each time. Gonna fuck this throat raw, he mutters. Since that’s what you wan’ed, ain’t it? You reach up, light fingers massaging his balls, and then his hips stutter, and with barely any warning, you feel his hot seed shoot into your throat, little satisfied groans leaving the man above you.

You swallow what you can, limited by his dick still in your mouth. When he pulls out you lap at the cum left behind, circle your tongue around your lips, make a whole show of it. You speak again, your voice raspy and spent: “Please, my turn?”

He lifts you up and smirks at the way you yelp in surprise, tossing you onto the bed and pulling you back onto your knees, your back to his chest. He wrangles your shorts off, gives your ass a smack as he pulls them down, enough to expose what’s underneath. The stiff material gathers just above your bent knees, restraining you from moving much.

“D’you know what,” he says, still sounding angry—like he’s lecturing you, stern, “I could’ve been in bed, wakin’ up at six to work… instead I gotta teach this little brat a fuckin’ lesson. Your old man not teach y’enough manners?” He tugs your bra down, thumbs roughly at your pebbled nipples, wrenching a moan out of you. He’s hard again, dick poking into your ass, and fuck you want him in you.

“He didn’t,” you sniffle, pitiful. “Y’gotta teach me, Daddy.”

“Oh, she likes that, don’t she?” He grumbles, like the title is annoying, juvenile. The way his cock twitches tells you otherwise. “Shut up, baby honey. I got this.” He reaches up your thighs and the ticklish, pleasurable sensation gets you hot.

Joel, you whimper, seizing in on yourself. He grabs your other arm, pulls it back toward him so you remain open and pliant. Please, wait.

“No time for waitin’, not when you spend hours prancin’ around like a little whore, sweetheart.” Without preamble, he’s running his fingers up your thighs again, not stopping this time until his fingers are pressing into your clit, rubbing over the thin, soaked fabric of your panties. “And you’re so fucking wet for me. My number one girl, ain’t you?”

“Yea,” you babble dumbly. “Your number one girl.”

“Thaaat’s right. My girl needs her needy cunt filled up, don’t she? By Daddy’s fat fingers.” You nod along, drawn in by the vulgarity of his words, the way he spits them out. You’ve spent several nights fantasizing how his big, rough hands would feel on you—and you’ve been outproven. He’s so fast, so skilled with his fingers; they feel delicious in you. And you can’t stop thinking about all of those girls he implied he’s slept with, the way they probably got to this first. Lucky bitches.

He’s gotten you so wet the entire night, even moreso now, that your pussy is making obscene squelching noises with each pump of his fingers, these nastily loud noises that humiliate you, that turn you on even more, that make you drip all onto Joel’s linen sheets. Fuck, you whimper. He swats at your ass. No swearing, he’s saying.

“Look up for me, honey. Up at the window.” Outside, the sun’s beginning to crawl over Austin, just the faint blues and yellows of early morning. You realize you know this because his curtain’s been pulled open—by him, earlier, before any of this even started, you assume. And the only other thing you can see other than the sky and the sliver of the neighborhood is your parents’ window.

“No,” you plead, looking down. He doesn’t let you, tugs you back up to look by your hair. He knows your parents won’t be up ’til seven-thirty latest. But you don’t know that, and for now, you don’t have to.

“What then, huh, sweetheart? When they go to check on the weather n’ they see their best friend poundin’ their young daughter? What’d they think?” You jerk away, overcome with pleasure and embarrassment at the imaginary situation. You feel his fingers pump in and out of you, filling you up. They’re probably thick and hot, glistening each time they come out. You’re tightening up; you’ll cum soon, make a mess on his hand, which already drips with slick. “So you better hurry. Better make a mess on me soon.”

“I am, I’m—I’m gonna,” you moan. You’re wrapped up in the way his fingers play you just the right way. You’re so close to the surface, and you’ve been wanting this for way too long, so you nod, let yourself get carried away by his words, let yourself give in, spreading your legs as wide as they can go as he fingerfucks you, working out the tension that’s been building up for forever. 

“That’s my number one girl,” he grins into your neck, and you’re convulsing release onto his hand, wetting it even further. He wraps a hand around your waist, keeps you close to his figure, his erection at the small of your back. “That’s it, honey. Did so well for me.”

“I want it,” you say meekly. “Even if they see.”

He groans. “Sweetheart, you must think real low of me to believe I’d put my cock anywhere near Harold’s daughter’s pussy.”

You tug your panties fully down, just enough so they fall off on their own the rest of the way, and guide his slick hand behind yourself, pressing his finger first into your folds again, sensitive, and then up toward your tighter hole.

You feel his breath tighten behind you when you say: “How ‘bout there?”

[lucyrose191]

Oh oh, can you write a pt2 of your kimi raikkonen fic? The date 🥰

SPOKEN ADMIRATION| K.RÄIKKÖNEN

Author’s note; not too sure how I feel about this, it’s not my best work.

Pairing; Kimi Räikkönen x Fem!Driver!Reader

Summary; Whilst the rest of the grid are out partying and celebrating Kimi and Y/N spend some time alone getting to know each other in his hotel room together

Warning; Implied age gap but not specified.

F1 Master List , Part 1

Y/N didn’t know if she understood Kimi correctly when he had invited her to his room for ‘a drink’. These days that could mean anything, if it was anyone else she’d assume they were asking her out as a sort of relaxed date to get to know each other but this was Kimi Raikkonen, possibly one of the hardest people in the world to understand.

Did he want to get to know her better?

She had never really payed much attention to men, she had most definitely been approached and asked out before but with a goal as ambitious as hers growing up she found it best to focus on racing rather than any other aspects of her life, racing was just more important to her.

She also wasn’t really a fan of how immature guys her age could be but Kimi wasn’t her age, their conversations had been pretty limited but she couldn’t deny that he was charming in his own way.

His ‘iciness’ had never deterred her in any way because she herself was like that too, in fact now that she thought about it she seemed to enjoy the press conferences much more when Kimi was there with her, their personalities, as blunt or ‘harsh’ as they could be, fit well together and she knew the journalists hated interviewing them together but Y/N found herself enjoying those interviews more than any others.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N looked at herself in the mirror, she hadn’t put much effort in her outfit, she thought if she was simply going to be spending the evening with Kimi in his room then comfort was the way to go and settled on a jogger and hoodie set, even if Kimi did want it to be a sort of date she doubted he’d have put in much effort as well.

Her hair looked great though and she had minimal makeup on and deemed it enough for the night.

Arriving at his hotel room, her nerves had skyrocketed, something she wasn’t familiar with as she was usually confident but it seemed all that confidence had left her tonight.

Not wanting to stand in the hallway of the hotel all night, she knocked on the door, it only took a few seconds for him to answer.

She was taken by surprise.

He was wearing a grey top with matching sweats but it was the glasses on his face that had caught her attention.

He looked hot.

"I didn’t know you wore glasses," she commented lightly as she walked past him into his room, taking notice of how uncannily tidy it was, she didn’t imagine him as a near freak but he surely wouldn’t have cleaned his room just because she was coming, would he?

"Just at night," he shrugged, gesturing to his bed for bed to sit whilst he walked round the other side where there was a bottle of wine and two glasses waiting.

Y/N gave him a funny look. "Since when did you drink wine? I thought you were into the hard stuff."

Kimi looked at her before looking towards the floor as though trying to hide a smile knowing she was right. "You prefer wine," he simply stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Y/N stood for a moment and stared, letting his words sink in. "I do-but, well, I thought you invited me here to try and get me drunk? I was expecting whiskey and jäger bombs."

Kimi sighed and took a seat on the edge of the bed, popping open the bottle of wine and filling the glasses half way. "I didn’t invite you here to get drunk," he muttered, turning himself around to hand over her glass before lying his body against the headboard, his own glass in hand resting against his stomach.

She took the glass and mimicked his movements, both lying next to each other as she thought about his words and what to say in return. "Why did you invite me here?" She eventually settled on asking, not really wanting to beat around the bush.

Kimi pursed his lips at her question, eyes trained on the ceiling as he tried to find the words, he couldn’t just blurt it out, that would be wrong.

Y/N turned her head and looked at him curiously, "Do you like me, like, are you attracted to me?" She asked bluntly.

She watched as a subtle pink tinge blossomed on his cheeks and tried to press down the smile that was trying to appear on her face.

"S’ppose so," he responded, his voice that usual Finnish gruff that seems to be more prominent when he tried to be nonchalant or brush a topic to the side.

"You suppose so?" Y/N asked, biting down on her bottom lip, feeling he mouth threatening to stretch wider into a smile.

She wanted to laugh when he simply shrugged in response, knowing that if this was going to go anywhere then it was up to her because getting this far was probably way out of his comfort zone and it seemed he was really trying. "Did you ask me here as a date?"

"It was just a thought- Sebastian thought it would be a good idea-"

"-This was Sebastian’s idea?" The smile fell from her face.

Kimi rubbed a palm over his face as he saw the look on her face, he raised the glass to his mouth and downed its entirety before sitting up and facing her properly.

"I wanted it, he pushed me. I’m glad he did. I hoped you’d be open to the idea but I know you aren’t interested in finding- I just thought-"

"You really aren’t good with words, are you?" Y/N smiled at him, finding his rambling quite adorable.

"You’re right though, I’m not really interested in finding someone, or well- I wasn’t but then you asked which took me by surprise and if you wanted to then I’d give it a go, us two. I’d rather keep it on the down low though, for now at least, until it’s something."

A half a smile had grown on Kimi’s face as Y/N had rambled, relief filling his chest at her words. He was honestly more than fine with keeping it quiet, whatever it was, it would be nice to figure out things without people prying and he wouldn’t want to be the cause of her receiving backlash.

He couldn’t give a shit about anything that’s said about him but Y/N has worked so hard to get to where she is and he didn’t want to affect that, besides he was planning on retiring in the next few year so after that then there’d really be no issue.

"Are you okay with that?" She asked, not knowing what his silence meant.

Kimi looked at her in the eye and nodded, revelling in the pure joy on her face.

"So, what does Kimi Räikkönen do when he’s not busy with his hobby?" Y/N tried to get to know him.

"Bwoah, I don’t know," he blew out a large puff of air as he thought before shrugging "Sleep."

Y/N rolled her eyes "Of course you do, that’s all I ever see you doing," she teased.

"I don’t want to talk about me, I want to know about you," he told her strongly which she relented to knowing that there was time for her to get to know him.

"Well, what do you want to know?"

"Everything," he immediately responded as though he didn’t even need to think about it.

Y/N looked down to hide her smile before looking back up into his eyes that were sitting intently on her, his eyes held a soft gaze that she had never seen him have before; not realising that it actually appeared quite often whenever she was around.

"Well," she began. "When I was younger, I used to be quite bothered about what the boys in karting would say about me but then my dad told me that it was stupid that I even listened when I was easily beating them on the track and would be able to beat them with my fists too if he allowed me to, ever since then I just imagined myself punching everyone whenever they said something about me, I still do it now, the amount of times I’ve imagined punching Will Buxton in the face is ridiculous." She laughed melodically causing Kimi to smirk.

"My favourite colour is light blue, it has been since I was born because my parents got told I was a boy and had gotten me a blue stuffed rabbit that I still have to this day. I’ve always wanted to drive for RedBull because Sebastian drove for the team and he was my favourite driver, I loved how ruthless he was."

Kimi was never going to tell Sebastian that because if he found out the woman Kimi liked had seen Seb as an idol then the German would never let him live it down.

"Something you might not like is that I actually hate partying and getting drunk because I got alcohol poisoning as a teenager and I love that you’re always yourself in front of the cameras and show exactly who you are and where you’re here, to race, you couldn’t care less about the fame and I admire that."

As she finished speaking she looked him in the eyes, appreciating the thoughtful look on his face and the soft curve of his lips.

They simply stared at each other for a while, shoulders touching and wine glasses long forgotten, Y/N still half filled.

It was a subconscious move in the way Kimi’s face inched closer to hers, he hadn’t even noticed but she did and mimicked him until their noses were lightly brushing against each other.

Eventually, it was Y/N that inched forward and pressed her lips against his. She had never experienced a fluttering stomach from a kiss before, right now was a first. There were butterflies flying around crazily in her abdomen and every thought had disappeared, leaving her a cloudy mind.

When they pulled apart for air, they kept their bodies close, not really wanting to lose their connection entirely, both searching the others eyes for any sign of regret but pleasantly found none.

Kimi lifted an arm and wrapped it around her shoulders, silently pulling her into his embrace.

Not much needed to be said between the two, there was now a clear unspoken agreement between the two that it was now the start of something that would potentially be great, if not the start of what could be their entire lives,

Both were looking forward to it, grateful that a simple night together could’ve made so much progress.

[chaethewriter]

Unexpected

Eren Jaeger x alt!grunge!reader

Synopsis: Popular!college Eren dating a more alternative reader.

Mentioning: jealousy, suggestive content, basketball, fluff, toothrotting fluff, cringey fluff?, barely proofread.

Word count: 4,1K

An unexpected couple. That's what people thought when one day, Eren Jäger walked through the hallway with his arm wrapped around your shoulders. Acting as if you had a demon attached to you— or if you were the demon itself— when judging gazes fell upon yourself. The sound of your heavy platform boots landing on the ground you walked on, echoing off the walls as you took step after step down the hallway, clinging to your lover's shirt all the while.

Unlike your boyfriend, who dressed in a jersey that defined his muscles and a pair of denim jeans– with his hair tied up in a slick bun– you dressed differently, totally different from him. With heavy platform boots digging into your calves, the leftover exposed skin covered with a pair of ripped tights and a black skirt. Your upper body hugged by a black striped sweater where the sleeves are big enough for your head to fit in.

“It's so annoying, it's like an extinct animal is walking past them..” you huffed the words out, looking up at your much taller boyfriend. Eren averted his eyes to the audience around him and he scrunched his nose, clearly dissatisfied with the current situation: clearly dissatisfied that they treated his girlfriend like an animal. He knew that the only reason they didn't dare to utter a word, was because it was him. That didn't change the situation though. You could feel the anger radiating from his body and you knew he would stupidly open his mouth if you didn't distract him.

“Don't even bother, I could care less about their opinions. Let's go to class.” you reached your hand to touch his chest, rubbing reassuringly as you pulled his side closer to your body. This seemed to distract him, as Eren immediately turned to face you, “You were serious about going to class?!?”

You gave him a knowing look, “Obviously. And you are going to focus, your place on the team is on the line.” He didn't reply, but only groaned in defeat. He knew you were right though, he didn't want to lose his place as captain on the basketball team.

You grabbed his hand from on top of your shoulder and intertwined your fingers with his, pulling him with you. And Eren knew he couldn't escape the class that was about to start.

“Eren! Bro! Come join us.”

The moment you entered the classroom, a voice was calling out to him from the back of the room. There sat his friends, all the way in the back like always.

“It's fine, you can sit with them. I'll be sitting in front anyways.” You flashed him a pretty smile to reassure him that he didn't need to stick with you 24/7. You still felt awkward joining his much more popular friend group, after all. Yet Eren had other plans.

While you were about to pull away from him, he only held you tighter. “Thanks guys! But I'm gonna be sitting with my girlfriend.”

“Simp!”

“Bro is skipping us for his playtoy.”

“Oh cut that crap, he truly cares about her, apparently.”

Words were exchanged, but you paid them no mind as Eren practically pushed you towards your favorite seat in front and sat you down, before taking a seat next to you. He put his hands behind his head and leaned back, looking down at you through his eyelashes, “are you going to help me, teach?”

You rolled your eyes in response, putting your bag down and unpacking your stuff. You opened your notebook on an empty page, before turning towards him. With your hand on his thigh, you leaned in. This caught him off guard, as he sat straight expecting you to press a kiss on his lips to tell him that he's doing a good job. Instead, you grabbed him by his cheeks with your free hand— squishing his cheeks together, “behave, you're the one that's gonna be in trouble if you aren't passing this class.”

Your hand moved towards his hand to pet his hair and he blushed at the gesture.

“Yeah-yeah, sorry sweetheart.”

“Good boy!” you gave him a sweet smile and settled down in your seat.

Eren put his arm on your chair as he leaned in to look at your textbook, so close to the point his stray hairs tickled your cheek. You turned your head to give him a knowing look. You noticed he wasn't walking around with a bag over his shoulder, so you're not so surprised about it.

“Promise I will bring my stuff the next time… if you be my tutor that is~” his lips landed on your temple, almost like a soft feather tickling you.

You don't say anything, but slip out a smile that your boyfriend also noticed. He stroked at your skin with his nose, his hands roaming around your waist.

His friends continued to complain, but it was all a mere noise in the background for the both of you.

During these events, the teacher entered the classroom with heavy footsteps. He put his stuff down on the table in front of him with a loud thud.

You slightly moved your face away from Eren's, as to tell him to slightly back off as class is starting soon.

He let out a pout, but respected your wishes as he sat in the comfort of his own space, his hands still lingering on your upper thigh. His fingers played with the end of your skirt, prodding at it.

“Class, open your notebooks on an empty page as we are diving straight into it. So for today…”

You ripped a page from your notebook and took a working pen from your pencil case, putting the supplies in front of his nose. He gave you a grateful smile with a quick kiss to your cheek.

His teal eyes bore through the textbook that you laid down in the middle of the surface. It's not like he understood it at all. Luckily, you were writing notes down for him that are easier to understand.

Knowing he shouldn't bother you– especially while you were so kind to help him with notes– Eren decided to keep himself busy. He twisted the pen open and watched you from the corner of his eye to see if you were looking at him.

Satisfied with the sight that you didn't, he leaned down to cover his entire table with his upper body. With the tip of his tongue slightly sticking from between his lips, Eren moved the pen around on the paper.

Checking up on you once in a while, all while drawing tiny adorable doodles. From random animals to what seemed to be you and your interests.

He was so focused that he didn't feel your poking at his arm.

“Psst Eren,” you tried to get his attention, nudging him even harder.

“What are you doing?” You asked out of curiosity once you gained his attention, a slight hum leaving his throat.

“Not telling.”

He's so cheeky.

You rolled your eyes at his sassy demeanor and turned back to your notes, all while wondering what the hell he's doing.

Two hours passed as class was finally dismissed. This entire time, Eren had been doing god knows what on that paper of his– as he kept taking stuff from your pencil case (from scissors to glue) and you wrapped up with your notes. You marked the final sentence with a blue marker and finally put the lid back on.

“I made you something!” He pulled at your sleeve to catch your attention and once he did, he held something up– right in front of your face. You had to squint your eyes and push his arms back slightly to see what this was all about.

In front of you, he held a piece of paper shaped as a rectangle, almost the size of your hand. You tilted your head to the side in confusion, “huh?” You inspected the small doodles he drew, noticing they're your favorite things.

“A phone case! Well, you can put this behind your clear phone case. Can you, pretty please?”

He practically begged you with his palms slapped together.

He was so childish.

You shook your head, before taking your phone out.

You currently had a clear case, decorated with stickers of black hearts and chains.

He immediately snatched it from your hands and you watched with interest as he removed your case, but the paper inside– with the drawings facing up– and slotted your phone back into the case.

You had to be real, it looked really wonky. Kind of ugly, but honestly? It was so sweet it made your heart flutter.

Proud of his work, Eren passed your phone back to you with a proud grin. Knowing he expected some kind of praise, you gave him exactly what he wanted. You leaned in to press your lips against his, sharing a loving kiss with the basketball player.

“Thank you, Eren. It's lovely.”

“Now you will think about me 24/7, not that you didn't do that before, but you know!”

That cheeky bastard.

“Yo Eren! Are you going to ditch us again, or actually sit with us for lunch?” A large shadow loomed over the both of you, covering the light shining down on you.

You looked up in confusion, wondering why the light had dimmed so much.

Looming over the both of you, Eren's friend group (in this class) stood there looking down on you. They were really intimidating like that, if you had to be honest. But you were sure that's also what they thought of you.

When you turned to look at Eren, he was already looking at you with those pretty eyes of his.

As if he was waiting for your opinion on that statement.

You chuckled in your sleeve, “you really don't need my approval. You should sit with them. I'll see you after our break.”

You were tempted to press a kiss against his lips, but with the amount of eyes on you you weren't so sure if you should. So you got up from your seat and greeted goodbye with a wave, but Eren pulled you back towards him at your wrist and pressed a passionate kiss against your lips.

“See you soon, babe.”

You were sitting at one of the picnic tables in the canteen. Preferably the one in the corner of the room. It's not like anyone would steal that place, though, considering not everyone thinks of your group as friendly-looking (yet the bunch of you were much friendlier than the popular group).

You poked in your crunchy wrap with your wooden fork as you listened to the conversations your friends were having.

“No but then fucking Justin fell on his fucking jaw during practice and it was so fucking embarrassing!?!?”

“Is that the only curse word in your vocabulary, Leo?”

You huffed in annoyance as Leo threw himself across the table, his heavy leather jacket hitting you in the face as he pulled his friend by his hair.

“can the both of you sit down, so that I can enjoy my food?” You grabbed Leo by his necktie as you pulled him back down next to you, “You're so annoying.”

“Last time I checked, Eren Jäger is your boyfriend and he couldn't possibly be less annoying than them.” Shoko said as a matter of fact, typing away on her phone.

Your fighting friends agreed with that statement and you gave them a glare, “Are you still going on about that?”

Then your other friend chimed in, “Oh come on guys! At least she's happy. Even if it's with the most terrible person ever.”

“Thank you Jake, for first being on my side and then insulting the hell out of me.” You threw your fork at him at the same time as your response, “he's literally not a terrible boyfriend. It's his friends..”

“-which influences him.” Shoko finished your sentence and you couldn't help but groan again.

Leo then threw his arm around you, “we can't promise if we will ever like him, to be honest. Considering… him.”

“Okay, stop being so rude about my boyfriend.” You grabbed at his locks as you aggressively pulled at them to the point some hairs are actually getting stuck in between your fingers.

“You better stop that, or else I'm going to sabotage your fucking projects! Fuck ow stop!”

The three friends watch the childish bickering unfold, but they weren't the only ones doing so.

“I'm going to kill him if he doesn't back the fuck off.” Eren crushed the crunchy wrap in his hand to mush, his nails digging through the food as it spilled through the gaps of his fingers– squeezing so hard his veins bulged.

“Jealous much?” Jean practically cackled, satisfied seeing Eren this frustrated.

“I'm not jealous..”

Oh what a lie that was. Eren was jealous, so jealous he could strangle the guy clinging to you. He knew he wasn't actually clinging to you, obviously the two of you were bickering. But he wished it was him instead.

He was so focused on you, he hadn't even noticed that he ruined his lunch.

He felt his insides burn as all he could see was red, especially when your friend pulled you in a hug.

“That's it.” Eren slammed his hands on the table before getting up from his seat, shoving his seat back along the way. His chair fell down with a clatter and the sound of students talking amongst themselves died down.

He made his way to your table, his eyes burning into your skin.

“We can work on the thing you need help with, today after class?” Leo pulled at your cheek as he said that, making you groan as the pinch was too hard.

No way in hell he was going to let that fucker with you.

“You're ruining my makeup!” You pulled at his locks harshly, at this point hoping he truly goes bald.

“Sweetheart.”

You felt an overwhelming presence behind you and at the same time a shadow loomed above you. You turned your face to the side to see what that was all about and came face to face with your boyfriend.

The entire table got quiet as they stared at the taller student.

Leo pulled away from you as he looked up at him. Eren was already staring at him, sharp eyes throwing daggers straight through his skin as his jaw clenched.

“Eren!” You exclaimed with a shy smile as you practically threw your arms around his neck. His hands landed on the dip of your waist, while the other landed on your bottom to keep your skirt from flying up. His gaze moved back towards you, much softer as his jaw unclenched. He already felt much more satisfied with the current situation.

“Watch out, you're going to kick your lunch on the floor.” Leo pushed your tray away from the edge.

Eren's jaw clenched again and his grip on your bottom tightened.

“Let's go.”

He took a hold on the strap of your bag and pulled it off the seats, slamming into Leo in the process.

“Huh go where? Oh uh! Bye guys!” You tried waving after your friends, but he was quick to seal you into his side with his hand on your hip as he led you out of the canteen.

“Can't believe some emo girl is making him act like a feral dog.”

“Bro is actually acting like a hormonal teenager.”

“Ren, where are we going?” You tilted your head up in confusion since he had been ignoring you for the past minutes.

“Hello?”

“Eren!”

You stopped in your tracks as your fist clung to his sleeve, “Ren, what's up?”

The two of you stood in front of the main exit, the halls around there empty as class was about to start.

As a reply, he huffed, and you weren't satisfied with that answer at all. His grip was still immensely tight on you, as if he was scared that you could slip away through his fingers.

“Please, talk to me.” He looked down at you and the way you looked up at him made him so weak in the knees.

He couldn't be angry at you.

And he didn't have the right to be angry at you.

“Let's skip.” he pulled you flush against him yet again. If that was even possible.

You saw the determined look in his eyes. Obviously, there was something bothering him and when Eren Jäger had something on his mind, he would do whatever to pursue that thought.

“Be happy that I didn't miss any classes so far..”

And it made him smile.

You sat down on his bed as Eren closed the door to his dorm room. From under you, you removed a pile of clothes to sit more comfortable, “Sooooo… what now?”

He put your bag down in the corner, before taking a seat on his desk chair. With the help of the wheels, he rolled closer to you until he sat right in front of you. He brought his hands down as he helped you remove your heavy boots.

Gently laying them down somewhere, careful not to damage them as he knows how much they mean to you, he held your ankles and pulled your legs through the holes of his chair. You chuckled as you pulled him closer and he pressed his nose against yours, rubbing it into yours.

A small pout formed on his lips as he stared into your eyes. Instead of speaking up, you decided to let him do it at his own pace.

After a few minutes of this loving gesture, he pulled his face away from yours and scratched behind his neck, “if I tell you I wanted you here only for tutoring, you wouldn't believe me now would you?”

You gave him a knowing glance and a chuckle escaped his lips.

“What's up with my big baby?”

“I'm not a baby!”

You wrapped your arms around him and pulled his face in your neck. You pet at his hair as he gripped at your hips.

“I don't like your friend..”

“My friend? Which one?”

He hesitated at that question, but you let him know that he could tell you everything by kissing the tip of his nose.

His cheeks grew red at the gesture, “that one friend.. I just don't like him!”

Oh.

Him.

You thought back to who you hung out with today. You were around Eren the most, but besides that you were surrounded with

Justin,

Jake

And

Leo.

Oh.

You covered your mouth as you let out a fit of giggles. He felt your chest vibrating and pulled his face away to look at you, “are you laughing?!”

“No no.. pffhh..”

“You're definitely laughing!” He turned his face to the side, his gaze on one of the posters on his wall as his cheeks flushed redder.

“Ren! Nono it's okay, I'm not making fun of you.” You put your hands on his cheeks, “please look at me?”

Silence.

“Now don't give me the silent treatment, why so jealous?”

Silence.

“Is it because he's too close to me?”

“...no.”

Finally, he spoke.

He wanted to tell you, really.

But he was so fucking embarrassed that he wanted to die on the spot.

“Then what is it?”

He murmured something you couldn't catch.

“Sorry?” you grabbed him by the chin and made him face you. You leaned up, until your faces were inches away from one another. He still didn't look at you, though.

“Didn't catch that, baby.”

“You.. his hair..”

“Hm?”

“Your hands in his hair..” it came out like a whisper, so you couldn't catch the entire sentence.

“What is it with his hair, honey?”

He pursed his lips, finally looking into your eyes as his face was bright red, “you pulled at his hair! That should have been me!”

Silence.

His eyes were wide as he waited for your reaction.

Were you going to laugh at him?

Call him too possessive?

Break up with him?

His hair tie got loose, his hair falling down onto his shoulder and tickling his neck.

He then felt a pair of hands in his hair, scratching at his scalp and pulling at his locks, “there there..”

He let out a soft whine in response, closing his eyes as he almost purred into your touch.

You couldn't help but smile.

So he was into that hm?

You climbed into his lap from the bed, you being the one to pull him flush against you now. Not that he complained as he felt your body pressed into his.

“You could have asked, baby.”

He heard that you didn't sound mad at all, your touch still soft and lovingly as your hands buried deeper into his soft hair.

“Kinda embarrassed.. and jealous.. don't do it to him anymore, please.” His nose buried into your hair as he inhaled your smell. So nice, like home.

Instead of laughing at him, you nodded your head with a smile,

“I won't.”

Extra:

“You can do it!!”

Even though the colors of the school didn't fit you at all, you wore Eren's jersey proudly. He convinced you to wear it, after some puppy eyes and begging— saying everyone should know he belongs to you and you belong to me– his words.

The shirt too big for you as it basically acted as a mini skirt. Your hands grip at his jersey as you watch in anticipation as the countdown gets closer to zero.

You bring the cloth to your face as a way of comforting yourself– it smelled just like his perfume.

“Will he be okay?” You asked Leo worriedly as he stood next to you in the crowd.

He shrugged in response, “He got hit pretty hard in the face. Wonder how long it will take until he passes out.”

“Okay shut up!” You smacked his nape in annoyance.

Turning back to the game in front of you, you look for Eren in the field. He is on the right side of the field, breathing heavily with sweat dripping down his forehead– his hair in his infamous manbun to keep it out of his face. You watched how he raised his shirt to wipe the excess sweat from his face, giving you a good view of his body.

He looked to the left, your way, as he attempted to give you a wink.

That bastard.

You blushed profusely as you attempted to cover it up with a frown.

He's not dumb, though.

With the last minute counting down, you leaned into the barrier as both teams got into action. With the ball now in the hands of the opponent, they had to try and get it back and also score in that last minute.

One of Eren's friends jumped in front of the opponent to catch the ball, but said opponent did a feint and bounced the ball to the side.

Now you were getting nervous.

In that last minute, a ton of back and forth was happening.

Who could have thought so much would happen in one minute?

“Eren Jäger from Shiganshina managed to get a hold of the ball!! Will he manage to make the final point?!?” The commentary announced through the speakers and a gasp left your lips.

10

9

8

He dribbled to the opponent's side.

7

6

He looked your way.

5

Gave you a teasing grin—

this one's for you.

4

3

Aimed.

2

Shoots.

1

0

Scored.

The crowd of shiganshina roared as you jumped in the air.

Leo shook his head, but ended up clapping as well. He had to say, he was impressed.

Eren's teammates ran straight towards him, engulfing him in a hug and eventually lifting him up.

His arms were in the air as he cheered, eyes closed and looking so ecstatic– so at peace.

You took your phone out to record the moment, maybe a new lockscreen?

He was finally put down and he immediately ran to the left side— your way.

“Sweetheart! Jump!” Eren had climbed up someway, now standing right under you as he held his arms out for you to jump in.

“Are you crazy?!?!”

“Crazy for you definitely, now jump!”

He had the goofiest grin on his face.

And you couldn't decline his offer.

With (not) a lot of trust, you climbed over the barrier and let yourself fall. He immediately caught you in his arms, a wider grin on his face, “told you I would catch you.”

“Oh shut up!” And you pressed a passionate kiss on his lips.

The camera panels towards the two of you unbeknownst to you knowing.

“You're wearing it..” he whispered under his breath once you pulled away, eyeing his jersey wrapping around your body.

“Of course I am. ‘M your biggest fan, ‘Ren.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down to you.

“Hmm… should wear it more often, especially during our alone time..” his breath fanned against your ear.

“Eren!!”

A/N: thank you sm for reading! I know my posts are inconsistent whoopsies. But hope u enjoyed. Like and comment pls <3.

[callsignhood]

hi :) if it’s alright, could i request some fluff headcanons about könig spending christmas/christmas eve with his s/o?

König celebrating Christmas with you

Tags: Fluff, nothing else, just pure fluff

Word count: 500ish

Snowy winter is rare in Vienna’s Christmas season, it’s the 24th of December and you have not seen a single snowflake falling. The lack of a soft blanket of whiteness definitely made the city a little boring, but the colourful lights still hang across street lamps. Green, red, orange and yellow, setting the mood joyfully enough through the city.

König finds time from KorTac to go home, finally brings you into his hug. You’re not expecting him to show up by your door, and you find yourself fully embraced by his warmth inside his long winter coat. His arms wrapped around you tightly, missing you so much that he finally finds relief with you by his side.

“I thought you couldn’t be back this Christmas?” You ask, struggling a little to speak because he’s almost squeezing you into his chest. He smells like winter. “Nikolaus* brought me here with his sleigh, of course.” You hear a cocky smile through his tired voice, and he finally lets loose of his hug. You could finally lift your head up to see his face, almost radiating the joy of meeting you, but you can feel that he hasn’t sleep well.

You cup his face with your hands, feeling the light stubble on his chin and jawline. Smalls scars over old ones. He smiles under your touch, leans down and kisses you on the cheek. Once wasn’t enough, so he kissed again, which made you chuckle with happiness. However, you soon become worried as you realized you’re empty-handed. “But König, I already mailed the gift to your base a week earlier, and… I don’t have anything for you right now.” He takes your hand in his, gently holding you. “It’s ok. It only means that I’ll be having two gifts this Christmas.” He pauses for a second, then continued a bit sheepishly, finding himself embarrassed, but still expressing his love. “Because holding you right now is already the best gift for me.” He laughs softly when he sees you blushing, then he’s gladly being dragged inside home.

You haven’t planned to do anything tonight, which means you didn’t have time to bake his favorite Brötchen with cheese. You always want to make every holidays with König the best ones he had, and you couldn’t help but feeling bummed out this time. “You don’t have to worry about that, meine Liebe.” He hugs you on the couch, letting you sit comfortably on his lap. “We can drink some Jäger, order something, and watch TV. Ja?” He always knows how to deal with your sadness and your nervousness, because he has them too.

So you ordered something warm to eat along with dessert. He’s drinking Jäger while you’re putting a Christmas themed movie on the TV. Candle lights flickering on the coffee table, empty take-out boxes waiting to be thrown out but you are too comfortable under the blanket, not ready to move yet. Austrians don’t really focus much on Christmas, but König still enjoys celebrating it with you, since you’re always excited about Christmas tree decorating and gifts and all the shiny colourful things.

Even though this year is not as special as you wanted to be, you’re still happy that he’s here.

As the TV is playing Home Alone 2, you find König already fell asleep, loosely holding you. You’d imagine he’s tired, so you won’t disturb him. TV light blurred on his face, his breathing is silent and slow, and you smiled at him. “Merry Christmas.” You close your eyes too, letting yourself doze off with the movie in the background.

*St. Nikolaus = Austria’s Santa Claus

Thank you for @cerise-on-top again for educating me on Austria’s culture 🩵 You’re so kind to me!

[bradshawsbitch]

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎↠ 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 - ⅸ ↞

⁘ bradley bradshaw, the notoriously ill mannered head chef at the small franchise pub down the street, is quite content with his fast paced job. no commitments or obligations outside of his kingdom of sharp knives, pots, pans, prep work and a shot of jäger after a double. that is until a new waitress is hired, and suddenly his strict and rigid rules of no obligations or commitments starts to waver. . .

› pairing; bradley bradshaw x f!reader

word count; ~ 3.2K

× chapter warnings; swearing, see general story warnings, mature content, mentions of food

disclaimer; first of all, thank you!! for being so understanding and amazing about this story. i am so overwhelmed with love for all of you who keep being excited about my surly chef, even after all this time. second of all, i am sorry for it having been an 'all this time' - your support means everything to me. thank you again ❤

this chapter was super hard for me to write, which is why it's a little shorter, and perhaps more of a filler and a thank you to my readers. please be aware that the prose may be a little rusty as i am slowly getting back into writing again ❤

tagging some people who i know have waited; @roosterforme @hangmanssunnies @mak-32 @laracrofted @pisupsala @cherrycola27 @gretagerwigsmuse @seresinsweetie @ryebecca @lewmagoo

otherwise you can follow @bradshawsbitch-library and turn on notifications ❤

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Soft little sighs, muffled by muted green sheets fill the room as rays of the morning sun turns harsher the higher it rises in the sky. Noon is approaching, unbeknownst to the two laying still in bed. A Monday, which for many means the start of a new week, gone is the restful weekend and labor is nigh. For the two forms in bed though, the pace of mere mortals were not applicable. A waitress and a chef could sleep in, for their holy day was indeed Monday. Most restaurants were closed, or very slow come Monday - which gave those weary souls a day to rest. 

Turning slowly, the woman burrow deeper into the sheets, a small smile tugging on the corners of her lips as she heard Bradley’s soft, sleepy grunt as his arms tightened around her naked midsection. He hasn’t awoken yet, and neither had you, not fully at least. Sleepy eyes were slow to open, blinking rapidly to adjust to the light that surrounds the two of you. 

Waking up next to Rooster’s warm form sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. Seeing the way his eyelashes flutter, the way his lips are ever so slightly parted - his cupid’s bow defined so prettily beneath that lovely facial hair of his… the way freckles dot along the bridge of his nose… tan skin so beautiful, ridges, freckles and spots that adorn his skin. Sleepily, you let your finger trace over those shapely shoulders, where, much like the stars the freckles dot all the more frequently. 

“Bambi…” Rooster grunts, voice raspy and breathless - the mere mention of your nickname makes those fluttery wings of butterflies flap helplessly within your chest. His hold on you tightens again, drawing you in towards his chest. One arm embraces your form soothingly, as the other gently tucks your head into his chest, a large thigh suddenly nudging its way in between yours to rest. This position he also adjusts, letting the hand that had rested in its embrace slide slowly down past your bottom, ghosting over your thigh before gripping just above your knee - drawing it up high on his thigh. 

A content sigh leaves his lips as his thumb draws soothing circles on the bare skin that’s still in his firm hold, pleased with how he’s molded you into his form. You fit quite nicely here, he reflects as you start to place small kisses against Bradley’s sternum - he’s warm from sleep, radiating calm and safety as he holds you near. 

“Getting enough air in there, sweets?” he rumbles after a few moments of your face buried in the dip between his pecs, lips ghosting over his sternum every now and then. Nodding, you let out a soft ‘mhm’ in reply as you trace your hands over the ridges of his hips and waist, gently letting yourself explore his adonis belt and lower abdomen. 

Bradley lets out the softest of noises, a choked moan that seems to catch in the back of his throat as his pubic hair tickles the back of your hand as you leave feather light touches closer and closer to where he needs you. His grip on you has tightened, and his nose and lips are pressed tight against your hair where he inhales deeply. His palm is flexing, tensing and kneading where his palm is spread on your thigh - he hesitates for only a short moment before he uses his strength to pull your leg further over his hip.

A small gasp and a pathetic whine slips past your lips as your lower body joins where your hand had been exploring just seconds ago. Drawing your hand back, you feverishly grasp at Bradley’s neck, shuffling to tilt your head back up to catch his lips with yours, your body fluid and ever moving against his large form. Pressing, pushing, pulling– the leg Rooster had pulled closer now draws him in to you, the whole length of your naked body pressed against his sturdy one. 

“Fuck, Bambi…” he groans as you grip the short hair at the nape of his neck before your lips chase his, you whine again as Rooster’s palm slides up to grip the flesh of your ass, kneading and grinding you against his hardening cock. 

“Bradley!” you gasp as you feel his warm, soft skin run along your sensitive clit. Another whimper leaves you, clinging on to his shoulders, drawing him in with all the strength your sore muscles can muster. You need to be closer, need to have him surrounding you in every sense. Bradley hums deep in his chest as his lips stray from yours to leave chaste kisses along your neck, his hot tongue laving over points he discovered you were responsive to yesterday. 

Bradley’s hand drifts from your waist, up to tease at your nipple, pinching, pulling gently before letting his palm envelop your flesh, kneading and drawing out soft little moans from you before he traces his fingers down your stomach, down to where you’re rutting against his upper thigh. 

“What’s my needy little baby want, hm?” his raspy morning voice reverberates in your ears, and as he speaks he lets the rough pad of his index finger press against your clit, slowly drawing languid circles in time with your desperate movements. 

“Need you…” you whine, frustrated that he thought now was a good time to tease you. His soft chuckle in response draws the least intimidating little growl out of you, and Bradley can only smile as he places a soft kiss to your lips 

“Relax,” he whispers “we’ve got all the time in the world, sweetheart,” as he says this, a single thick finger gently eases back and forth over your slick folds before pushing inside. Bradley slowly moves in and out of you, lips attached to the junction of your neck and shoulder, drawing small moans out of you as he works you open for him. 

If yesterday had been frantic and explosive, today Bradley was savoring you. He wanted to memorize every sound you made, every move of your body as it reacted to his touch, every mewl of his name falling from parted lips. As he worked three fingers into you, he could hear your breathing pick up slightly, your grip on his bicep tightening and loosening rapidly, and he couldn’t help the smirk that grew against your salty skin. 

“You gon’ cum for me, sweet little Bambs?” he muttered, and you could only nod as your moans turned high pitched, Rooster never slowing or altering his movements as your body shook against his own as you tipped over the edge on his fingers. Bradley moaned low at the sight of you. 

“Look like a fuckin’ angel cumming on my fingers…” he murmured “Fuck, darling, you make me so fuckin’ hard.” 

Pulling his fingers out of you, he used your slick to coat his cock, languidly stroking himself as you came down from your first high. Panting, you nudged your nose against his, lips connecting in a fleeting kiss before you felt the nudge of his swollen tip against your puffy entrance. “Please,” you whispered softly against his lips, fleetingly catching a glimpse of those amber eyes. They were so intense, but you couldn’t look away if your life depended on it. 

At that first gentle push, your breath stuttered against Bradley’s parted lips. His cock was slowly inching into you, and even if he’d made a point to carefully prepare you for him, that initial stretch felt otherworldly - had he been this big yesterday too? 

Grunting, Bradley’s eyes fluttered shut. Gripping his bicep, you inhaled sharply, pressing your forehead against his as he stilled. “You alright, baby?” he murmured, his hand moving to soothe up and down your back, making your chest flutter with emotion. 

“Yeah- just… were you this big last night?” you moaned, and Rooster couldn’t help the small laugh that left him, before he reached up to cup your cheek. Moving away a little, he let his adoring gaze roam over your face. The cute scrunch of your nose, the thin sheen of sweat making you glow, eyes alight with lust and… Bradley blinked, taking in the way your chest heaved, the way his body was molded against yours, your warmth and your trust - it made him dizzy. 

“More… please, Bradley,” your voice was soft, and you slowly moved closer to his chest, nuzzling your face into his neck where your lips flitted over the skin of his throat, along the long line that went across it, up to his jaw and back down to gently suckle at the skin near his collarbones. 

Letting his strong arms wrap around you, Bradley moved against you, one hand slowly ghosting over your skin to grip your thigh as his cock slid deeper and deeper into your core, finally bottoming out as he gently pushed at the small of your back to tilt your hips just right. Small little noises reverberated against his warm skin, and he felt your lips leave wet traces as you occupied your mouth with his neck and shoulders. 

“You okay, Cookie?” he murmurs against your ear as he rocks his hips slightly against you. The soft mewl you let out fills his chest with pride, and something like a fierce need to protect you, to make sure you’re taken care of. 

“So good, Roos’” the words were slightly slurred against the naked skin of his shoulder, and he grunted softly as he yet again used his strength to form your body against his. His large palm resumed their hold right above your knee, drawing it upwards as he pressed your bottom down against himself. Almost as if he was rocking your body against his instead of the other way around. 

“Sound so pretty for me, darlin’” Bradley murmured, gently nudging your chin with his nose, lips hovering over your skin - he needed you to look at him. Needed to see the way those sweet eyes betrayed adoration, betrayed lust and need and want and… trust. He needed to see how much you depended upon him - how you’d given yourself to him to cherish. 

As with every other thing, you were so responsive to him. To his voice, touch - it was dizzying, truly. Your glittering eyes held his, and he moaned low in his throat as he felt the way you squeezed him as you caught sight of his face. He could feel his heartrate picking up, could feel the way his breath were coming in shorter bursts, and it fucking turned him on to no end that that drew the softest of little mewls from you - made your brows pinch in that cute little needy fashion he’d noticed only once yesterday. 

“You okay, my little Bambs?” he murmured softly, letting his lips brush against yours lovingly “I’m so okay,” you whispered against him, your hands slowly running across his muscled chest, nails leaving soft little tendrils of pleasure as they went. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Rooster confessed breathlessly, grunting softly at the end as his cock slid, if possible, even deeper into your heat - as your hips started rutting against his movements. The soft moan of his name made him groan, fucking into you more languidly - slow, steady and deep. The hand that wasn’t gripping your thigh, keeping it hitched high over his hip, returned to squeeze and knead at the flesh of your breast. Fuck, he loved your tits. Loved your body, loved– his breath hitched in his throat, heart almost doing fucking double time… 

Blinking, he let out a shuddering breath before letting his mouth leave a wet trail down your throat, before his lips enclosed on your nipple, his tongue teasing and flicking against the nub. At the sensation of Bradley’s hot tongue on your sensitive breasts, you let out a high pitched moan, pushing your chest against Bradley’s face as your hands flew to his curls, gripping tight as you panted wildly. You were so sensitive, and Bradley’s cock was stretching you, pulling and pushing so so slow - and yet he made it feel so fucking good. You could almost feel every ridge and vein as the drag of his cock made wetness drip from your core, down his length, making a mess of his pubic hair… He was fucking you so incredibly, right there in his bed, that you’d both shared that night. 

You cried out his name again, ending almost on a sob as he pushed his cock deep inside just as he let his lips latch on to your flesh, giving it a heady suckle - his facial hair scratching just hard enough to bring tears to your eyes from the pleasurable sensation. That pressure was building again, deep in your core, building and getting more and more tense. He was everywhere, just like you’d wanted. Filling you, tasting you, gripping you… his smell was surrounding you, the feel of his hair, the warmth of his body, his sweat glowing like a halo around his body in the morning sun as the muscles in his back rippled and moved. 

“Bradley!” you sobbed pathetically, clawing and clinging to him, he must have felt how close you were. Your pussy was pulsing around his thick dick, your arousal dripping down his balls at this point. He was grunting and moaning against your flesh, and you desperately tried to rut your hips, needing more, more more– but he kept his slow, deep pace. His cock barely left your cunt before he pushed deep, each stroke of his cock hitting that spot that you hadn’t been sure if it existed or not. 

“That’s it, baby,” Bradley’s voice sounded wrecked and broken as he released your now glistening nipple. “Can feel you squeezing my dick,” he sounded almost smug - you hated that it almost turned you on. His large hand was still palming at your tit as he nipped and kissed gently at your jaw, your hands still tugging desperately on his hair.

“N-need more,” you gasped, pleading with him as you looked down on him. Those amber eyes of his were shadowed by heady lust, and he just smirked softly before shaking his head ever so slightly “No,” he muttered, kissing your chin as you cried out, the tears that had burned behind your lids slowly running down your cheeks.

“Fuck,” he gasped, his cock twitching deep within your pussy “so pretty, darling, crying for more of my cock,” he whispered, you couldn’t do more than nod and keen, letting out small cries and whimpers as you felt your core clench around him harder, chasing that high so desperately. 

“You’ll cum from this, baby.” he rasped “You don’t need more.” he decided- It felt like he was cradling your body in his hands, molding and shaping, pushing, pulling, playing with you as if you were only made for him. And he was right. As he spoke those words, a shocked gasp tore through your throat as you cried and sobbed, white hot pleasure rolling through your body in waves as you shook and shook, convulsing slightly with every thrust that Bradley’s swollen tip hit that sensitive spot deep within your core. 

“Fuck–” Bradley moaned loudly, “atta girl,” he praised, voice breaking slightly as your hips rolled and shook in his hold “Fuck, Bambi- I’m gon’...” his chest rose and fell rapidly, his shoulders and back muscles rippling as he fought to hang on to see you through your high, not sure if he could–

“Cum in me,” you whined softly, needing him. Needing him everywhere. At those words, Bradley shattered. He couldn’t hold on if his life depended upon it. With a long, low moan of your name, his hips stuttered, once twice, stilling deep within you as he gasped and his warm release filled you, over and over as his cock pulsated through his high. 

“Jesus, darling…” Bradley gasped and moaned low as your cunt throbbed around his still hard dick, milking him of the last of his orgasm. “So good… so fuckin’ beautiful… soft ‘n pretty,” he was murmuring now, kissing his pretty words into the skin of your chest. He finally released his grip on your thigh, palms gently smoothing over the area, ghosting over your skin as his strong arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to him as you both caught your breaths. 

“Bradley,” you murmured lovingly, nuzzling into his warmth, it was hard to describe how you were feeling - but it felt weird. Good, but a little jarring. You’d never experienced sex in this fashion before - not entirely sure you’d even experienced any other partner giving you two orgasms, let alone while they were actually inside of you. Your heart was fluttering fast and hard, and the tears that had run down your cheeks had all but dried, but it felt as if the high was lingering - clouding your mind and making you feel so utterly vulnerable. 

Perhaps he could sense it, perhaps he could hear it in the smallness of your voice, but slowly he’d ushered you to rest against the broad expanse of his chest as he softly shushed and murmured against your skin. “You’re alright, darlin’ - did so good.” in the fluffy state your mind was in, you hadn’t really gathered that you were whimpering and making noises as Bradley held you. 

“There you are, baby… you’re alright, you’re safe - I’ve got you honey… fuck - that was incredible… you’re incredible,” he let out a small laugh as his strong hands moved up and down your spine, the other gently stroking over your hair as he murmured praise and soft words of encouragement in your ear. Tilting your head back, you took in the tenderness of his brown eyes, and you smiled softly up at him. 

“That’s it, there’s my beautiful Bambi,” Rooster murmured before placing a small kiss on your nose. “Gave unsteady legs a new meanin’ huh?” he rasped, grinning as you swatted at his chest, although you couldn’t help the amused smile that stretched on your lips. 

“Do we have to get up?” you murmured, pouting softly at the thought of leaving this heavenly moment. You didn’t want to walk out into the harshness, the cold, the bitter. You wanted to stay here, in Bradley’s arms where everything was okay, everything was safe and covered in a thick layer of fluffy soft clouds. 

“Not right now,” Bradley murmured against the top of your head “I have to get up to cook you something of substance to eat in a while, but you don’t have to worry your pretty little head about that just yet,” he smiled, placing a reassuring kiss against your hair. You smiled softly at the thought, a content sigh making your form rise and fall gently in his hold.

“You never stop working, do you?” you teased.

“Well, hate to break it to ya, Bambs - but people will unfortunately always need to eat,” rolling your eyes, you felt the head chef had earned another light slap against his chest - the only answer was a rumbling sort of laughter that made his chest vibrate slightly against your touch. 

“And cooking for you isn’t a job,” he said casually “it’s something I love doing.”

For some reason, those small words sent a strong wave of emotion through your body, awakening the flutters of butterfly wings again. This time they were not only contained to your stomach, but seemed to flutter and spread warmth and overwhelming, nearly suffocating emotions all through your body. Choked up, you merely squeezed Bradley as tight as your muscles would allow it before offering him the most sincere

“Thank you.”

[livingbreathingdreams]

❤︎ Lemon Over Ice

Pairing: Bartender!Captain Syverson x f!Reader

Summary: Sy just wants to adore you.

Warnings: A little angst, a little fluff, some allusions to violence, alcohol consumption.

A/N: This one is inspired by Adore You by my sweet sweet man Harry. It’s a little rough around the edges but I’m just playing around right now. I hope you’re having a nice day 🧡

//

It was packed and loud at the Drink & Jive, like on every other Friday night. Sy was behind the bar like always, drawing beer on tap and pouring whiskey and Jäger shots. His usual customers did not really expect much when it came to liquor, as long as it was cold and cheap.

“Drink & Jive” what a ridiculous name, she had never liked it but right now it seemed especially obnoxious to her. The flickering neon sign in the door declaring to the world that the bar was open. When she came in someone was playing Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen on the old juke box in the back. Which almost made her snort at the irony. “I’m having a good time.” Yeah, right.

Slamming her card down on the counter she made eye contact with the burly man behind the bar when she told him to “Make something sweet and strong,” and to “Keep the tap open.” He slung the dishtowel, he had been using to wipe down the counter, over his left shoulder raising an eyebrow, because she usually just ordered a glass of wine and home fries; but he said nothing.

Her pink wide-legged pants were wet from the bottom up, and the rain had made a mess of her probably once neatly tied-up hair. The colour of the bright strawberry red lipstick looked far too joyful compared to her facial expression. If it wasn’t for the rain he maybe would have thought that she had cried before she came in. The spark that she usually had in her eyes was gone and the wanted to punch whoever was responsible for that right in the face.

She watched him cut and squeeze a lemon, pour simple syrup and Tanqueray. Ice and a lemon slice in a glass. Pouring the contents of the cocktail shaker over it and topping it off with some club soda. His hands were surprisingly delicate for their size. Thick dark hair and dark tattoos peeking out from under the rolled-up sleeves of his plaid shirt. She always liked watching him work, but today it was more a desperate attempt to distract herself from what had just happened.

“Gin Fizz. It’s sweet but still classy.” When they first made eye contact that day it was intense. His stormy blue eyes, keeping her gaze captive, and yet she didn’t feel the unsettling feeling of dread that creeps up your back and spreads between your ribs when a man is staring at you and makes you feel unsafe without even saying a word. It felt nice and warm.

Vodka shots and the bowl of sesame pretzel sticks he put in front of her and she ate, even though she told him she wasn’t hungry. She knew they must have been from his personal stash because he brought them from the back and usually the bar only served salted peanuts.

When there was finally a short break between orders he casually leaned back against the counter behind him, crossing his arms over his chest, which made him look even bigger, if that was even possible. “So, what happened?”

“I’ve been stood up. I was sitting there at that pretentious whatever fusion restaurant down the street, which he picked. And I drank chardonnay after chardonnay until I finally accepted the reality that he wasn’t going to come anymore and had to get out of there. The way the waitress was looking at me, like she knew exactly what had happened made it even worse.”

He wanted to touch her. His fingers along her cheek, his hand on hers. Because he’s never been good with words and touch was the only way he could think of making her feel better. She didn’t deserve feeling like this, unwanted. Because he wanted her. With all his being and yet he only ever saw her when she came into the dimly lit bar, sat down at the counter, and after the first glass of wine started talking about the third graders she was teaching, what she had bought at the farmers market and her friends’ horrible Tinder dates.

“You know Sy, you’re the only stable male presence in my life. I can always count on you being here and you always listen to me and you're always nice to me.” At this point, her speech was a little slurred but he could tell she was being sincere. That was the last drop in the bucket that gave him the courage to do what he did next. He pushed himself off the counter and took her hands into his. “You should let me take you out. I will show you how you should be treated if you let me. I would never stand you up.”

She just sat there and looked at him, with her mouth slightly agape for a few seconds, and then the first real shy little smile of the night spread across her face. Then he could see her wavering again. “But I don’t want you to do this out of pity.” He dipped his head down a little to be at eye level with her and looked directly into her eyes. “Listen to me. You are the nicest, most genuine, sweetest person I know. I’ve liked you ever since the first time you came in here and sat down on that chair. I would be honoured to take you out.”

Apparently, she believed him because she turned her hands in his, palm up and squeezed back. “Okay, Captain. I'll let you take me out.”

[rightshoeonleftfoot]

How the flowers bloom

Pairing: Marius "Jäger" Streicher x GN!reader

Summary: This is part 1 of my smitten!Jäger x oblivious!reader. Reader has a mental breakdown and Jäger helps you feel better.

Warning: Slight warning, reader has a big breakdown questioning their life. Apart from that it's all fluff. This series is a slow burn (somewhat lol).

Words: 2.3k

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

This not proofread! Criticism is welcome and encouraged. I also do take requests for this fic :)

Today feels dull. Work takes longer than usual, your coworkers' voices grate your nerves more than usual. You have less patience for the customers yelling at you, less tolerance when your boss yells at you for the nth time to do something you haven't had the time for yet. After all, she gave you a never ending list of tasks to do, from mundane to tedious. You were getting to it.

Now, your boss asks you to be at the cash register, whilst also berating you for not going through the to-do list she gave you fast enough. The vase is filling up, one drop at a time. Now, you’re standing at the cash register trying to keep it together. It's excruciating, smiling at the customers like the stress of your job isn't starting to weigh on you.

Your vision starts to get blurry as you speak to the customer. It's been five years and you're still just an assistant in the bakery. You wanted to start your own business. Now here you are, acting as some sous-chef for an ungrateful baker, not a step closer to having your own bakery. What am I doing with my life? The thought rings loudly in your head, as a drop of water falls on the receipt you were gonna hand the woman.

You look down at it for a second, as more droplets fall on the receipt. The vase has overflown, and you're crying. The realization hits you as you wipe the tears off your cheeks and smile at the woman awkwardly.

"I'm so sorry." You chuckle in hopes of making the awkwardness of the situation go away. The lady surprisingly doesn't seem to take it badly. Instead, she looks almost.. concerned. "It's okay love. Everyone needs time off every once in a while." Her british accent is thick, yet it really seems like she cares. You nod in agreement and print out another receipt for her before handing it to her and heading to the break room.

You swallow the lump in your throat, mentally preparing to talk to your boss. You've decided, you're going home. You finally spot your boss, and she stares you down. Her gaze is piercing, like she's reading your every move.

"What the fuck are you doing back here? You're supposed to be out front." Her arms are crossed over her chest. An uncomfortable silence settles as you get the courage to speak up. "I'm heading home. I'm taking time off for the rest of the day." Your boss's face hardens, though she notices your teary eyes and she sighs. "Fine, take the rest of the day off. I don't need you today anyway." She doesn't seem genuine as she storms out of the break room, going to take care of the customers waiting for their order.

You pack your stuff up, almost relieved to be going home. Though the stress of losing your job seems to hit you as you put on your shoes to leave. It's a good paying job after all, right? The only downside is it's not exactly what you want to do for the rest of your life, but it's better than nothing you suppose. You sigh as you step out of the break room, the tears won't stop flowing. It's a never ending stream as you sniffle quietly, trying to bring the least amount of attention to yourself.

You glance at the line as you leave the bakery. It's the lunch rush, the line goes out the door. As you go to open the door to leave, you make eye contact with a customer. A smile appears on the man's face. You know him. He excuses himself from the front of the line and walks quickly towards you, before trapping you in a tight hug.

"Marius, wha- why are you here?" Your tone is laced with laughter as his hug lengthens. He doesn't answer for a few seconds, choosing to hold you in his arms a bit longer. He finally pulls back, putting his hands on each side of your arms. He's ecstatic to see you and it shows. "My op ended early, things got done a lot quicker than we expected." His smile falters a little when he sees your puffy eyes and red cheeks.

"Herzblatt, what happened? Are you crying?" The worry in his tone is obvious. He leans forward, as though to get a better look at your face to make sure you aren't injured. He backs off quickly, his cheeks now tinted red. What was he even trying to do? Confusion takes over as you're not quite sure why he reacted like that. He quickly reaches for a tissue in his pocket to hand you. "I'm okay Marius." You try to reassure him, chuckling to ease some of his worry.

He completely disregards your comment about being okay. "Did someone hurt you?" Instead of handing you the tissue, he goes to wipe off the tears off your cheeks himself. However, he stops himself and awkwardly looks away before handing you the tissue. You take the tissue from his hand, wiping your tears away. "Thanks." You take a deep breath. "No one did this, I'm just.. stressed." You feel a bit bad, complaining about your stressful job to a man who defends people's lives for a living.

"You were heading home, right? Why don't I make you dinner?" Marius proposes confidently. He seems almost too excited to be at your house again. He's fiddling with his belt loop on his pants, you notice he looks almost.. nervous. Granted, he's been like that around you for a bit, you just kind of assume it's how he is. "I couldn't ask that of you, I'd feel bad taking up your time like that." You really just feel like you're taking up space. Not that you don't want to spend time with him, you just don't want to feel like you're bothering him.

His confidence falters ever so slightly. He feels a bit rejected, almost like you're making an excuse to let him down easy. "Well, I don't have anything else to do and uhm, I missed you so..." He looks away awkwardly for a second, before looking back at you and smiling confidently once again. His cheeks seem a bit more flushed than usual. "Okay, yeah, if you're really okay with it, it'd be really nice." You feel like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. It's nice to have a friend who cares.

"I missed you too, by the way. Let's go." You sniffle as you wipe the last of your tears. His heart flutters at your words. Marius puts his hand out for you to take, but you don't notice as you've already started to walk. He quickly follows you, walking side by side with you.

The walk back to your house is... animated to say the least. Marius has a lot of energy, and a lot to talk about. The entire time you have your hands tucked away in your pockets, to Marius' great disappointment. He's talking your ear off about stuff he's recently watched and read, and he never seems to run out of talking material. His laugh is contagious, and you find yourself forgetting about all the stressful things that happened today.

You finally get back to your house and open the door for him. You take off your shoes and lock the door behind you both. He takes off his shoes and heads to the kitchen, going over to your fridge and opening it with you hot on his trail. You sneak behind him, peeking above his shoulder to see what he's looking at. "What do you want me to make for you, Schatzi?" His tone wavers a bit due to your proximity. He starts to pick stuff up from the fridge and puts it back in an effort to distract himself from you.

"Pasta would be nice." You mumbled, your hand coming to rest on his side to stabilize yourself as you look at what you have in your fridge with him. He freezes, the thoughts in his brain becoming a bit scrambled. "I uhm, I suppose I could." His tone was a bit hesitant as he looked back at you, not realizing just how close you were to him. He looked away immediately, taking a few things out of the fridge and walking away from you and towards the counter.

Marius gets to work. He seems to know what to make with what you have. He's expertly navigating your kitchen, he knows exactly where everything is. You get out of his way, resorting to watching him cook. You're leaning on the counter, looking at his every move, not saying a word. Then, he drops a glass and freezes. He's never done that before. Especially not around you.

"Scheiße." He mumbles under his breath. He's avoiding your gaze, he seems embarrassed. "It's okay, I got it." You stand up straight and head over to the mess he made to clean it up. His palms are sweaty as he tries to help you clean the mess, though he seems to keep dropping everything. You clean up the raw egg that fell on the floor, but accidentally cut yourself on the glass. "Tsk, shit." Marius immediately grabs your hand to look at the cut. He inspects your cut and helps you up.

"Let's get this cleaned up, Liebling." He leads you to the washroom but you stop him. You never understand the names he gives you, you never bother to ask since they seem innocent enough. "I'm okay, Marius. I just need to rinse it." You smile reassuringly at him, and he seems to relax, his grip on your hand loosening. He doubles down regardless. "No, I don't want any glass in your cut." He pulls you towards him and into the washroom.

He drags you over to the sink, and cleans your wound for you. His hands are sweaty and you can feel it. He's nervous, but it's nothing out of the ordinary so you don't question it. You lean towards him to see what he was doing better. He's cleaning it up, putting your hand under warm water, rinsing your cut to make sure there's no glass. He puts some polysporin on it and covers it with a bandaid, making sure it's nice and snug. He finally looks up to see you. "There, it's all-" He stops talking abruptly as his eyes meet yours.

You're confused as to why he stopped talking. His face is very close to yours, but it's not bothering you, you're usually this close to him. He clears his throat and looks away. "Uhm, yeah, it's cleaned and you're good to go." He smiles awkwardly, and leaves to go back to the kitchen to finish making you food. You can't deny his help is making all your stress vanish.

You walk back into the kitchen, and smile when you notice he cleaned up the glass. "Marius." You call out to him as he turns on the stove to make the sauce. "Ja?" He doesn't turn to look at you. "Thank you for helping me with all of this." You sit at the counter realizing he'd put his sleeves up to his elbows now. "Any time, do you wanna talk about what's bothering you?" You contemplate it for a second before speaking. "I don't like my work." Marius is stunned for a second as he looks at you.

"I thought you loved baking?" He checked the sauce before leaning over the counter to pay more attention to you. "Well, yeah. I just-" You sigh, trying to find your words. "I want to have my own bakery, you know? I'm tired of being some- some sous chef to my boss." You clench your fists. "She treats me like shit, Marius. I've been there for five years and she's not any closer to letting me have a little bit of freedom when it comes to designing the menu."

Marius seems to think for a second. "Why don't you take out a loan? I'll help you find a good spot for your bakery, I can help with the renovation. You'll make that money back quickly." His positive nature is contagious. "You think I could do it?" You don't want to get into debt, it's worrying. "You have the experience and the passion. Besides, I can be your taste tester, ja?" He smiles, trying to lighten the mood. "But for now, focus on getting food and relaxing, Schatzi. I can set something up on the TV for us."

You nod, feeling relieved to have someone there for you. He focuses back on making you a good meal, occasionally spilling some things and bumping into dining chairs and counters as he navigates the kitchen. After a few minutes, he plates the food and presents it to you. Pomodoro pasta, and it looks mouthwatering. "Living room?" He asks as he holds both bowls in his hands, looking at you eagerly.

"Yeah." You hurry to your living room, sitting on the couch, and he puts the pasta bowls on the coffee table. Before you can grab the remote to turn on the TV, he snags it from you. He sits on the couch next to you and sets up a documentary on quantum computers. You lean back on the couch, leaning into him since he's so warm. He freezes but doesn't move. As you both watch and eat, you're hit with a strange sense of calmness.

You focus on the documentary, and though you don't understand everything, you don't mind. He loves explaining it to you anyway. You, however, never notice all the looks he gives you to make absolutely sure you like what you're watching. After all, he'd give you the world if you'd only just accept it.

[rubytuezday]

Modern Levi Ackerman Headcanons

co-owns a jazz club/speakeasy with Erwin and Hange

fluent in three languages: English, French, and Japanese

tea connoisseur I tell you. he has the bougiest shit you've ever seen and he makes it so so well

a morning matcha typa guy (NEVER iced. Always hot)

coffee shop order is a London fog with no sweetener

LOVES gossip. like, if you (or literally anyone) has some hot goss, he is ready to listen, comment, and analyze (y'all know the TikTok audio where it's like "she's also... ugly" like bitch that's totally Levi)

always wishes he got to have music lessons as a kid

is known to fall asleep in his office and just stay at the club all night long

an amazing bartender, and usually bartends at the speakeasy despite being an owner

gives you free drinks if he's sweet on you

Hange is one of the only people who can drag him to the dance floor (she ends up leading too lmaoooo)

big fan of fancy watches, though his favorite one is a simple black leather strap watch gifted to him by Erwin

one time, Hange convinced him to go with them to the Rocky Horror Picture Show and he hated every second of it

watches NCIS

complains that Eren and his friends are too loud whenever they show up to the club, but he actually finds it very endearing

ended up hiring Eren as a bartender for the club - "Don't let your stupid sports schedule mess with this job, Jäger."

always wanted to have a huge garden, but since he lives in the city, he just grows herbs by the window/on the balcony

favorite bands/artists consist of: The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, Hozier, and Velvet Underground

follows haute couture

was big into martial arts in high school and college, and gained a well deserved reputation of ass kicking abilities

has a cat named Marlboro

doesn't have a favorite movie, but really loves Call Me By Your Name and Dead Poets Society

cologne hoarder collector

he's such a dad deep down ugh I love him sm

[ichijager13]

Let me help you

Pairings : Eren Jäger x reader

Tags : +18 only, Roommates AU, aged-up characters, voyeurism, sex toys, masturbation, dirty dancing, dirty talking, shamless smut where Eren makes reader sit on his dick.

Summary:  Coming into your room, Eren wasn’t expecting to be greeted with such a scene. You were standing in front of your mirror dressed in nothing but a pair of lacy dark red underwear that left little to the imagination, languorously swaying and feeling yourself up.

A/N: I’m still not comfortable in writing full length smuts, this is a first attempt.

Please let me know if you liked it, I kind of have mixed feelings about it.

Part two

Tell me I’m not the only one who wants to have him like this, EVERY DAY.

Coming into your room, Eren wasn’t expecting to be greeted with such a scene. The finals were approaching and he needed your notes. He knocked on your room’s door and called your name for a couple of minutes. Thinking you were studying while having your air pods on he decided to come in. to his surprise you were doing something else. Something he never thought he’d witness, not in real life at least.

You were standing in front of your mirror dressed in nothing but a pair of lacy dark red underwear that left little to the imagination, languorously swaying and feeling yourself up.

The sight of you moving your hips slowly and your hands running across your body made his brain go blank. He didn’t know how to react if he should leave or stay. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if this is real. Forgetting why he was here in the first place, he leaned against the wall watching your small hands squeezing your breasts.

You continued dancing as your thumb rub your bud against the fabric of your bra. The friction made your red tainted lips part and release a sweet erotic sound. Unable to move or look away, Eren let himself slide against the wall and sit on the floor. He folded one leg and brought the other against his chest as his eyes continued watching you.

The thin fabric of your panties hugged the swell of your ass perfectly and was making him rock hard. He was enjoying the show you were putting on for him.

You and Eren were roommates for almost a year now. Even though he refuses to admit it to his friends, you caught his eye the moment you walked into his apartment.

Watching you slide your panties down your legs, he found himself wondering what song you were listening to and who were thinking of. “Lucky bastard”. He grunts shifting to make himself more comfortable.

You parted your legs after you sat on the edge of the bed facing the mirror. You gave him a full view of your soaking intimacy. His eyes were following the movement of your fingers as they teased your clit. Drawing slow circles, you let low moans skip from you. they would move up once in a while watching your tongue wet your lips and teeth sink into the plush of your lower lip when it gets too intense.

He felt jealous, he wished it was his fingers playing with your needy core. His teeth capture your red puffy lips and his mouth sucks on them. he wished it was him you were thinking of.

Feeling the spam of your orgasm approaching slowly you squeezed your already closed eyes and let your head fall back. He was so mesmerized he didn’t realize you denied your orgasm. Feeling irritated you prevented him from such a blissful sight, he shifted once again trying to relieve some of the tension in his khaki shorts. The heavy groan that came out of you made him go wild.

He continued watching you giving him an answer to one of the numerous questions that haunted him for months while palming himself. He tried to imagine how would you look like bending while naked. He drank on the sight the second you reached for the dower next to your bed.

He tried to get a glimpse of what you fished out of the drawer but failed. He continued to lazily stroke his painful shaft as you parted your legs wider this time. You took your bra off letting it fall to your feet before you sat something on the floor.

Eren almost choke when he finally saw the large dildo you placed under you. in trance, he watched you going down taking in the sex toy slowly. The moans you released while watching yourself sliding the sex toy inch after inch inside your pussy made the pressure between his legs unbearable. It was stupid of him, to assume that touching himself while watching you getting off was enough.

It was somehow manageable at first but hearing you moaning his name as you moved your hips up and down, fucked out his mind. He had to do something, he had to have you in every possible way and he had to do it now. In one swift move, he discarded his shorts before walking towards you. you were about to slip the dildo back inside you when he gripped your hips, immobilizing you. you opened your eyes blinking in surprise.

He took off one of your air pods. “Why stuff yourself with this shit when you can have the real thing". He murmured in a husky voice. Tilting your head, you were met with dark eyes and a wicked smirk. “I can take care of you sweet thing”. One of his hands rested against your inner thigh waiting for your consent.

Your eyes gagged the moment they landed on his thick crotch. You gulped before bringing your eyes up. he moved your leg and inserted two fingers inside you. you continued watching him pleasuring you unable to block your moans and whimpers. "Do you want it?" He spoke against your ear. You tried to answer, you tried to come up with a reply but nothing came out of your mouth. Nothing but needy cries and whines. "You think you can take it?" You nodded. "Then place it inside of you". He released your thighs and watched you going down. “Good girl”. He groaned feeling your warm walls hugging him tightly. “So good for me”. he followed eyes fixated on the mirror. “So fucking good and tight”. he nipped at the skin of your neck. “How you about you cum on my cock? You think you can do it?” A wide smirk spread across his face when you nodded. “Show me”. He whispered after pulling you for a ferocious kiss.

[crazychaoticizzy]

TRACK ONE: Pilot/Heart Attack

Heart Attack: the greatest rock band in history. Decades after the nasty breakup that followed their final performance in Dodger Stadium, Los Angeles, the six band members finally agree to separate interviews that reveal how they came together and their rise to fame.

And what led to their sudden downfall.

EREN X READER X JEAN

CONTENT: multipart fic, rock band au, love triangle, slow burn, angst

WORD COUNT: 1.1k

Series Masterlist

AOT Masterlist

DODGER STADIUM, LOS ANGELES After their highly anticipated performance at Dodger Stadium, Los Angeles, Jean Kirschtein tore off the neck of his bass on stage and ripped a hole in the drums. After announcing his resignation from the famous band, Heart Attack, Eren Jäger punched him.

Following Jean Kirschtein's resignation, Heart Attack fell apart. The performance in Dodger Stadium was their last, and the six band members have not been seen together since.

This biography is made up of a series of interviews compiled over the years by Olivia Russo. This is the first time the band and others involved have spoken on their scandals since they broke up.

JEAN KIRSTEIN, bassist for Heart Attack: Just sit here?  Alright. Yeah, of course. Sure you don’t want anything to drink? Okay. [smiling] Hi.

EREN JÄGER, main male vocalist for Heart Attack: We’re gonna make this quick, ‘kay? I don’t wanna talk about this shit. Ask your questions, get a snack or something, and leave.

ARMIN ARLERT, guitarist for Heart Attack: Do I look okay? I dunno, I just feel nervous, I guess. I haven’t really talked about this in years, especially on camera.

SASHA BRAUS, keyboardist for Heart Attack: Oh, I’m so excited for this. Did my hair curl weird? No? Okay. What do you want me to do? Introduce myself? I don’t know, everything’s changed so much since the last time I did a one on one interview like this. Hi, my name is Sasha Braus. I was the former keyboardist and supporting female vocalist for Heart Attack.

CONNIE SPRINGER, drummer for Heart Attack: Ready, kid? You’re in for a ride. I hope you brought snack or something to hold you by, this is a long story.

MIKASA ACKERMAN, photographer and costume designer for Heart Attack: This is for a documentary, right? Or a novel? Oh, okay. Either way, I’ll try to remember everything as best I can.

Y/N L/N, main female vocalist for Heart Attack: Hey. Yeah, of course. Mess with whatever. Maybe you can hide the circles under my eyes. [laughs]

What did you think of Heart Attack?

MIKASA: Well, it was Eren’s dream, so I just kind of went with it. It was fun, though. I really liked everyone we worked with. Most of them were really nice.

EREN: We were on top of the fucking world. The biggest band of the century. Everyone knew our name and we were making millions. I don’t know why Jean wanted to throw that shit away.

JEAN: You want honesty? I fucking hated it. Every single second.

CONNIE: Ooo, getting into the deep shit already? Well, I personally thought it was so fun. More so after we got famous, but it was great even back when we were just teenagers in Mrs. Yeager’s basement.

ARMIN: I kind of felt… indifferent? I mean, yeah I liked it. I was spending time with my best friends. But I would have preferred something quieter, maybe? Something that didn’t have us at each other’s throats all the time, at least.

SASHA: Well, it was definitely stressful. God, especially when I was pregnant. I was so worried about what we were going to do then. I mean, I couldn’t be up on stage at almost nine months. Are you crazy? But then for half of our songs the keyboard is a really big part so it’s not like I just couldn’t be there.

Y/N: I really enjoyed it. Yeah, there were a couple times I maybe wanted to kill someone, but it was fun. Lifelong friends, some of them. All of them, actually, but . . .

SASHA: Oh, well. We figured it out in the end. [smiles]

Y/N: It didn’t end well, as I’m sure you know.

JEAN: What were we? A rock band, according to Google, but what we were doing wasn’t rock.

CONNIE: It’s kind of funny, actually. Before Sasha we were all so uncreative and couldn’t come up with song titles. With good reason, too, that shit is hard. Trying to sum up your song in a couple words? Pfft. We were all useless, especially Eren.

ARMIN: Only the super old fans know this, but our very first song ever, track one on our debut album, was originally called “Pilot.”

EREN: Yes, like the fucking first episode of a show that doesn’t know if it’s gonna do well or some shit. It was not my idea.

JEAN: It was Eren’s idea.

MIKASA: I tried convincing them to name it something else, but they wouldn’t budge. I suggested just their band name and they said, “No, that’s too basic. We need something unique.” They didn’t change it until Scout Records told them to. And guess what they changed it to.

CONNIE: We changed the first song to “Heart Attack” in… let’s see, 2018 or somewhere close to that. 2019, maybe?

JEAN: Naming our first album “Debut” was Eren’s dumb ass idea, too. Uncreative prick.

EREN: No one else had any better ideas, so we just went with what I said by default. It’s not like anyone cared, anyway.

What can you tell me about Marco Bodt?

SASHA: Sorry, darling. I don’t know much about him other than he was the band’s first keyboardist.

Y/N: Just what Annie and everyone else told me way back when. I don't remember much.

MIKASA: Oh, I wasn’t around them enough at the beginning to know him. That was around the same time my mom had started getting me ready to take over the store, so I spent almost all of my free time with her.

ARMIN: I don’t really remember him. I had him in my Chemistry class before I dropped out. He was my table partner, I think. He was nice, though. We tutored each other sometimes. And, of course, he was over at Eren’s with us a lot.

CONNIE: I loved Marco, man. If you met him, you knew you had just met the sun. He always had such a bright outlook on everything. He was like Switzerland when we started arguing. And he always came up with the best compromises.

EREN: Marco was amazing. I felt bad all the time because he was always breaking up arguments. I have no clue why he was friends with us.

ARMIN: We were definitely annoying. It took a special kind of patience to deal with us, especially at that age. Marco always handled it so well, though. I think he and I would’ve ended up being much better friends if we were given the chance.

JEAN: Someone did their homework. You know about Marco? Course you do, you’re fucking [incoherent]. Uhm, Marco… God, I haven’t talked about him since he died. I don’t even think the really old fans know about him, to be honest. Well, Marco was . . . I think he was the first boy I ever loved.

i'm so excited for this series you guys don't even know. i have so much planned and i hope you guys have as much fun reading it as i had writing it

TAGLIST: @arlerts-angel if you'd like to join the taglist please comment to let me know!

next part >>

[escapedaudios]

Ok, who is your favorite Escaped Audios listener? Not necessarily your favorite series, but your favorite listener character. Let me know why too in the comments/reblogs! I'm including the one shot characters too even though they absolutely don't stand a chance.

[mitchiegonewild]

aot character's nationalities 

okay, so from what I've found (taking things like name origins and canonical story building), im going to try and make a complete list of aot characters and their nationalities.

Eren Jaeger/Jäger: as a surprise to no one, Eren is three fourths German, one fourth Turkish.

Carla Jaeger/Jäger: Half Turkish, half German. ("Carla" comes from Germanic roots.)

Grisha Jäger/Jaeger: German. Duh.

Zeke Jaeger/Jäger: Three fourths German, one fourth English.

Mikasa Ackerman: Half Japanese, half Ashkenazi Jewish. (Duh X2. Ackerman is an Ashkenazi Jewish surname, usually hailing from Germany or Scandinavia. While I don't know which one of the two the Ackermans we see would fall under, as none of them slap me in the face as German except for perhaps Kuchel [and even she strikes me as more Italian or Dutch than anything], Ashkenazi is widely regarded as an ethnic group of their own.)

Levi Ackerman: Half Russian, half Ashkenazi Jewish. (As a half Russian Ashkenazi Jew, pretty spot on.) Levi and Russian men have similar facial structures, in which their heads are sort of heart shaped, or rounded and then pointed at the end.

Kenny Ackerman: Ashkenazi Jewish.

Kuchel Ackerman: Ashkenazi Jewish.

Armin Arlert: Okay, so (slightly?) hot take (lukewarm at best), but Armin's half German, half Finnish. He has a similar rounded face structure to most Finnish people, not to mention the hair and the eyes. (Seriously, the hair texture looks so similar.) Plus Arlert is an OLD Germanic surname, which often coincided with people of Scandinavian descent. Half German because Armin is a German name. Plus, if you look at pictures of his parents, his father resembles men of Finnish descent and his mother of women of German descent. So, tl;dr: Armin's half German, half Finnish.

Sasha Braus: I can take this one out quick as a bitch; Austrian with some Czech sprinkled in. ('Braus' is an Austrian surname. So, woo-hoo for my home country, LOL! And before people say something about how her name is a play on a German language saying...what language do you think us Austrians speak?) While not definitively Czech to the point where she can say specific family members have that descent, it's made its way into her gene pool with the hair color and texture, cheekbones/shape, and nose. (I would not say she's Russian even though 'Sasha' is definitely Russian, mostly because the other indicators point to Austrian and Czech being more likely.)

Conny Springer: Alright, hear me out AGAIN. Conny's half Slavic, and more specifically, he's half Serbian. Springer (or Špringer) is an Irish/Slavic surname often found in Serbia. Your average Serbian man and Conny share deep-set eyes, nice brows, a face that curves in that particular Conny shape, and a similar hair texture. Conny, and also John Constantine (which is what I believe is his canonical full name, someone correct me if I'm wrong), but specifically Constantine, has origins in both Old English and in Slavic language. Which brings me to his other half: German. Because when in doubt, in AOT, they're part German.

Erwin Smith: ENGLISH. next.

Hangë Zoe: Half Greek, half German. They're half Greek because the name Zoe is of greek origin. Hangë also shares qualities similar to Greek features; a Greek nose, tan skin, and dark hair. Plus with Greece still overcoming an emigration crisis as of 2019/2020, in the future, its quite plausible that many Greeks (including Hangë's possible ancestors) wound up in Germany. Hangë is a loose translation of the name "Hans", which is a VERY stereotypical German name. I mean, you literally cannot get more German than Hans unless you pull out Gretel. That being said, I do also believe that Hangë has some Indian heritage, and this is because the surname "Hange" without the umlaut gives us that of an Indian descent. Seeing has "Hangë" is, as stated before, a loose form of "Hans", the addition of an umlaut could also be just another loose form of "Hange". Although that last part might be a reach, it's not completely out of the realm of possibility that one or two of their ancestors were Indian.

Ymir: So, with Ymir, it is a COMPLETE toss up because her name was given to her by the cult as a namesake and not as a geographically given name. What we know about her is that she is; most likely fully caucasian; she has dark hair and freckles; she's taller than most of her other women comrades at 5'8"; her eyes are darker in shade and droopy. So, using that information to our advantage, I would say that she is some mixture of Dutch, and most of all, Romanian and Hungarian. While she has the sort of long face that the Dutch do, she has the complexion and facial structure of Hungarian people. Even her skin tone, which looks to be slightly more tan than everyone else's, matches that of the Hungarians and Romanians.

Historia Reiss: Half German, half Swedish. Reiss is a German surname, and Historia just fits the whole BILL (minus the height) for the average Swedish woman. I also think Historia has some Jewish in her, because Reiss is an Ashkenazi Jewish surname. (Plus, and this might be personal bias, but I'm a blonde & blue eyed Ashkenazi Jew, LOL.)

Jean Kirstein: Hear me out! Jean is not German at all; but instead, he's half Danish, half Icelandic. The first records of the name "Kirstein" were in Denmark and Prussia (a state of Germany), but was more common in Denmark and then Prussia as time went on. A quick google search of "Danish men" will show you men with Jean's striking eyes and brows that are thick at the beginning and thin out towards the end. The Icelandic is even more clear, with the two sharing very similar facial structures, with high, prominent cheekbones and a strong nose; that good ol' fashioned "Horse-Face" clear as day.

Marco Bodt: Whew. Okay, so obviously when I first heard the name 'Marco', everyone thinks; oh, he's Italian! But 'Bodt' is actually a Dutch surname, and I believe that Marco is purely Dutch. The typical Dutch man and Marco share similar face shapes (Angular and somewhat blocky), noses that have a strong base but upturn a little at the end, and slightly bigger ears that stand out a little bit.

Moblit Berner: Okay, this one's also very easy. Moblit is German and English. "Berner" is an Old Germanic name, and from what little I could scrounge up on "Moblit", it's an Irish/English name given to those with red hair. So while not a ginger, he's a English/German, probably more German than English.

Onyankopon: This one's rather easy for me as well. A very quick google search will tell you that Onyankopon is typically a Ghanian name. Given that it's a religious name, too, and Onyankopon seems to be a religious man, I think it checks out. Also, he's easily one of the coolest new characters we've seen. Give him more edits!!

Reiner Braun: Do I even have to do this one? Really? Reiner is as German as they come.

Bertholdt Hoover: Now at first, I was inclined to say that he's just German as well. But he's also Swiss! He shares LOTS of Swiss facial structures and hairlines, and "Hoover" is an anglicized version of the Swiss-German "Hubar". While I cannot account for that boy's freakishly insane height, I guess he just got the luck of the gene pool draw. So more Swiss than German, but German all the same. I'd give it a good 2/3s Swiss, 1/3rd German.

Annie Leonhardt: Okay, so fairly easy, like her other buddies; half Russian, half German! Annie is a Russian name, and she shares many characteristics of Russian women. "Leonhardt" is a German surname.

Falco & Colt Grice: Half French, half Swedish. "Grice" as a surname occurs in both old French and Scandinavian languages, and Falco (plus Colt) both look similar to Swedish men. Although we can't say for sure what Falco will look like fully grown, as we've only seen him in a few manga panels, we can look to Colt to see what he will look like. And hot damn, the resemblance is there! He's got that nose that widens a bit towards the end and eyebrows that rest sort of heavy on his eyelids. For the French aspect, we get the long, smooth facial structure and sort of pillowy-thin lips. So, safe to say that Falco and Colt are French-Swedish.

Pieck Finger: Okay, so Pieck is 3/4ths Ashkenazi Jewish and 1/4th German. "Finger" is originally derived from the Ashkenazi surname "Fingar", and can be traced back to old North Germanic origins. "Pieck" is often primarily found in North Germany, so she might actually also have some ancestors from Denmark, as they share similar jawlines and drooped eyes.

Yelena: Yelena might be the easiest one on this list besides Erwin. RUSSIAN!

If there's any I left out, lmk, I would love to do them! Thanks for reading, and remember that this is just my person head canons. You can all believe whatever you want. <3 Have a nice day!

[didyoubringauntienat]

Flashbacks

Description: You have flashbacks about some of the best moments you and Natasha had.

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader (she/her pronouns used)

Warnings: angst, psych ward, kissing, mentions of alcohol, drunk Nat (please message me if I've missed anything)

Word count: 1313 words

Taglist: @stephanieromanoff @haeva @lilaloubear

You didn’t really expect to find yourself in this position, a 5’3 redhead using you as a human crutch after having one too many jägerbombs at one of Tony’s parties. “Have I ever told you how much I love you Y/n?” You sigh before looking down to see Natasha giving you a surprisingly goofy smile as you basically dragged her to the lifts. 

To not hurt her feelings, you give her a soft smile. “Lets get you to bed and you can tell me how much you love me when that killer hangover kicks in.” She groans at that as you gently rest her against the lift wall, you press the button for her floor and sigh as you lean on the wall next to her. “Just close your eyes for a bit, I’ll make sure you get to bed.”

It was your first day dealing with some new recruits. Clint had told you that he had recruited an ex assassin and had asked you to guide her as he felt the both of you could relate to each other. You being an unwilling hydra experiment forced to do missions that still keep you up at night and from what Clint told you (which was very vague), she was a black widow. 

You opened the door to the training room to see a petite woman with fiery red hair tied up into a neat ponytail, looking down at her feet. You stopped and looked at her for a second before making yourself known. “Are you Clint’s new recruit?”

As soon as she heard you speak she looked up. She cleared her throat as she finally made eye contact with you. “Natasha.” You furrow your eyebrows and open your mouth to question her but get cut off. “My name is Natasha and yeah Clint recruited me for shield.”  

You nod in understanding as you walk over to the boxing gloves. “Well Natasha, Clint’s recruit,” You look up at her as you tighten the straps on the gloves. “Shall we start?” 

“Come onnn Y/n! Just stay for a little bit… I want no I need cuddles” You sigh as you sit down on the edge of the bed. You feel the bed dip before her arms wrap around your neck loosely. “You’ve been so weird with me recently… I miss you” You frown and look at the floor. You have been distant lately. 

Without saying anything you lie down and hold your arms open for her, which she gladly collapses into. “Don’t throw up on me okay?” She giggles (which she only does when she reaches this level of drunk) as she snuggles up to your chest.

“I promise baby… give me kisses though.” You laugh at that before gently kissing her hair. 

“I’ll give you proper ones when you don’t smell of vodka and jäger” You laugh softly at the pout she gives in return. As you pull the blankets over you, you feel lips press against yours, hard. You freeze up for a moment before you kiss her back, quickly smoothing out the hard and slightly sloppy kiss. Her hand moves up and caresses your jaw as she deepens the kiss. You reluctantly pull away when air becomes a problem. “You’re drunk. Go to sleep and I’ll give you all the kisses you want tomorrow.” 

She sighs but nods in agreement before resting her head on beneath your chin. “Good night baby, I love you.”

You inhale sharply before wiping away a tear. “I love you to, sweet dreams.” 

“Romanoff. Take these reports down to agent Y/l/n please.” Tony smiles at Natasha as he sees the blush form on her cheeks. 

She quickly grabs the reports and leaves the room without saying a word. She groans when she hears the team break out into laughter as she waits for the lift. Natasha steps inside when the doors open. She jumps and turns around when someone grabs her shoulder, without thinking she punches them square in the mouth.

“Ow! Fuck Nat! What was that for?” You hold your mouth as it bleeds. You look up to see Natasha with a shocked face and her hand covering her mouth. 

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry Y/n. I didn’t know it was you…”

You shake your head as you rub her arm. “Its fine, I would have done the same thing.” You smile after licking your busted lip. “So where are you going then?” You smirk at her as you step closer. “Maybe I could keep you company?”

She blushes at what you say. “Actually I was on my way to see you. Tony wanted me to give you some mission reports.” You finally notice the folders that are pressed against her chest. Her hand moves up and gently caresses your jaw. Her thumb wipes away the last of the blood. “I’m pretty sure the whole team knows I have a crush on you…” 

You do your best to hold back a smirk. “I bet Rogers and Banner aren’t happy about that.” She rolls her eyes at the comment but doesn’t say anything instead she kisses you gently, being careful of your small injury.

“Why would I care what they think when I have you?” She mutters against your lips before kissing you again, completely forgetting the lift was going somewhere.

As the lifts open you whisper between kisses, “I love you Nat.” You smile down at her after saying it. Not caring about the agents standing awkwardly outside waiting to get in. 

“I love you to Y/n.” You smile and grab the reports and her hand before leading her out the lift towards your office.

“How long do you think we have to keep her here doc?” Wanda sighs as she watches you through the window as she talks to Dr Cho.

“I honestly don’t know Wanda… She’s made no improvements, she still talks to Nat as if she’s here. There has now been mentions of Tony as well. To be honest… I don’t even think she realises that she’s at a psych ward.”

“Is there anything I can do? She’s all I have left… Everyone who ever cared for me is dead.” Wanda wipes away a tear as she watches you stroke the air before you hug yourself.

“I’m sorry Wanda… But this is all we have, we just have to be happy that she’s a lot more stable now than when we first brought her here.” Helen smiles sympathetically at Wanda before leading her towards her office and away from you.

“She didn’t even get to say goodbye to her…” 

“Do you see yourself getting married Y/n?” You and Natasha were currently resting in bed, the sheets lazily thrown over the both of you.

“Why do you ask?” You furrow your eyebrows as you look at her. She sighs as she rolls onto her front, the top half of her body resting on your chest.

“I don’t know, we’ve just never spoke about marriage and… kids. I just wanted to know your views on the whole idea.”

You sigh and look at the ceiling as you think of the best way to answer it. “I’ve never really thought about it… I just know I want to spend the rest of my life with you, so if that means we get married then so be it. I’ll do anything to make you happy.” You smile at her and peck her lips “I love you so much Nat, you’re my soulmate.” 

She smiles at you before tackling you into a passionate kiss, nearly knocking you off the bed. As you kiss her back, all you can think about is the small black ring box in the drawer in your bedside table. You were going to make this woman your wife. Even if its the last thing you do.

[writing-whump]

Bleeding silver

This is a Christmas present for my lovely friend and RP partner @clickerflight. Great writer and artist, your work lights up my day.💙 Hope you enjoy!

Summary: Flashback fic, when Isaiah was 17, an executioner in his family pack. Insight into his secrets about his father, brothers and the deal with Reuben. Angst, captivity, torture, mentions of war, mentions of death, mentions of abuse.

Father’s office was big, dark with lots of massive wood a fireplace and two smaller rooms for waiting and parallel meetings, but very few wolves knew about its greatest advantage - that it had a stairway leading to another office downstairs.

The basement office had no windows. It was that far in the ground and the walls were of thick cement. No sounds came out of there. 

Isaiah made sure no one was at the meeting room, before he went down, closing the secret door behind him. 

Reuben was in the same position as Isaiah saw him in the morning. Hands in silver chains leading back to the wall behind him. He could  sit upright, but he could not move up from there. Silver cuffs on his feet served no other purpose than to cause more burning pain. He was bleeding where silver touched him, the skin rough and blistered. 

“I brought you food,” Isaiah said, putting the plate next to his limp feet before stepping away to lean against the cluttered table behind him.

Reuben tilted his head slowly, eyes glassy and feverish as they focused on him. His brown curls were greasy from sweat and matted with old blood and he was shivering without his shadow. He still managed a sarcastic: “How very kind of you.” 

It was a bowl of soup. Isaiah figured Reuben’s last bouts of sickness could be traced back to the ongoing strain from the silver burns and that maybe something easier on the stomach could help. He could not simply give him whatever they had at dinner so he made the plainest chichen broth he could. 

“It’s such a shame,” Reuben rasped, leaning his head back, “you go through all that trouble to keep me alive, but I’ll have to say no.”

“I don’t care if you are alive,” Isaiah said on reflex. 

“Yes, you do. You know what will happen, when my dad finds out about this, right? Can you Wolfsons afford another war? I hear you are preparing for one right now.”

“You couldn’t have heard that,” Isaiah said, folding his hands on his chest. No way someone would reveal such sensitive information…

“Your daddy dearest sounded pretty sure,” Reuben said, a small smirk playing on his chapped lips at Isaiah’s discomfort. “He talks a lot like I won’t survive to tell the tale. I guess he’s right.”

Isaiah’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. His shadow rose angrily though, slashing down on the ground. He didn’t like to be left out of decisions of that magnitude. Neither did he agree with Reuben getting killed. The guy was 17, the same as Isaiah and the oldest son of the Jäger pack’s leader. It made no sense to kill him. Isaiah knew he could have easily been the one on the floor in his father’s office. 

“You should really decide already,” Reuben rasped. “You are in conflict, that’s clear as day. You bring me food, you come watch me when you father all but forgets, you worry about my survival although you shouldn’t. You want to release me, but you also want to do what daddy says. You don’t understand the logic behind his plan to torture me. If he killed me, it would be a quicker way to start a war. And your father obviously wants to start one.”

“That’s not true,” Isaiah said sharply. “Father only does what’s best for the pack.”

“So why did he kidnap me? Why this whole ordeal?” Reuben lifted himself up, hands automatically tugging before he winced at the movement and sagged back again.

“There is surely an explanation I’m still not worthy or smart enough to understand.”

“Ha! You still believe that? There is no way your father does things for the greater good of anyone but his bloodthirsty shadow. I told you. This is not how a leader acts.” Reuben coughed then, his whole torse shaking with the cough until it blew into a whole coughing fit, wracking his frame.

“I’m going to escape from here,” Reuben continued, voice breathy and ragged. “One way or another.” He looked at the bowl of soup in disgust, head lolling to the other side.

Isaiah snorted. “How? By starving yourself? That’s the big plan?”

“Why not? I can’t keep doing this forever.” He squeezed his eyes shut, sweat running down the side of his face although he was shivering. “I want out.”  

Isaiah was silent for a long time, shaken by the sheer despair in Reuben’s otherwise talkative arrogant voice. It’s been two weeks. He was running thin, constantly in pain from the silver, the beatings and rolled down shadow that came in irregular intervals not helping.

“It’s just because you are not used to the silver,” he said quietly. 

Reuben’s eyes closed in exhaustion. “No one is supposed to be used to silver. It freaking hurts. It’s poison to us.”

“See? That’s why father training me with silver is such a good move. Silver with shadow, without the shadow, seeing how quickly you recover. Look at this.” Isaiah crouched down and rolled down the right sleeve on his coat to show the ugly red welts on his arm. 

Reuben opened his eyes to slits to look, eyebrows furrowing together.

“Silver knife with a rolled down shadow. But my shadow is already back up. I have grown stronger since he did it to me last time. Every time I get used to the pain more. I know what to expect. And I can call my shadow to come back to me sooner instead of being paralyzed by the pain.”

“Why do you sound so bloody happy?!” Reuben said, face contorting into an angry grimace. “That’s not normal, Isaiah! That’s not something a father does to his son, or a wolf does to his pup. That’s not something a parent’s shadow is supposed to be capable of doing to its child!” 

Isaiah recoiled, covering the slashes with his good hand. “You don’t understand. He doesn’t like to do it. It’s a necessary sacrifice for him, but he does it for my sake.”

“For your sake!” Reuben exclaimed, lifting himself up in the chains again only to break into another coughing fit. Isaiah felt the unexplainable impulse to steady him, to touch him. 

“That’s such nonsense, Isaiah. This is not part of the training of a successor. Or an executioner. It’s just plain sadistic torture.”

Isaiah bowed his head, staring at the carpet. It was dusty, covered with patches of dried blood.  

“And you know it. Deep down you know it. Why else would you prevent your father from training your younger brother?” 

Isaiah flinched at that, looking back at Reuben. “One executioner is enough. This kind of training is for me. I’m the strongest in the pack. It’s a burden and a blessing. And mainly, it’s my duty.” For the greater good. For the good of the pack. They need someone like me, who can bear the pain, inflict the pain, understand it and protect them from it. 

“If you truly believed this was a strength, you would have trained your brother yourself. Instead, you made a deal. Your father told me. Gloated to me, really. That you think you can do everything on your own, so much your brother won’t be needed for the job at all. That you made a deal that you would not protest any mission if Hector were excluded from the training. And that Hector himself hates you for it. Stupid bastard, not knowing what he is missing.”

Isaiah’s eyes widened. He had no idea father told Reuben such intimate family affairs. 

“You won’t protect him forever. He complied to motivate you, but he is sure your qualms will disappear. The more you do it, the more your shadow tastes the blood, the more it will crave it. Until you become like him. And then he will train Hector too. Make him into another you. And you will enjoy it, just like your father enjoys it right now.” 

Isaiah stood up abruptly. His heart was beating fast in his chest, his shadow swelling beside him, reacting to his fear, to his pain. It wanted to claw into Reuben for saying that, it wanted to tear him to shreds, taste his blood, bite deep into him just like father would into Isaiah, to calm down, to feel in control…

Reuben smiled, blood in the corner of his lips, eyes glittering with fever and irony. “See? You are on your best way to get there. To the shadow madness.”

Isaiah stepped closer to Reuben, towering over him. He was so weak and pitiful. Isaiah could break his ribs with one kick, smash his teeth together to make him shut up, he could strangle him with his shadow…

Reuben said nothing else, staring invitingly in the way of a wolf making a challenge. Isaiah realized then Reuben was truly serious.

He wanted to die. And he wanted to provoke Isaiah into doing it. 

Isaiah walked away. 

After he closed and locked the basement office door, he all but ran up the stairs, into the office, through the side exit into the courtyard.

Isaiah braced his hands against his thighs, gulping in the taste of fresh, cold air. He needed to clear his head. He needed his shadow back under control. 

**

Isaiah sat in the smaller of the adjoined offices, doing paperwork, when Marek walked in. 

Although Isaiah was younger, Marek waited patiently until Isaiah acknowledged his presence. That’s how it was these days. Marek was a Wolkenstein, he had a powerful shadow and great skill. But no wolf could measure up to Isaiah’s shadow or his control or his skill with it. None of the older wolves, not even those leading their own fractions, their own little allied groups. Not even Isaiah’s uncle. No one but father could do it.

Isaiah lifted his gaze. His shadow was up, covering the ground around the table and climbing the walls. He liked to keep it in the open when he didn’t want to be disturbed. He felt safer with it.

Marek bowed his head, eyes glued to the ground, head tipping to the side to show his throat. It was more of a symbolic gesture, but an important one, showing his submission and acceptance of Isaiah’s power over him. 

Isaiah’s shadow wiggled in satisfaction, sizzling like water dripping on burning coals. 

“You may speak,” Isaiah said, voice carefully neutral and devoid of emotion. 

“The leader said you are in charge of picking wolves for the battle,” Marek said, lifting his gaze tentatively, though looking somewhere over Isaiah’s shoulder. “With the Specter pack. They send us their challenge already, right? You have the date?”

“The date and place have been decided,” Isaiah allowed. He didn’t like where this was going. He had been put in charge of picking the pack members for the battle and he decided not to pick anyone. He would go there alone or with father at most and handle it.

“Then…who is coming?”

Isaiah gave him a measured stare. It usually scared wolves enough not to ask questions and leave him alone. Especially with his shadow up like that. 

Marek gulped a little under the pressure, but continued: “You mean…no one? Do you seriously want to go alone?”

“That is my decision to make,” Isaiah said coldly. His shadow hissed like a snake, not liking the disagreement in Marek’s voice. 

“Of course, it’s your decision,” Marek said quickly, shoulders hunching. “But Isaiah, come on. Wars are about numbers. Specters are coming after us with at least 10 of their strongest members. We should do the same. We have manpower to choose from, wolves eager for battle and we are strong, Isaiah. If you said a word…”

Isaiah said nothing, just glaring.

Marek looked up before quickly bowing his gaze again. “Isaiah, please. If you don’t want to pick, I’ll ask. Only volunteers, what do you think?”

They both knew there would be plenty of those. Isaiah disliked it. This was a great opportunity to let go of some anger and accumulated aggression, but wolves would always be eager to fight. It wasn’t civilized and it brought nothing good to fight between packs. Isaiah wanted to do it alone, so no one else would bear the risk. 

“There is no point in having a pack, if you don’t let it fight for you when it counts,” Marek said, voice low and soothing. 

Isaiah didn’t answer, but he let his eyes go to the side, conceding the point.

Marek straightened up at that, voice relieved. “Thank you. Nothing bad will happen, Isaiah. Don’t worry.”

Isaiah narrowed his eyes. Suggesting he was worried was not acceptable, even if Marek had been his friend and had seen him train long before he became the executioner. 

Marek winced, backing away. “I’ll be going then.”

But executioners didn’t have friends. Marek understood that, yet still felt like he needed to look out for him. Isaiah didn’t manage to scare him away as well as he intended. 

Maybe it was the Wolkenstein ability to tell lies and truth. And Marek was well-tuned to Isaiah’s masks, somehow able to read between the neutral expressions, threatening looks and cold tones. 

Isaiah didn’t like it. It was as if Marek could see through his defenses, all the way to the little boy he used to be, when they first became friends with each other. 

Marek went to the door, only turning at the last second, eyes briefly meeting his. “It’s okay, Zaya.”

I know you are in there somewhere. You won’t fool me. I know this is a kindness from you. It’s okay. You don’t have to do it alone. 

Isaiah said nothing as Marek disappeared out the door, staring at the spot for a long time. 

***

Isaiah walked briskly through the halls, shadow slashing behind him. Wolves and humans and witches quickly cleared the way at his approach.

He walked as quickly as he could without outright running.

“It was a necessary loss,” his father said. Isaiah could still see his ruthlessly calm green eyes staring holes into his head. “People die in wars, it is to be expected. It was an acceptable sacrifice. We only lost two people, Isaiah. This is a victory to be celebrated.”

Isaiah fumed. He said nothing, only getting out the door, shadow lashing. He needed to get home, he needed to get out of the public eye. Away from celebrating wolves, from victory yells and champagne. 

The victory wasn’t worth Marek’s life. 

Isaiah was coming to think no victory could have been worthy of it. 

It was an unnecessary war. For territory, for not forgiving a slight offense. It was entirely father’s fault. And it was Isaiah’s, because he let Marek talk him into taking more wolves.

Isaiah let Marek come. To die.

Isaiah burst into the apartment he shared with his brothers, shadow trailing behind him, long and angry.

Hector and Arnie were both in the living room, eating. They had the meet and mashed potatoes Isaiah cooked in the morning. He always cooked for them, finding it the most and if not only enjoyable time of his day. Doing something with his hands that created instead of destroyed, something enjoyable that could be shared.

Hector stood up from the table. “Ah, there he is. Father didn’t even want me at the celebration, because I wasn’t part of the war in any way. You all happy about that, huh? Keeping him and all the good techniques to yourself, you selfish prick.”

Isaiah ignored him, getting out of his coat and removing his shoes. 

“You can’t keep me out of every interesting fight! I know this is your fault, that you keep me away from father on purpose - but I’ll get strong anyway. Stronger than you and then you’ll regret-”

Isaiah turned. There was blood on his suit, Marek’s blood, as he kneeled beside him as he bled out from a silver bullet. His shadow rose around him, spilling over the living room, swelling with anger.

Hector stopped abruptly, taking an involuntary step back. 

Arnie hunched into himself at the table. He was just 11 years old, used to his brothers, their shadows and their fighting. To the good kind of fighting, the playful one. When they weren’t trying to hurt each other.

Nowadays Hector tried to hurt Isaiah whenever he saw him. Lashing out in anger, not understanding what was wrong, why he was being left out. He was 15 years old, a very sensitive age for a shadow wolf. They needed guidance and direction, a clear example and goals to follow, so they could discipline their shadows into submission. Shadows that reacted to every hormonal emotion with a vengeance and aggression. 

This was a sensitive age. And Isaiah nor father could be there for him. Isaiah made sure of that. 

“Shut up,” Isaiah said, fighting the urge to just roll his little brother's shadow down and take the peace and quiet he craved. “Shut up for once. No one is interested in your whining.” 

Hector went pale, bowing his head in submission and fear.

Isaiah’s shadow wiggled in excitement at the gesture. Isaiah felt sick.

Arnie stood up then, a little hesitant before stepping closer to Isaiah. His green eyes were wide in his childish face, blond hair messy and shining under the kitchen lamp.

“Was it bad? Are you hurt?” Arnie said quietly, reaching for his arm. He knew he had to be careful with wolves, although he was never afraid of the two of them. At least that was ingrained into Isaiah and Hector both by their mother, when she was still alive. Isaiah never worried about Hector doing anything to Arnie and until now the trust turned justified.

Isaiah fought every instinct in his body not to recoil or shove him off, when Arnie gently touched his forearm. All his muscles clenched inside him. Arnie was all softness, round and vulnerable and kind, looking at him with those trusting big eyes…

Isaiah tolerated the touch for a few seconds, revulsion and disgust swirling inside him. His shadow steadied though, pulling back and down.

The oldest wolf stepped away from the human boy and then hurried into the bathroom at the end of the hall. Fortunately, they had two bathrooms and this one Isaiah liked to reserve for himself. 

He locked the door behind him, then opened the faucet to full blast and let the shower run. His hands were shaking so badly that he barely managed to unbutton his shirt and strip down from his bloody clothes. 

That was all he managed before the tears came.

The grief and pain flooded him like a tsunami, crashing the air out of his lungs. He slid down the door, curling into himself, hoping the running water would disguise the sounds.

He held onto his composure during the battle. He held onto it when Marek got shot, and when his mother bled out next to him, trying to save her oldest son. There were still two kids she left behind. Marek’s little brother and sister. 

Isaiah’s insides shook and twisted. He buried his face into his knees, wailing quietly, while his shadow clawed at the bathroom tiles. But he wasn’t worried it would do anything anymore. This was a way to let out a strong emotions, and he would rather let it out through tears than through someone’s blood. 

At least this time around.

***

Isaiah went down the stairs. It was deep into the night, the sounds of celebration still loud. 

He went down the steps with newfound determination. The conflict in him was gone, his shadow calm at his side as he opened the door. He didn’t switch the light on.

Reuben was sleeping fitfully in the chains, but was quick to wake at the sound of his approach. The bowl of soup was untouched. 

Isaiah had no time to be hesitant. He went down to one knee beside him, taking out the keys and unlocking his cuffs.

Reuben’s eyes widened, but he pulled his bleeding hands away, pressing them against his chest. “What's going on?”

“We’ll wait till your shadow comes back and heals you. I’ll replace the chain with a steel one, so the silver doesn’t burn you. And when the time is right, I’ll help you escape,” Isaiah said, voice hard and clipped.

Reuben’s face lightened up. “Isaiah, this is the right choice. You won’t regret-”

“In exchange,” Isaiah interrupted harshly, “you won’t tell your father what happened to you or that the Wolfsons had anything to do with it. Tell him you were on a trip or spent the time passed out drunk. I don’t care. But there will be no other war, you understand?”

Reuben frowned, lowering his voice. “That bad today?”

Isaiah stood up, leaning back against the table like he did before. Reuben slid away from his usual place by the wall, as if wanting to exercise some of his new freedom, though he was weak and didn’t get further than a step.

“I won’t let another war happen. No one else has to get hurt in this. You know what my father is. You know the only ones suffering are you and me. And you said it yourself, it’s not my fault. We don’t have to make it a pack business.” 

“Am I just supposed to forgive you? Just like that? What about my suffering, huh?” 

Isaiah rubbed at his face tiredly. “Can’t you just be happy you won’t end up dead?” 

“What about the consequences? What about the silver scars, what about the pain to my shadow, Isaiah? What am I supposed to do if there turns out to be damage I can’t manage on my own? It wants revenge and-” 

“If we go to war, I’ll go and kill your father.”

Reuben froze, mouth open.

“I don’t want another war. But if you won’t help me, there will be one and more Wolfson wolves are going to die. Jäger wolves are going to die. But I’ll make sure to kill your father, so your pack is hit the most, losing its leader. So no other pack ever tries to fight us again. You want to go that road?” 

Reuben snarled at him. If he went to his father and started the war, he would not be strong enough to fight in it. And he couldn’t defeat Isaiah the first time anyway, though they were very closely matched. 

“Fine. I won’t tell anyone what happened was your and the Wolfson pack leader’s doing. But I can’t let your shadow mad father run free, Isaiah, you have to under-”

“Give me a year,” Isaiah said. “Give me one year and I’ll deal with him myself. Just don’t tell anyone.”

Reuben would always have the knowledge that could destroy his pack. Once he was free, the bargaining advantage would be in his hands. 

Reuben raised an eyebrow at him, features hard. “Fine. In exchange?”

Isaiah sighed. “Anything you want.” 

@bellysoupset

[icycoldninja]

Can you write a fem reader who’s from the Pacific Rim verse and is a Jaeger Pilot with the DMC boys?

Description: Jaegers ([ˈjɛːɡɐ], Jäger, Hunter) are a special type of mobile weapon created by the Jaeger Program. The Jaegers were the most effective first and last line of defense against the Kaiju during the Kaiju War.

And she control her specific giant robot ( Gipsy Danger ) with her co-pilot to fight back giant monsters that threatens the extinction of the human race in her verse. She accidentally loop into their world after a minor accident due to her profession. She also had to explain to them how dangerous her profession is, even if she does not die because of being directly killed by Kaijus while piloting, she can have a risk of dying due to long term contact with the Kaiju blue ( its blood ) due to it being radioactive

Oh yeah, I remember that movie! Here ya go!

Sparda boys + V x Fem!Jaeger pilot!Reader headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-Dante is a massive goofball and doesn't take your profession seriously, often throwing around jokes in the middle of combat or purposefully ignoring things or forgetting to move parts of the Jaeger just to screw with you.

-He does this one too many times and it gets on your nerves, causing you to snap and scold him while struggling to fight using only your half of the robot.

-After that you chewed him out, heatedly explaining that if you guys didn't die from a monster attack, you could die from radiation from the Kaiju blood, which is even worse.

-Dante then realized how serious you were about this and how he should be treating this occupation. It took him a little while to get your grumpy self to look him in the eyes again, but he apologized.

-From that point on, you two made a way better team--though Dante never completely got rid of his tendency to joke around.

■ Vergil ■

-Vergil was a great Jaeger co-pilot, but he had one flaw: he stubbornly believed he could handle everything himself.

-He insisted you didn't need to do anything, and tried his best to control the entire robot with just his half of the control panel.

-As a result, arguments between the two of you were more than common, they were a routine occurrence. Though you got along well enough outside of working hours, every time you got into that robot, you were at each other's throats.

-During the heat of one of these arguments, the two of you forgot you were in combat for a moment and nearly got the robot ripped in half by a Kaiju. The moment you were in a safe zone, you leaped out, dragged him with you, and started screaming at him about the dangers of this job.

-Vergil was too proud to admit he was wrong, but he did soften his attitude and tried his best to cooperate with you.

□ Nero □

-Nero was smart and had quick reflexes, not to mention a great deal of strength, but he was just too rash, too rushed; he had a brilliant brain but he didn't use it.

-He relied on his instincts to guide him in battle whereas you put your trust in logic and thoughts. These conflicting strategies led to frequent mishaps, though thankfully, they were all minor ones.

-Still, you had to have a talk with him and explain that this job isn't just about fighting Kaiju, it was about protecting the world and making sure no one else's lives were taken by the Kaiju, including yours.

-Since Nero was more stubborn than a pimple, he needed time to cool off and let some steam out so his brain could get start working again.

-Afterwards, he came back, offered a soft apology, then hopped back into the robot to kick more Kaiju ass--but this time he'll think before he acts.

● V ●

-V was not suited for Jaeger piloting whatsoever. He was physically weak; piloting the robot took so much out of him, it was dangerous, to both his health and yours.

-He once passed out during a fight, causing half of the whole robot to go limp, forcing you to finish the battle with just your half, which was a serious struggle, but at least you managed. The outburst that followed was never intended, but you were just so angry, upset, and scared after that near-death experience, you couldn't help yourself.

-You scolded him harshly--a bit too harshly--about his weakness and how he wasn't fit to pilot the Jaeger, going as far as to say he was useless.

-Needless to say, V cried a lot that night, your words having really hurt his feelings. He was trying his best...it wasn't his fault he was so weak. Luckily you calmed down enough to apologize the next morning, or his self esteem might have plummeted.

-After V got special medical gear to help him stay awake and energized during fights implemented into the Jaeger, work got that much easier for the two of you.