#I miss wearing his jacket so I could feel safe | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sleepynoons · 2 months ago

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megumi x afab!f!reader (characters aged up), nsfw, 18+, not beta read

cw: unprotected sex, marathon sex, angry sex, slight degradation, senpai kink, slight subspace + dubcon, asphyxiation/choking just to be safe

notes: lmk if i missed any tags. anyway, had a megumi thought, and i had to write it out. reader is a little bimbo-coded, but really, i simply believe she's just too focused on fighting to notice her panties are showing and tights just feel too restrictive at times yk. anyway, this was truly just me writing with my clit, so don't take megumi's characterization too seriously.

megumi can’t believe the sight in front of him.

he’s imagined this hundreds – no, thousands – actually, millions – of times in his head, and even then, now that it’s finally happening, you’re more pliant and submissive and quiet than he had expected.

usually, you’re so energetic. always giggling at your phone or bantering with other sorcerers or humming under your breath, you’re so expressive, and you make sure your presence is known, intentionally or not.

and you’re especially relentless with him. since way back in high school, whenever he was in your view, you would race after him and give him the tightest hugs that would have him gasping for air. you would knock on his door in the middle of the night, just to drop off some extra snacks you bought at the convenience store. now, you blow up his phones with ridiculous memes and nonsensical drunk text messages, and he’s often supervising you after exhausting missions to make sure you don’t fall asleep in the bathtub.

but those aren’t his biggest concerns with your behavior. really, it’s that, for someone so strong and with such relentless stamina, you’re so… clumsy.

sometimes, you swing your sword so hard that you lose your own balance. he finds new bruises and cuts blooming across your knees and arms all the time. your butter fingers never cease to drop your water bottle, often spilling it on your white uniform and forcing him to give you his jacket so you can cover yourself up. there’s also the countless times where you’ve forgotten to wear tights underneath your skirt, inevitably flashing yourself… and the fact that he’s seen you only in a bath towel way too many times than he should, especially for someone who’s not dating you…

don’t you understand the uncomfortable position you’re putting him in?

well, tonight was his last straw. in the late afternoon, the two of you finally returned from a week-long mission. the mission was based in okinawa, so he was forced to share a hotel room with you (he’s still cursing the higher-ups for being so stingy). at least there were separate beds, but for all six nights, he had to restrain himself from brushing his fingers against your sleeping face. and as soon as the two of you got back, you invited him over to your place so the two of you could drink together in celebration of wrapping up.

no drinks have been touched. in fact, you didn’t even get the opportunity to enter your kitchen.

as soon as the two of you took off your shoes, he grabbed you by the shoulders to hold you still before dropping down to his knees in front of you.

“kick me if you don’t want this,” he said, looking straight at you.

you only gasped in delight before nodding enthusiastically.

since then, the two of you have been going at it for hours now.

at first, you reacted like he thought you would. loud, sultry moans, dramatic expressions, flailing arms and legs. but now that it’s been – three? four? – rounds, he’s shocked to see you acting quite the opposite.

with his forearms propped to each side of your head, he thrusts into you slowly. it’s hard for him to move when your legs are wrapped around his waist, forcing him close to you, but the slight friction that he can manage has you uttering soft sighs. you’re staring wide-eyed at him with a small, drowsy smile. your hands are holding onto the front of his t-shirt, and you seem to be drinking in the sight of his own flushed face and his abs peeking through.

“senpai, where’d all that energy go?” he asked.

you shake your head, before rubbing your cheek against his hand. you look so content, having his cock inside you, your lips kissed swollen, your tights utterly destroyed.

and at the thought, megumi’s angry again.

he sits up on his knees and adjusts your legs so that he’s holding them up in front of him. now that he’s not restricted, he’s slamming himself into you, hard, fast, without hesitation. you squeak, hands flying to dig your nails into your bedsheet.

he snarls, “at least wear a pair of shorts when you’re sleeping in the same room with someone else.”

you shake your head again and whine. “it’s not comfortable!”

he pulls completely out, before sheathing himself fully again. you finally let out a louder groan.

“i don’t fucking care if it’s uncomfortable - don’t do that shit around me.”

he knows he’s losing you a little, so he doesn’t even wait for a response. he’s broiling with frustration and annoyance, and nothing can stop him.

megumi rants. “i know you don’t even see me as an option, so you think you can do whatever you want around me. but think about my feelings, too. please. have you ever thought about how i’d react, seeing you prance around in nothing but your panties and a thin t-shirt? or your short skirt and sheer tights? would you still dress like that if you were on a mission with any other guy?”

he’s fucking you so hard now, hugging your legs to his chest and using all of his force when he rams his hips into your ass. you’ve fallen silent, again, but not because you want to. your tongue’s lolling out, eyes unfocused, fists unclenching – you’re experiencing the best orgasm of your life.

megumi doesn’t like that. he needs you to listen to what he’s saying. he needs you to understand that, regardless of whether or not you reciprocate his love, he’s teaching you an invaluable lesson, one that you should never forget.

so he turns you over, shoves his dick back into you, and locks an arm under your neck to hold you up.

he growls into your ear, “are you listening to me?”

you’re whimpering and sniffling and gasping, all while holding onto his arms for dear life.

“senpai,” he calls again, sternly, tightening his arms around you a little.

you’re really not able to think, but the tone of his voice forces you to look at him. megumi’s never looked so serious, so furious before, and you feel yourself gush at the observation.

“senpai, you can’t be tightening up like that,” he grits, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “i’m not your boyfriend, so you can’t keep holding onto my dick like this.”

you whine. you wriggle your hips, trying to take him in even deeper even though it’s not possible.

“what, senpai?”

delirious, you mumble, “wanna be your girlfriend. want you to be my boyfriend.”

all that anger – gone. just like that.

megumi knows he ought to be stricter with you, truly discipline you now that he knows you want him like he wants you, but maybe, just maybe, he’s also a little clumsy when it comes to you.

even though he should still be upset, he can’t be bothered to because you’re so sweet, so kind, so accepting. he’s been giving it to you all night, dishing out small punishments and overstimulating you relentlessly, yet you’ve been just taking it all willingly.

yes, he should be more guarded, consider the possibility that you’re just saying those words in the moment or some other rational thought, but he’s clumsy when it comes to you.

clearly, megumi’s losing it.

he flips you over again, grabs you by the face, and smooshes your lips together. teeth scraping, tongues sliding, the kiss is so messy and filthy, and you’re screaming into it when he slides his cock back into you at the same time. you’re going limp – from the intensity of the kiss or the lack of air, it doesn’t matter –, and megumi’s barely pushing through.

he doesn’t stop – doesn’t allow himself to – because he’s trying to give you the best loving of your life.

“you’re always driving me insane,” he groans.

you clench so tightly at those words, heart overflowing with joy and pleasure, and megumi has no choice but to let go. he’s filling you up again, but this time, he’s giving all that’s left of him – his cum, love, sanity – to you.

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lovifie · 11 months ago

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Lift Me Off My Feet

Chapter 4: Midnight Snack

Masterlist

Original Thought - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12

3.5K words

Warning/Notes: Soap x Reader, oral sex (m receiving), hair pulling, messy make out

This is the video from where the photo is, if you haven't seen it, You have to and if you have already, you are welcome.

The drive back to base seems neverending.

Once Price and Ghost managed to get you to stop crying and to breathe normally. The three of you pack the essentials, and by that, I mean you were hugged to Ghost like a koala while Price got what he could save from your house into a bag pack.

Most of your clothes were ripped or cut, so in the end, only some pieces of underwear, a couple of shirts, some pants and the pyjamas you were wearing were safe. Plus your jacket and shoes that were behind the door.

And that is how you found yourself now. Sobbing, sitting in the middle of the back seat, bag pack on your lap, Simon’s hand on your knee from the passenger seat as Price drives.

“Tomorrow morning, you are going to call your job, and tell them that you are going to take a couple of days off, okay?” Price asks looking at you through the rearview mirror. “And we will take everything you need, we will buy clothes, find you a better place to stay, anything you need.”

You shake your head feeling the tears come back and you hide your face behind your hands as you start to cry again. “I can't.” You cry. “What can't you do?” Simon asks turning his head to look at you.

“Miss more work days, I have already taken too many. I can't afford to lose more.” You mumble whining out of mental exhaustion.

“Hey, stop. Don't get carried away, alright?” Simon says rubbing your thigh. “Let's not think about that right now, tomorrow tell your boss the situation. Tell them that your house was broken into, that you need a couple of days to get everything in order. Depending on what your boss says, we'll work from there. Alright, birdie?”

You nod weakly as you focus on taking deep breaths. When you finally arrive, both men get out of the car and Price opens the door for you. You step out still holding your bag tight, either men try to take it from your hands and walk along between both men.

Their hands find their way to your back, Price to the bottom and Simon to the top, reassuring shielding you from the chilly breeze of the night.

“How about a cuppa?” Simon asks looking at you, a smile visible in his eyes, and you can't help it but to give him a weak smile back nodding. “Then, we will find you a room so you can sleep as much as you want.”

Sleep does sound amazing, taking into consideration that last night you had little sleep and you have been on the move ever since.

Price and Simon walk you to a lousy room, many recruits sitting together. The mess hall, you figure. In the middle of the room, there are a couple of sofas, and you quickly recognise Soap and Gaz, sprawled together in one of them looking at Gaz's phone.

Most of the soldiers that are finishing their dinner, or just enjoying each other company before going to bed look up when they hear the door opening. Their gazes linger for a second too long on you until you can feel Ghost throwing them a warning sign in the form of a look and they peel their eyes away.

Gaz and Soap look up when they hear the door open, and just for a second, they smile at you before they furrow their browns when they see everyone's expression.

“What happened? How come the wee lass so spooked?” Soap asks sitting straight and patting the seat between him and Kyle.

Price’s hand on your lower back softly pushes you forward to sit down before he answers: “She’s still a bit in shock, Soap. We’ll talk about it later.”

You sit down between Soap and Gaz, backpack still in your hands, and pull your knees up hugging your legs. Gaz points to your backpack and asks: “You sleeping over tonight? You should definitely sleep in Soap’s and my room. Ghost and Price have their own individual ones, but they snore.” He whispers the last part pulling a little smile from you.

You lean your head on Soap's shoulder when he lays his arm on the couch behind your back. The man is a living furnace and shortly after you find yourself seeking more contact.

Price sits on the second sofa in front of you and just a second later Ghost appears back, cup of tea on hand, as he gives it to you. You take it from his hands, yours still shaking just a little bit as you do, and you rest it on top of your knee for support.

Kyle's hand find its way to your other knee giving it a light squeeze. “How's your arm, luv?” You look at your elbow and shrug your shoulder. “I haven't even had time to check it, good I think, it hasn't bothered me.”

“You didn't get hurt today, did you?” Price asks focusing on your face after doing a quick check-up of you. You shake your head: “No, a headbutt on the ceiling if anything.”

Price nods, satisfied with your answer and shakes his head at the sergeant's questioning look. You look down to the tea, thoughts getting to you. You saw your neighbour get arrested, and if he had gotten free they would have told you. So it must have been someone who works for them, and if he wasn't arrested already is because they didn't really know who works for them.

“What are you thinking about, birdie?” Ghost brings you back to reality with just a question. “Am I safe here?” You ask, with a shake in your voice.

“Yes.” Price's answer is concise, full of trust in his own word, leaving no room for doubt. “As long as you are with us, nothing and nobody is getting to you.”

You look at his face, almost as if expecting him to burst laughing at you for trusting them. A voice in your head screams at you not to do it, you barely know them. But you thought you knew your neighbour and now he's trying to kill you, so.

You nod and take a sip of the tea. Warming you inside and letting you relax just a bit.

“How about a distraction?” Soap asks smiling at you. “Have we told ye aboot the time Gaz fell from a helo and was hangin’ from a rope like a yo-yo?”

“Fucking hell, Johnny. Shut up!” Gaz complains laughing next to you.

The time went a bit more smoothly when Soap decided to talk about everyone's embarrassing stories, you could still tell he wasn't telling everything, keeping the classified information for himself, but still telling enough to have you laughing, gasping and asking with interest as he told.

By the time you finished your tea, you were already in a greater mood, the attack from today moved to the back of your head. Price lends you a hand to help you stand up while Ghost takes the empty cup from you. Gaz and Soap keep their word to share the room for the night against Price and Ghost's complaint that they should let you rest alone. Until the words “I don't really want to be alone.” leave your mouth and that's the end of the bickering.

Soap and Gaz barracks are quite simple, two single beds against opposite walls, two desks, two little bookshelves and two closets. Almost as if there was a mirror in the middle of the room if it wasn't for the little trinkets and details on each side letting you know the right bed was Soap's and the one on the left was Gaz's.

After a quick rock, paper, scissor championship, it is decided you will be sharing Soap's bed. And since you are already in your pyjamas, you get inside the bed quickly, ready to be done with the day. Soap lays behind you, hugging your middle and dropping a kiss to your temple. “Sleep tight, bonnie.”

A ray of light erupts from the bathroom door that is practically closed, almost as if whoever closed was afraid the click of the door closing would wake you up. At first, you don't think most of it, Soap must have gotten up to pee. But then you listen, and it doesn't sound like that's what he is doing in the bathroom.

Little grunts can be heard as well as the sound of skin hitting skin. You stand up from the bed, curiosity taking control of your body and walking you to peak at the door. You shouldn't, you really shouldn't. But once you lay your eyes on him, you know you are fucked.

Soap is barechested, leaning against the sink with a hand supporting him while the other strokes his dick. He has his eyes closed, head low with his mouth open slightly, and small grunts and whines leave his lips.

The grey sweatpants slightly lowered, allowing you to see the curve of his lower back as well as what you trust is the girthiest dick you have ever laid your eyes onto. The tip looks red, hungry for release, pearls of precum dripping from it making your mouth water.

There is a turmoil of thoughts in your head, you keep repeating to yourself that you need to place some distance between yourself and these men. But the moment any of them show any skin or any emotion of want towards you, you throw yourself at them.

Three times have you gone through this, your mind telling you is a bad idea and your pussy pushing you at their arms. This time is not different, and before you know it, you are inside the bathroom locking the door making Soap jump.

“Steamin’ jesus, bonnie.” He says shoving his dick inside his pants and turning his back at you to hide his tent. “Knock before entering, lass.”

“Sorry.” You mutter, not feeling sorry and you slowly walk to him. “I just wanted to help…”

“What? What you me-” He gets cut mid-question when he feels your hand grazing his tip, pressing your chest to his back and surrounding his waist with your arm. You use a hand to feel his abdomen and the other to softly caress the length of his dick inside his pants.

“But I can go back to bed if you don't want…” You say looking at the back of his head. “Don't you dare.” He answers grabbing your wrist when you try to take it back and he looks at you over his shoulder.

“Ye dinnae have to do it if ye dinnae want… but if you want, I'll take anythin’ ye throw at me, bonnie.” He says turning around and cupping your face after lowering his pants again to free his erection. “I had to run to the bathroom cause ye were rubbing yer arse against me on yer sleep, I was about to explode.”

“Well then, I think it's only fair I fix it, right?” You ask looking at him cheekly. He leans down and kisses you smiling into the kiss. Little groans slide into your mouth as you stroke him and you can feel his hips thrust softly into your hand as well.

For the last two days these men have only but given to you, and as much as you have enjoyed every single second of it, it is about time you give back.

You pick Soap's hand from your cheek and push it up to your hair. “Make sure to keep my hair away from my face, all right?”

He looks at you confused but quickly gets the idea when you kneel before him. He quickly brushes your hair back with his finger, doing a ponytail at the back of your head and groans deeply when you give a kitty lick to his tip.

You pop his tip inside your mouth sucking softly as you circle it with your tongue. Stroke the rest with both your hands, unable to reach your thumb with your index because of the girth and slowly bobbing your head up and down.

Soap stays mumbling curse words under his breath, low enough to not be able to hear him and you wish you were not hiding in the bathroom and could hear him scream. You think back to when Price ate you out, did he get as turn-on satisfying you as you are getting doing it to Soap?

He opens his eyes to lock into yours and you look up to him through your lashes as you start to get more inside your mouth.

“Fokin’ hell, bonnie. Keep looking at me like that and I'm not gonna last a second.” He says struggling to keep his eyes open.

You chuckle inside your head, and keep getting closer and closer to his hipbone. You must praise Soap's self-commitment to not cum, even though you can feel the grip on your hair getting tighter. When you feel his pubes brush against your nose you pull back taking a breath and look at him. When you lock eyes with each other, you smile and say before opening your mouth: “Fuck my throat, Johnny.”

For a second you get scared that Soap will just cum as you speak when you physically see the shudder that goes through him. But then he grips your hair back making you look up to him and he kisses your mouth in a sloppy kiss. Spit, drool and precum all mixing between your tongues and when he draws back to talk a threat of spit connect your lips. “You are going to fucking kill me, lass.” He mumbles and stands up to full height.

He doesn't let go of your hair and when you stick your tongue out he slaps it with his cock. “Gonna fuck yer throat raw, bonnie. Bite if it gets too much.” He smirks before shoving his dick down your throat in a single thrust and beginning to fulfil his word.

“Fuck, bonnie.” He says slurring his words between moans. “Taking my cock so well, such a good fucking lass, so, so good, fuck.”

Your visions get blurry with the tears from fighting your gag reflex, your hands rest on Soap's thighs and you can feel them flex with each thrust. If it wasn't for your pants you know you would be literally dripping on the floor, never did you though it could turn you on this much. But seeing Soap becoming such a mess, not being even able to speak, just mumbles and curses leaving his mouth.

“Let me cum inside, bonnie, please. I wanna see you drink it, please, please, bonnie, please.” He begs looking at your face with a pained expression, and almost as if he was waiting for your answer when you slightly nod he grunts and you feel his spent travel down your throat. He stays like that for another second and finally pulls out, you open your mouth showing him your work and he smiles as he bends down to kiss you again. “Fucking beautiful, love.”

The next morning you are woken up by an alarm and just a second later a door slamming shut. “I call dibs on the bathroom!” Kyle shouts making you jump.

You turn around on Soap's arms, nuzzling your face on his chest and sighing satisfied. “Eejit” Soap mumbles with his chin resting on top of your head.

“Do we have to share the bathroom the three of us?” You ask against his chest.

“Ye didnae seem to mind sharing it with me last night.” He mumbles back and you feel his chest tumble with a laugh.

“Aw, shut up, Johnny.” You say chuckling and yawning. “What time is it, anyway? I feel like I slept just two hours.”

“0540, not too far off to be honest.” He answers and when your half-sleep brain processes what time it is you look at him as if he has just insulted you. “What?”

“Why the fuck are we up before 6 in the morning? Like, seriously, the fuck?” You ask grumpy as you sit up pulling your legs over Soap's torso. He caresses one of your calves and flexes his arm resting his head on his hand. If you were not so bothered to be awakened so early, you would admire his physique.

“This is the military, love.” He says smiling. “Ye look like an angry kitty.”

You pull the pillow from under his head and hit him with it making him laugh. “Do we need to be ready before six?”

“Yeah, actually, that's when we are supposed to have breakfast. We are meeting Lt. and Price there.” He says taking the pillow from his face. “Ye should get dressed.”

You groan standing up and picking your bag from the side of the bed. You pull your clothes out, and notice that you can barely form a full outfit; you sigh and sit on the floor looking at Soap who is now on his side, elbow on the bed and head resting on his hand. He looks at you with a confused expression and says: “That's all ye packed, lassie? I thought ye were staying more time.”

He stands up, walks to his closet and picks something from inside just to throw it to your head. An uf sound leaves your throat and you pick it up to see it, it is a sweatshirt with MacTavish written on the back. “It is cold this early in the morning, we don't want ye freezing up. Get dressed.”

He bends down to drop a kiss on your lips leaving you a bit stunned and enters the bathroom without knocking making Gaz protest from the inside. “Stop screaming, it's me. I'm just giving the wee lass some privacy, Gaz.”

You chuckle to yourself and quickly get dressed, putting on the only pair of jeans you have, and a weird t-shirt from some kind of ad you used to wear to sleep, feeling really grateful it is covered with Soap's sweatshirt.

“What are you doing here, luv?” Price asks standing up when he sees you enter the mess hall following Soap and Gaz. “Everything alright?”

The expression on your face must be portrait-worth because you can see even Simon's eyes twirl with a smile.

“What do you mean what I'm doing here?” You ask looking at Price, until you hear a little snickering coming from both Gaz and Soap and you finally put two and two together. You turn to Soap and when you finally make eye contact with him, he burst out laughing.

“I'm sorry, bonnie. It was just too perfect of an opportunity to waste it.” He says raising his hand in false innocence. He tries to side-hug you, but you move quickly raising your chin offended and walking up to Price. “I'll fetch ye breakfast as a peace offering, all right, love?”

“That's the minimum you can do!” You exclaim still offended and stick your tongue out to him as you sit between where Ghost is sitting and where Price was sitting, him following you.

“Sorry about that, love.” Price says rubbing your tight. “I told them muppets to let you sleep in today. Did you at rest good?”

Gaz sits in front of you with a smirk, and you don't know if he knows, but you are sure that if he does he will snitch on you so stay on edge making sure not to break eye contact with him.

“Yeah, I did. The bed was surprisingly comforting, and Soap was a weighted blanket so.” You answer still looking at Gaz. You can feel Price's questioning look and Ghost's smirk.

“So Soap was comfortable?” Gaz asks smiling.

“Yeah, quite comfortable.” You answer.

He knows.

He fucking knows.

You don't know how, but he knows.

“Is that why you followed him to the bathroom when he went in the middle of the night?” He asks.

Fucking Garrick.

“I don't know what you are talking about.” You respond looking at your nails.

“I'm talking about when you into the bathroom and helped-”

CLANK

Soap puts the tray of food in front of you just in time, cutting Gaz's claim and starts to enunciate the food he bought. “I got ye coffee cause it's obvious yer not a morning person, I brought ye toast, some fruits and a little cereal cause I didn't really know what ye wanted. And I bought ye chocolate pudding.” He says putting the little cup on your hands, giving you a kiss on your head. “For sucking my dick so good last night.”

Gaz bursts out laughing, happy that he didn't even need to tell anything, while Ghost chuckles under his breath and Price sighs rubbing his forehead.

“I think there is a conversation that we definitely need to have.” Price announces. “For everyone's sake.”

Hiii 💗

Hope you liked the new chapter, please please drop a comment if you like it or if there is any scenarios you would like me to include 💗

Thank you again for all the support, you guys are the best

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rememberwren · 6 months ago

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/•Harmless Fun 5•\

Simon and Johnny talk.

The soft rain continues into the night, enhancing the petrichor of the city: metal and concrete and gasoline. You are tucked away safely in Simon and Johnny’s bed, your dress and virtue intact, where you will remain until the late afternoon if your quiet snores are any indication. Simon had slipped the shoes from your feet, rolled you onto your side, and covered you with a blanket just in time for Johnny to limp into the bedroom and ask him to smoke out on the balcony together.

Simon doesn’t smoke often anymore; it makes his night terrors worse. But he misses the lazy, relaxed feeling it gives him while awake, so it’s no real harm to say yes. Buttoned up in their jackets, they stand out on the balcony together passing a joint back and forth, the very image that he could have walked in on earlier that week only with you and Johnny instead.

Johnny opens his mouth.

“Don’t,” says Simon.

He throws his hands up, nearly dropping the joint. “How’d you know what I was going t’ even say?”

“I know you,” Simon reminds him. Johnny has had that look on his face ever since you passed out asleep in the car ride on the way home: brows pressed together, full mouth pouting in a way that is entirely unintentional. Simon has been the cause of that look more times than he cares to admit—and tonight is one more time added to that list. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Hafta.”

“Says who?”

“Says I.”

“Leave it alone,” he says. That’s as close as Simon Riley gets to begging: repeating something twice.

“Do you believe me when I say that I would if I could?”

Simon glances at Johnny. The light flooding from inside the apartment casts his face in warm shadows. There is a pleading in his eyes, a begging to be understood. Johnny’s never had to beg for that; Simon’s always been able to read him well, the other man used to wearing his heart on his sleeve and Simon used to seeing much more than he ever says.

He sighs and impatiently reaches for the joint, taking a hit that burns his lungs. “Make it quick then.”

“You don’t want me to fuck her anymore. You’ve changed your mind.”

“Haven’t.”

“Aht, aht—look me in the eyes and say it.”

Simon does, and it makes Johnny frown.

“Then what is it? You’ve got a bug up your arse, I just can’t figure out the species.”

“I love your way with words,” Simon says, silently cutting himself off. He hands the joint back to Johnny, his head swimming a little.

The truth is simple and devastating: Simon’s jealous. It’s not an emotion he’s used to (though self-denial is often in his repertoire). He doesn’t know what to fucking do with it, like a man who has given up smoking and now doesn’t know what to do with his hands. When you had first arrived on their doorstep, the attraction you felt for them had been obvious—except was that Simon fooling himself? Were you attracted to him at all, or just Johnny, Johnny with his pretty pale eyes and charming smile and uncanny ability to make even the most unpracticed of people fall in love with him?

You smoke with Johnny, cuddle on the couch with Johnny, have movie dates with Johnny when Simon is away. The most interaction he’d had with you involved your anxious stammering and quick retreats.

Yes, tonight had really put it into perspective for him. When it came to the two of you, Simon was likely only ever going to be on the outside looking in.

“I’m losin’ yeh,” Johnny murmurs, his words tinted by smoke.

“Never.”

“Don’t put yer mask on, Simon Riley,” Johnny says with tenderness that Simon doesn’t deserve. “Not when it’s just the two of us. All that shite we said about her when we were fucking—it was just the sex talking, wasn’t it? You were talking out your arse.”

“When have you ever known me to do that?”

Johnny doesn’t say anything for a while. The rain is soaking through their jackets. Johnny leans against him, looking for warmth, and Simon is happy to slip an arm around his waist and pull him closer.

“I want her to want me,” he says at length, voice nearly lost to the nighttime city sounds. Somewhere, a siren is wailing. Simon sympathizes. “I don’t know why.”

“Everybody wants t’ be wanted.” The thought of being lumped in with everybody nearly makes him sick, but he supposes Johnny has a point. It’s human. Unfortunately, so is Simon. “She wants you, LT. Nay—it’s not up for discussion. For a man who sees everything, yer eyesight is broken.”

“It’s not worth the breath it’d take to argue with you.”

“Just how I win all our arguments.”

“Fucking her without talking to her first would be a mistake,” he says.

“I’ll talk to her. But I want you there.”

“When you fuck or talk?”

“In an ideal world? Both.”

“Keep dreaming, Johnny boy.”

“I don’t need t’ fuck her, you know,” Johnny reminds him. He looks up at Simon, all eyelashes. “You’re the only thing in this world I need. If fucking her puts any doubt in yer silly head—“

“It doesn’t. I know what keeps you coming back to me.”

“What’s that?” Johnny asks with a grin, feigning ignorance. He crushes the lit end of the blunt to ash on the metal railing of the balcony and tosses the roach over the edge. Finding Simon’s hand buried mostly in his jacket sleeve, he laces their fingers together, comfortable and lazy.

“My winning personality,” Simon deadpans.

“Oh, obviously.”

“My charming good looks.”

“That one’s true.”

“My cock.”

“She’s got one of those.”

Simon stares. The silence stretches on, Johnny’s smug grin unchanging. “Dunno how to break this to you, Johnny—“

“A toy, LT,” Johnny stage whispers.

Simon’s eyes narrow. “How’d you get this intel?”

“My own eyes. But it was an accident, swear to Jesus,” Johnny says, glancing over his shoulder to make sure you haven’t materialized behind him. “The other day when you were taking so bloody long in the shower and I had to piss—she was working, so I went into her bathroom.

“She didn’t have the curtain drawn on her shower and there it was, staring me in the eye, LT. Blue monstrosity with a suction cup on the end.”

“Fucking hell.”

“Big as you, at least.”

“Don’t fucking tell me that.”

“If I have to think about it, then you do too. Thinking about her in the shower, hands against the walls, bouncing away on that cheap bit o’ plastic, wishing it were one of us.”

Simon lets himself picture it: the water sluicing rivulets over your skin, creating constellations of drops on your closed lashes. Your mouth wet and open, hoping the roar of water against the tile covers up the sound of your moans and gasps.

“You’re a menace.”

“One of my good qualities, what keeps you coming back to me,” says Johnny. He shivers, half of it for show. “Can we go back in?”

They go back in and strip off their damp clothes right there in the living room, balcony blinds wide open. Simon opts to take the couch, though he hardly fits, and Johnny takes the bed to be with you in case you are sick in the night.

When Johnny slips into the dark bedroom, he can hear the soft sound of your snores. All seems well. A knot of worry in his chest unwinds, and he tugs on a clean shirt, determined not to look like an opportunistic bastard if you wake up in the night and catch him in bed with you.

You are still there when the sun rises, and Johnny with it. No matter how many years it’s been since he’s left the SAS, the internal clock is ingrained in his subconscious. He lets himself roll onto his side and stare at you: the shape of your brows, your softly parted mouth. You’re drooling on Simon’s pillow.

His heart throbs with fondness for you, and with anxiety. He’s nearly positive that you have feelings for Simon as well—he’s caught the way you stare, the way your eyes will track the other man’s movements when you’re all in a room together—but of course he can’t be sure. Not until you make a move or say as such.

Years ago, your interest in Simon might have made him jealous, back when all the attention needed to be his for him to feel anything at all. Maybe it was a sign of getting older, tamer; or maybe it was just about growing safe in his love with Simon, in knowing that they belong to each other absolutely and in perpetuity, but now it thrills him—the thought of sharing and being shared.

It turns him on, too—sharing. A thought he should not be having while in bed with your half unconscious figure.

Don’t do wrong by us, he thinks, reaching out to tug the covers up around your shoulders more. Give us a proper chance. Let us fuck it up for our selves, if we must—just give us the chance.

Out in the living room, he hears the creak of the sofa; Simon is awake.

Rolling onto his side, he shifts his bad leg out of the bed first, wincing at the early-morning stiffness which seems worse than usual. He’s limping more on his way to the bathroom, but left his cane in the other room.

“Genius, I am,” he mutters, flipping on the bathroom light. “Just another reason why Simon keeps me ar—what the fu-uck.”

Sometime in the night, part of the ceiling in the northwestern most corner has fallen, wet bits of ceiling tile congealing on the tiled floor. Through the hole (big as two of his fists held together) he can see ceiling beams. Water continues to drip, creating a vast puddle that nearly reaches his toes.

“Jesus fucking wept,” he says.

Sometime during Simon and Johnny’s perusal of the bathroom, two calls to the maintenance superintendent, and numerous Scottish curse words, you wake.

You have cotton mouth, your head practically stuffed full of the wooly substance. Your dress has ridden up around your waist, panties bared beneath the sheets and blankets. All around you are the scents of Simon and Johnny, and you have just enough time to wonder what they were doing in your bed before the bed depresses, Johnny at your side coaxing you further into wakefulness. You’re not in your bed; you’re in theirs.

“What’s going on?” you mutter.

“Maintenance is coming to look at the bathroom. Figured you’d want to be wearing something else when they got here.”

“What’s wrong with the bathroom?”

“Ceiling’s caving in,” says Simon from where he leans in the doorway of the bathroom, his hip cocked against it, arms crossed and closed off.

“Sleep well?” Johnny asks.

“Like the dead.”

“Never heard the dead snore like that,” he says, making your face flush with warmth.

You grab his pillow and lob it at him half heartedly. There’s a knock on the door in the other room, startling you the way knocks and doorbells always do. The imminent threat of strangers in your space. Jerking down your dress to the proper length, you kick off the blankets and scuttle out of the bed, doing the shortest walk of shame in history. The last thing you see is Simon at the front door waiting for you to disappear before giving the maintenance person entrance.

Heart thudding, you let your back rest against your bedroom door and wrack your brain to remember the finer details of what had happened last night.

There had been joy meeting up with your girlfriends for the first time in ages—you had saved for so long just to be able to afford a single night out. It was like old times—until it wasn’t. Then you were alone, single in a strange bar watching the last of your friends slip out the door with no more than a wave and a ‘what can you do?’ grin. You had shed some tears at the bar, earning the bartender’s pity. And the pity of a few others, though the name of the man who had given you attention for half the night escaped you.

After that, things got very fuzzy. You must have called to ask Ghost for a ride home. He had offered it, after all, before you had left the apartment in the first place. Even drunk, you had known better than to ask for a ride from a stranger.

Then—God.

Oh God. Johnny. The backseat. You had come on to him. He had even tried to stop you, but you hadn’t taken no for an answer. The memories rush over you like a tidal wave, one after the other, bringing with them mortification, horror, dread.

You bury your face in your hands, ashamed and terrified all at once. You had hit on your married friend, against his will, with his husband in the driver’s seat. There would be no coming back from this.

You needed to talk to Johnny and Simon, urgently. An apology was due at the very least. You wouldn’t be surprised if they kicked you out of the apartment altogether. Stripping out of your dress, you drag on the first clean clothes you can find and slip out into the living room, stomach rolling, to find Simon and Johnny speaking together in hushed voices. They stop at the sight of you.

“I need to talk to you,” you say to Johnny, before you can lose your nerve.

“I need to talk to you,” says Simon solemnly.

“Make that we need to talk to you,” Johnny amends, casting Simon a look.

“Well I need to talk to someone,” the maintenance guy says.

The three of you jerk, having forgotten the stranger’s presence and no one very eager to be the one to speak with him. Simon heaves a sigh and tilts his head toward the front door in a silent order. The two of them disappear outside, voices just audible on the other side of the door.

“We should wait fer Simon,” says Johnny.

“Alright,” you give in, choosing to sit at the far edge of the sofa. You clasp your hands together to keep them from shaking, feeling just as likely to panic as you are to burst into tears. Simon’s disappointment and anger are the last things you want to face, but you suppose that you have earned them.

After a moment of silence, Johnny asks innocuously: “While we wait—can I use your bathroom? Sorry, it’s just, since ours is out of commission—”

“Of course, my bathroom is your bathroom.” But then you remember... You stand hastily. “Actually, let me just…tidy up really quickly. It’s a mess in there.”

Johnny doesn’t grin, but it is a near thing. “Alright, lass. Whatever you need to do.”

#ghoap x reader #harmless fun

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slutorubaby · 7 months ago

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needy for gojo 💞

synopsis: you come back from a night out with the girls, drunk and needy for your boyfriend, gojo satoru

gojo satoru x reader smut! MDNI

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“baby? where are you?” gojo calls out from the foyer of your shared apartment.

“in the bathroom! I’m getting ready to go out!” you say while holding a curling wand in your hair.

gojo pads over to the bathroom and is about to pull you into a bear hug when he stops to admire the view. “my baby really is the sexiest,” he coos while his gaze travels from head to toe, almost swallowing you up. you were dressed in a black corset paired with a tight mini skirt and silver accessories adorning your ears, neck and wrists.

“thank you baby. just wait until you see the final look with the boots on,” you giggled while setting your hair into place with hairspray.

tonight was the first time in a long while where all of your close girlfriends are going out together. It was decided that the night’s activities would include bar hopping and clubbing.

sturdy arms circle your waist and his lips hover dangerously close to the part where your shoulder meets your neck. “can I leave a mark? to let everyone know that this pretty baby is all mine?” gojo says while leaving soft kisses along the side of your neck.

you instantly melt into his touch. “satoru, don't worry. I’m literally wearing our promise ring on my ring finger,” you giggle.

“no, I’m worried. men are gross,” he says once he breaks contact with your neck.

“then, just a small one please,” you say leaning back in his chest. after getting the okay, his lips leave a small pinkish mark on the side of your neck. “wish I could just keep you here all for myself tonight. promise me you’ll be safe and that you’ll call me immediately if anyone bothers you,” gojo says in between kisses on your cheek. you’ve always loved this protective side of him. it makes you feel so safe and treasured.

“of course, thank you baby. be patient and wait until I get back, ‘kay? then you’ll get my undivided attention,” you teased while turning over to face him. you stand on your highest tip toes to give him a firm kiss on his lips.

gojo drops you off in front of the first bar of the night where your three friends are waiting outside. he rolls down the window to remind you, “make sure to call me tonight, and you all stay safe, okay?” the girls unanimously agreed to his request and he drove off once he saw you in.

the night was perfect. there was so much to catch up on about each of your lives. it was drink after drink and before you knew it, you were the drunkest you’ve ever been since your early college days. it was finally the last stop of the night and you all landed in a club where everyone danced their heart out. when it was finally time to leave, you were stumbling all around, eyes heavy from the influx of alcohol in your system, so your best friend unlocked your phone and called up gojo.

“hey gojo? it’s me. she’s super wasted now, can you come pick her up? the others all left with their partners and I’m waiting with mine until we see her off,” she says.

gojo shows up to the club in record time and is carrying you into the passenger seat. after a long exchange of “i love you”s between you and your best friend, gojo thanks them and drives you back to the apartment. in the car, you’re all giggles and babbling about the events of the night. when gojo opens up the door on your side to bring you up to the apartment, you grab his shoulders and pull him into a messy kiss that he does not protest. “missed my pretty boy s’much,” you say, smiling into the kiss before withdrawing. “missed you so much too,” he says as he picks you up to head inside. once inside the apartment, he sets you down on the couch.

“are you okay, baby? need more water?” he says while helping you out of the jacket he put on you in the car.

“no.. jus’ wanna shower with you, I feel gross,” you slurred while reaching your arms up for him to pick you up again.

“okay, whatever you want, princess.” he says while his lips curve into a smile. gojo loved how clingy and needy you could get after a night out.

you are standing in front of the sink, holding onto the counter to keep balance as he removes your skirt and loosens up the laces in the back of your corset top. As he does that, a brilliant idea pops into your head. you decide to push back your bare ass to perfectly rest on his clothed cock, moving ever so slightly.

“are you teasing me, baby?” gojo says gripping your hips to keep you still.

“no… what do y’mean?” you say feigning innocence, knowing exactly what you’re doing. this makes him laugh as he turns you over and lifts you up on the sink. gojo bends down to remove your socks, revealing his undercut and nape.

You stare at his exposed nape before two hands are holding his head still as you lean over to give it a bite and kiss.

“s’cute. I love it s’much” you say, giving it as many kisses as you can before gojo stands up. now that he’s upright and standing in front of you, your arms swing over his neck to pull him down so you can latch your lips along the column of his neck.

“my girl is so needy tonight,” he says, leaning over the sink where you’re sitting and allowing you to mark up his neck to your heart's desire.

“wan’ you, ‘toru.” you whine, now circling your legs around his waist as an attempt to pull him even closer.

“let's get you cleaned up first and then we can continue,” gojo says softly, internally restraining himself.

“but you’re hard, can’t we jus’ do it now? really fast?” you whined, tears starting to fill your eyes because of your desperation.

“no, we can’t. I wanna take my time with you tonight. I was patient waiting for you to come home, so be a good girl and do the same for me, ‘kay?” he says while guiding you into the shower.

once inside the warm and steaming shower, your only goal was to get out of there as soon as possible. gojo, on the other hand, had different plans. the moment his hands were on your body, you could feel yourself melting into his touch. His movements were slow and sensual. He was lathering the bubbles across your body, pausing just a second longer on your erogenous zones, which included your nipples, thighs, and pussy. He loved watching you squirm under his touch with your eyes squeezed shut trying to savor the feeling.

“you’re so mean ‘toru,” you say, biting your lower lip once his hands were off you.

“just a little longer, pretty,” he says with a smirk across his lips.

once both of you were all cleaned up, he carried you out of the bathroom and you were flushed, not just from the bathroom warmth, but the excitement of what was to come.

“satoru, I feel better now, I can walk on my own,” you say, attempting to get to your feet but to no avail. he softly sets you down on the mattress. the two of you were scantily covered by a towel and before you knew it, gojo had removed it off both of your bodies in a second.

his kisses travel down to your neck, nipples, navel and right before he gets down to your wet cunt, he looks up at you. your eyes were glazed over without a single thought behind them and your mouth slightly open, panting. that sight turns him on even more as he laps up your folds with his tongue.

this causes your hips to buckle and start grinding on his tongue for more friction. he then sucks on your clit, causing you to almost see stars. right before you had a chance to cum, he gives your pussy one last kiss before pulling away, causing you your eyes to pop open from the lack of touch.

“I waited all night for you, can I get my reward too, pretty?” gojo says with his legs spread open and resting on his shins, gripping the base of his cock. now that you had a proper look at him, you could see just how much he needed you. his face was flushed pink and his cock was rock hard, looking like it would burst at any second. you immediately get on your knees and wrap your hands around it, giving it a few strokes as he leans back and rests on the palms of his hands.

still gripping his cock, you tease his tip with your tongue by swirling it in circles. this causes gojo to fling his head back and pant heavily. loving this reaction, you begin to slowly take more of him into your mouth, inch by inch.

“just a little more,” he says with one hand on the nape of your neck to guide you down his length. you bob your head up and down, making sure to open up your throat to take all of him in. Tears push past your eyes because of how big he is but you love every single inch of it. you suck on him hard and tight like a vice, throat perfectly molding to the shape of his dick and tongue swirling against the underside of it. you continue this until you can feel him almost cumming and you go even faster.

“b-baby, stop, ‘m gonna cum,” gojo says, his hands are now on either side of your head pushing you off his member. he was able to get you off right before he was sent over the edge.

“so slutty tonight, trying to get me to cum before I’m in you,” he says, guiding you to your back.

“jus’ wanna make you feel good, ‘toru,” you say, obediently laying down.

“I wanna cum inside this pussy. can I, baby?” he says, looking directly into your eyes. he rubs his tip along your sopping folds before tapping it a few times against your clit, pleasure coursing up your body.

“y-yes, it’s your pussy, you can do whatever,” you say, waiting for him to ravish you.

gojo presses his tip against your entrance and notices you get up on your elbows to watch it slide in. “does my pretty girl like watching it go in?” he teases. “yes, I want you to ruin me, ‘toru,” you say in between breaths.

he gives you a few shallow thrusts with just the tip until you couldn’t take it anymore and begin attempting to fuck yourself on his fat cock. he loves how quickly you get cock-drunk on him. using his hands to pin down your hips, he thrusts his member deep inside with no warning, causing you to roll your head back in pleasure. he begins thrusting at an ungodly speed, your head making contact with your headboard before he reaches up a hand to buffer the impact.

“‘toru, wait, s-slow down” you yelp, hands pressed up against his abs, attempting to slow his movements.

“I thought my princess wanted this?” gojo said, not letting up on his speed. he moves his hand from your hip and presses it firmly on your lower abdomen, causing you to moan uncontrollably as the tip of his cock abuses your g-spot.

“i’m g-gonna cum,” you yell, breathing heavily.

“I’m close too, cum on this cock, pretty. it’s all yours,” he says, thrusting until you cum first.

when you’re finally sent over the edge, you can feel your pussy convulsing around his dick, causing him to pour his load inside. he slowly removes his cock from your twitching cunt, a trail of thick cum oozes out. He uses his thumb to push it back inside.

“be a good girl and keep it inside. ‘m gonna fuck this tummy full of cum,” gojo says, stroking your clit, further overstimulating you. this goes on all night, round after round. The two of you fuck like you haven’t seen eachother in years instead of just a few hours.

the two of you are taking a few minutes to come down from your last high when then you climb on top of him. “baby, can we go for just one more? i’ll top this time,” you say, grinding your sticky, cum filled pussy against his growing hard-on. gojo knew he would spoil you rotten for as long as he lived.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he says with a big smirk painted on his face.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

a/n: writing smut is SO difficult 😭 putting my horny brain to work is easy but having to type it out coherently is so hard.

thanks for reading!

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violetrainbow412-blog · 2 months ago

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Day 22: heirloom

Masterlist flufftober 🎃

Reblog if you liked it!

The idea that in just a couple of days you were going to marry Spencer Reid felt unreal.

Your dream had always been to get married and start a small family with a good man: one who was gentle, hardworking, and, of course, kind.

Spencer adored you. There wasn’t a moment in the day when he wasn’t attentive to your needs, and even when work demanded a lot of his time, he made sure to stay in touch. He cared about you.

You doubted there were any words to describe the feelings you had for him. Love seemed like too short of a word compared to how you would practically give him your life if it made him happy. You were sure that the main reason you could sacrifice everything for him was that you knew your fiancé would never ask you to do such a thing.

You had gone to pick up your wedding dress from a fashion house that specialized in modernizing them, so you could wear what had once been your late mother’s dress. You thought it would be a nice way to honor her and let her know that you were now walking down the aisle, just as she had always hoped to see.

“Knock, knock,” you heard a voice at the door of the room that was serving as your dressing room.

Your future husband was wearing a dark brown tweed jacket, and his wavy hair fell gracefully around his face. Maybe it was the excitement of your upcoming wedding, but you found him more and more handsome, with that fair skin and those pink lips that made you want to cover him in kisses.

“Hello, sweetheart.”

“Am I interrupting anything?”

“No, I just tried on the dress a moment ago, and everything is perfect,” you said happily. He approached you, put his arms around your waist, and stole a kiss. “I look pretty.”

“You always look pretty,” he added. It seemed that this mutual adoration was shared because, at that moment, Spencer was looking at you as if he saw the sun, the moon, and the stars in your eyes.

“Do you want to see the dress?”

“No,” he quickly replied. “It’s bad luck.”

“Seriously?” you huffed, incredulous.

“They say it can ruin the ceremony or the marriage, and that’s the last thing I want.”

“For a man of science, you turned out to be quite superstitious.”

“Better safe than sorry,” he murmured, pouting a little, which you had no trouble kissing away. “I want everything to be perfect.”

“Something’s going to go wrong, that’s inevitable. Maybe I’ll trip on my way to the altar, your suit will catch fire, a guest will get aggressive, the priest won’t show up, we’ll get completely drunk, have sex, and I’ll get pregnant…”

“Everything sounds catastrophic except the last part,” he mused, making you laugh.

Your fiancé had been more affectionate lately, and you let him kiss your cheek. Slowly, he sniffed your face, moved to your hair, and finally nibbled gently on your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine.

“Spence…”

“I brought you something,” he whispered, his voice velvety near you.

You missed his warmth when he pulled away, rummaging through his pocket. You waited patiently and then saw him offer you a small burgundy box.

“But I already have my engagement ring, handsome,” you laughed, showing him your left hand.

Spencer shook his head and said it was something else, so curious about the contents of the box, you did as he asked. Inside was a beautiful gold locket, with a light blue surface and a white engraving of a bird flying near some flowers.

“It belonged to my mother,” he explained. “It’s kind of a family heirloom. It was supposed to be passed down through the daughters, but Mom only had me. And the week I was in Las Vegas, I asked her if I could give it to you.”

“Is that a hummingbird?”

“Yes. They have many spiritual meanings, but in this case, symbolize that our love is light, joyful, and enduring, as hummingbirds can travel great distances despite their size. It could also be a symbol of hope for a bright future for us.”

As he explained, you felt strangely moved by it all. You had never received anything like this before, and you always thought this kind of tradition was reserved for aristocratic or wealthy families. But no, your future life partner was offering you this treasure because he wanted you to continue that tradition, implying that one day you would have a daughter to pass it on to.

“There’s nothing inside.”

“You can put whatever you want in it.”

“I’ll put a picture of my husband,” you said with a smile, reaching up to place your hand on his cheek. “I love it. Thank you so much for giving it to me.”

“Mom was so happy. She loves you a lot.”

“And I love her. I’m grateful she’s letting me steal her son.”

“And she thinks the opposite. She’s happy to know I’ll be in good hands, with someone who loves and cares for me.”

You were drunk on love for him. You knew that, like everything in the world, relationships had their complications, but sometimes you liked to think Spencer was the perfect man for you.

Children always assumed their parents were soulmates, and you knew with certainty that yours wouldn’t be wrong.

Suddenly, one of your hands moved on its own to his hair, twirling a lock around your finger.

“How strange would it be if I put one of those golden curls I love so much in my locket?”

“In this situation, it’d be romantic, actually. But if you were a stranger, it’d be classified as stalking and could escalate to homicide.”

Laughter burst from your chest, and he smiled to himself, pleased he had made you laugh.

“I still find it hard to believe we’re getting married. It’s so strange.”

“In a bad way?”

“No, no. I mean, it feels… like a dream. I feel too happy for it to be real.”

“Well, I assure you it’s very real,” he assured you, holding you tenderly.

Even if Spencer didn’t tell you he loved you (which he did all the time), just looking into his eyes would be enough for you to know. Those honey-colored eyes, like a deer’s, that refused to look at anyone but you.

A phone call interrupted your moment, and you caught a glimpse of the contact name: David Rossi. Spencer greeted him kindly but somewhat confused, and as the conversation progressed, his frown deepened. You heard him tell the man several times that it wasn’t necessary, that he didn’t want him to go to the trouble, and he shook his head more times than you could count. But apparently, his friend was insistent on the matter, whatever it was.

“Is everything okay?”

“Rossi wants us to go to a wine tasting now. He says he’ll cover the cost of all the drinks for the wedding reception.”

At that moment, you understood why Spencer had been so adamant in refusing, and you were quite surprised by the offer. David knew you, but you didn’t expect him to offer something on that scale.

“Isn’t that too much?”

“I tried to tell him, but he’s as stubborn as a mule. He insists it’s a special occasion since the baby of the unit is getting married.”

A soft exclamation escaped your lips, and Spencer chuckled, not entirely pleased that you agreed with the nickname.

“Everyone loves you so much. We love you so much.”

You stood on your tiptoes to give him one last (or so you hoped) kiss on the cheek and hurried to grab the bag with your dress. You were about to leave when you stopped in your tracks, telling him you had forgotten something.

“What is it?”

“I forgot to ask for your help fastening my locket.”

He smiled and happily obliged, taking special care with the task. From that day on, the piece of jewelry became practically a part of you. And, as tradition dictated, it was passed on to your daughter when someone was worthy of receiving it.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid x you #flufftober 2024 #prompt list #writing challenge #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid drabble

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tteokdoroki · 7 months ago

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hurricane heartbreak katsuki bakugou ── ᡣ𐭩 ˙ ̟🩰 !!

⋆˙ᝰ about ! you’ve always thought that katsuki would follow you to the ends of the earth, until suddenly, he stops. especially when he realises that he’s better off without you. ( 2.6K )

warnings ! minors blank and ageless blogs do not interact. sfw, angst, no happy ending. characters aged up to 20s, unrequited love, friendship breakups, regular breakups, confessions, gaslighting, reader is morally flawed and a bad friend, katsuki is a hopeless romantic :(, fem!reader, pro hero!bakugou - not beta read!

as usual, katsuki moves to open the door before his mind can catch up.

he knows that he shouldn’t. if he kept the doors locked he could keep his heart safe from the ache that comes with the person on the other side. but, the bigger and weaker half of him succumbs to the longing laced in the blood that soars through the beating muscle keeping him alive. the same muscle every form of media since the dawn of time has associated with the human desire to be loved and adored.

it’s a human code that he can’t go against, like asking a neanderthal to fight it’s basic instincts. katsuki opens the door not because he wants to, but because he has to, even if his entire body twitches against the will of his one track mind and his hand lands on the cool metal doorknob in advance of his logical train of thought. besides, it’s raining tonight, and it would be cruel to leave you outside.

as usual, when you step past the threshold of the number two hero’s lush, bachelor pad-like home — he expects things to be different. for you to waltz in with your arms wide spread and a spark of joy in your eyes because you love seeing the blonde and because you missed him.

“it was so horrible,” you wail to him instead, just as you had done so on the phone — except this time, the cadence to your usually bright voice is as dull and as dreary as the weather outside. “he blew up at me, said that we were done ��n that i was too clingy. just like that,” pouting, you shrug off your rain-slicked jacket and allow your best friend to hang it up for you. before you can start quivering like a pathetic stray dog, the begrudgingly kind pro hero places a set of clothes, warm and fresh from the dryer, into your hands and ushers you deeper into the space he calls home.

“fuck that guy,” he tells you, while you rant to him on the walk down the hall.

katsuki lets you you dry off and disappear into his room for spare clothes (as if you own the place), giving himself time to think and reflect. the you that katsuki knows and has bitterly come to love is hollowed and desperate — vying for any attention or affection she can get from people who just don’t care. he’s never understood it, the reasons why you go vying for the validation of others who don’t deserve a millisecond of your time, let alone your precious smile.

you know, the one that brings out the crows feet at the corners of your doe-like eyes and lifts the edges of your glossed lips ever so slightly. you illuminate a room and fill it with warmth when you’re happy and feel loved but when you’re like this… thrown out into the rain whilst being hungry for more — much like that of a stray…

…it’s bakugou’s hand that reaches out to feed you tender love and care from the pieces of his own broken soul. he does everything im his power to make you smile again, otherwise he’d shake the heavens from the sky and bring their shattered pieces back down to earth with his destructive quirk…for you.

everything is always for you.

katsuki is the one who deserves to see your radiant grin and be the one that’s always on your mind. so perhaps, he is no better than you, starved with a craving for the attention of someone whose thoughts are simply elsewhere. with someone else.

you resurface from his room wearing a discontinued all-might shirt with an iron-on design that’s cracked on the front and a pair of fluffy dynamight themed socks kept spare in katsuki’s wash for whenever you come over. by this time he’s already popped on the kettle for some herbal tea, though his back remains facing you — fingers clenched against his smooth marble countertop. “why would he say that?”

you shrug. “i don’t know… i probably deserve it. this always happens.”

to his right, the kettle’s whistle reaches it’s crescendo but katsuki doesn’t bother to add hot water to your tea.

the assessment you make as you pad back over to katsuki is only partly correct. he turns abruptly, prepped and ready to loosely wrap his arms around you in a familiar hug, another step in this bi-monthly routine the two of you have going. your nose presses into the middle of his molten chest, sending a pang through his heart like an arrow from Cupid whilst simultaneously riling up the butterflies in his tummy. you’re so cute, so sweet and it makes the blonde feel special to be able to witness the more vulnerable parts of you — the parts of you pieced back together by inexpensive glue after you’ve been shattered by heartbreak once more.

you, you’re too sweet to deserve this pain. the same pain that weighs down on the pro hero’s shoulders because he can’t stop chasing after you. this always happens, but you don’t deserve it. even if it’s like some sort of cathartic karma for leading bakugou on all of these years.

nonetheless, he’s never been the best at comforting people but a selfish warmth that burns brighter than his quirk spans throughout katsuki’s body whenever you seek comfort in him. even if all it does is chip away at his soul, knowing that you’re all torn up about someone else and someone that isn’t him yet again.

katsuki abandons the tea completely.

however, his cherry lips continue to open and close in search of words and phrases that may sedate your storm of emotions before they rain down on him — just like the world outside. they’re hard to come by, meaningful ones at least, so katsuki settles with a simple… “you deserve better.”

“yeah? well it doesn’t seem like it. every guy i’ve ever met has hurt me some way, somehow.” you quip blandly, obliviously. “who does better even look like?

me. is what bakugou wants to say. he looks like me. but now isn’t the time or place to tell you that, it’s never been. deep down, he knows that you might never see him that way, as a someone who could treat you right, as someone deserving of your darkest desires and sweet nothings, as someone who could be the very person you deserve to grow old with. you don’t look at him the same way, to you, katsuki will always be your best friend and source of comfort.

he’ll never be a lover or a special one or a boyfriend.

not to you.

never to you.

and sadly, he almost feels content to stay this way — if it means he’ll be able to have you near. with the two of you tucked away in one another’s arms, swaying to the melody of harmonious wind and rain, the abrasive, corroding nature of katsuki bakugou is tamed and the world comes to a standstill that feels sort of homely. its familiar, a routine he’s so easily settled into time and time again. confessing to you would be like disrupting the natural course of your relationship and bakugou has seen what you do to guys who cross your limits or suddenly no longer entertain you. sometimes they genuinely do hurt you, other times you’re like a little girl who no longer has a desire to play with her favourite toy — easily casting them aside. the blonde would hate to be one of them, to be thrown out by the person he loves most.

“you’ll find someone,” he says gruffly, after some time.

pulling away slightly and with a hand centre stage on katsuki’s ooey-gooey lovesick chest, you smile ever so gently. and it’s enough for him, even though it burns, it’s enough to make it worth it. all this suffering in silence, loving you from afar…that is, until he hears what you have to to say next.

“i wish i could find someone like you, kats.”

the rain outside has hit its peak, bordering on the edge of torrential as it drowns the concrete jungle outside and the grey clouds it pours from shroud the city in a similar darkness to the veil falling over katsuki’s mind. now that, it really pisses his off. someone like him? why not him? he doesn’t understand why you actively put yourself through the ringer when what you want is right before your very eyes.

like a sudden clap of thunder or a strike of bright lightning, katsuki has a realisation. he isn’t so sure how much more of this he can stomach or take. a few weeks ago his best friend, kirishima, had scolded him long and hard for allowing you to walk all over the explosive pro hero. maybe the redhead had been right, your words seem almost purposeful and calculated — designed to hit him right where it hurts. whether or not you’re aware of the fact.

“y’can’t keep doing this.” comes the blonde’s whisper, coasting just under his breath, so low that you almost miss it underneath the howling notes of the wind.

“what?”

“please stop doing this.” bakugou says again, but firmer, shrugging your hands from his well-built torso like they’ve given him an electric shock. a flash of hurt lines itself across your beautifully crafted features like a film of dust clinging to a marble carved sculpture belonging to an art museum. he hates it, how he can still admire you and treasure you even when you torture him with a punishment of unrequited love. “you can’t keep comin’ here every time you get your heart broken, knowing how i feel about you. it’s fucked up, you’re fucking me up.”

people have only ever dreamed of being able to bring the great dynamight down to his knees. a man of such power and force could never be shaken, especially with everything that he’s been through to get where he is today.

the colour in your voice pales, the glint to your eyes dulls and you nervously reach out for your best friend only to be rejected which hurts more than any shitty break up you’ve ever had. “k-katsuki…kats, what are you talking about?”

“you know exactly what i mean. don’t try to gaslight me or some shit.” katsuki puts it simply, fighting the lump in his throat that nearly stops him from being truthful. it’s always been a difficult task to push you away, “we play pretend, you come to me expectin’ me to lick your wounds ‘n shit. fuck, i’ve been doing it for the last ten years. since todoroki first rejected you in high school, then that guy from class 1B and then shindou from that other school once we went pro.”

he rambles relentlessly and you take every word while memories of each heartbreak flash brightly before your very eyes. it’s clear to you now, standing in front of him, that bakugou has been holding this, whatever this is, inside for far too long. concealing his emotions until his fuse was at its end and it all exploded to the surface. “katsuki stop it.” you say weakly, throat dry.

“fuck no! why should i?” the brash blonde spits venomously, his upper lip curling into an ugly sneer. one you’ve only ever seen when he’s talking to villains, or better yet, talking about your exes. “because it never stopped for me. you never stopped using me.” he blabs, but he’s hardly shouting — the mere fact that he isn’t freaks you out even more. “it’s so fucked up, i’ve been waiting for a chance with you for years. i never said yes to someone fuckin’ loving me for who i am. for all the shit that i come with because i was waitin’ for you.” for nearly a decade you’ve been offering katsuki all the riches in the world, only to pry them from his warmth fingers and leave him for cold and death.

you could apologise right then and there, make things right, tell katsuki that it was him all along and those other guys meant nothing to you. it’s what he wants so badly, it’s the only thing that could make him forget all of this drama and take you back into his arms. instead, you retreat like a hermit crab back into its shell, stepping back and away from your best friend while selfishly curling in on yourself.

“i didn’t… i didn’t ask you to wait.”

those words are like a lightening strike to the chest. the white flashbang outside illuminates your face for katsuki to see, guilt outlines the natural slopes and continue of your face and some kind of regret floods the black ink on your eyes. bakugou’s suspicions have been proven true. you’ve never wanted him, not in the way that he’s wanted you. it must be that. must be that you kept him around knowing he’d chase shooting stars and run to the end of a rainbow if it meant the prize was you.

“you didn’t have to,” katsuki’s breathing turns ragged, mimicking the uncontrollable winds of a brewing storm, and his anxiety peaks, spilling over the edge of a glass he’d tried to keep half full for so long. he knew this, all along, he knew that you’d reject him plain and simple but why does it feel like his world is ending. “would have done it anyways ‘cause i am…was… in love with you. you didn’t need to ask me because you knew i'd always be there.”

it hurts, the truth, it burns like acid rain dissolving through a manmade structure. you hate the taste of it in the air, as katsuki’s words ring through it — undermining the heavy rain pelting down against his roof. you don’t know what to say or tell him, but instead of the contentedness of being close to the blonde you now feel a sudden sense of impending doom. an epiphany. a realisation that you’re going to lose your best friend because you took advantage of a bleeding heart.

you’ve never been the only one whose organs were ripped out and ever-loving corpse was left for dead. each time pieces of you died at every soul-crushing rejecting you’ve ever faced — katsuki has been right behind you, falling to pieces, decomposing, breaking apart… watching you mourn a relationship with someone else.

someone that wasn’t him.

words and apologies tangle in your throat and form a knot that blocks their passage. what do you even say to someone who has inadvertently confessed their love for you — something in which you’re not sure you even believe in anymore? “i-i’m… i’m sorry,” slowly, you take a step forward, blindly reaching out for katsuki in his living room shrouded by darkness and only temporarily lit up my lightening crashes. but he steps back, he retreats into a person he used to be — one that was nasty and cruel despite how much he cared.

bearing his fangs, katsuki defends himself from the only person who could truly ever hurt him. you. his walls build up and he snarls again. “i don’t care.” though, his voice wobbles and his eyes are glossy under the harsh white light of the lightening by strikes outside — he remains defensive.

“i’m sorry,” you sullenly repeat. for what? not loving him? for using him? you’re not sure. “katsuki…i’m sorry—“

you sound so genuine, your voice so sweet and sorrowful — it’s almost enough to make the man melt, for his walls to fall away and his heart to open back up just for you. but bakugou knows better, if gives in and steps closer and holds you once more — the cycle will repeat. you’ll know that you can come to him whenever you want, and take advantage of his pathetic yearning and devotion to you. over and over again, for as long as you want. because if you call he’ll answer, always.

not this time though.

katsuki bakugou steels himself as though he’s facing his greatest foe, his jaw hardens, his ruby red eyes flutter shut and his head shakes and he tries so hard to resist you. when he finally looks at you again, after what feels like an eternity, you’re hopeful in thinking that maybe this can be fixed and you can keep your best friend. however, you’ve seen katsuki’s expression on a dozen other faces before.

that look people give you when they tell you it’s over, when they grow tired of you, when they leave you.

you know it all too well, the face of someone breaking up with you.

except this time you’re not losing a half baked love, this time you’re losing someone who adored every part of you even if it was severely flawed.

you’re losing your best friend. your katsuki.

and all it took was the clouds parting and the heavens crying for you to realise that.

437 notes · View notes

greenorangevioletgrass · 1 year ago

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give me a minute (1/2) | chef luca

pairing: chef luca x ex-wife!reader word count: 4.7k warnings: established former relationship, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, discussions of separation and divorce, luca and reader has a son, unresolved sexual tension 👀 notes: this fic has been the bane of my existence for the last couple of months or so. it all started as a simple thought of "ooh it would be fun to have a steamy smut with ex!luca" and then it turns into a whole thing with like proper angst and stuff lol. this will be split into two parts, and i think i need encouragement to finish the second part. so please enjoy this first part and tell me what you think! ✨follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notifications to get alerted of my latest fics! ✨

03:49 PM

Everything is fine, you keep telling yourself.

Your soon-to-be ex-husband is flying in from Denmark to finalize the divorce—and even after two years of exhaustive paperwork and mediations and court proceedings, you still don’t know how to feel about this. His visit to New York is meant to be a consolation prize for your six-year-old son Alfie, whose only facetime with his dad lately is through… well, FaceTime. But, given how extraordinarily difficult he’s being—fussing over his breakfast, stalling shower time by a record of 48 minutes, refusing to wear anything you picked out for him… you have an inkling that he might be a little nervous to see his father.

And to make matters worse, it’s raining cats and dogs outside, which delays Luca by two hours now and actively threatens the zoo outing he has planned out for him and Alfie.

So… despite the shitstorm that is happening in your apartment and out, you keep telling yourself that everything is fine.

Because it is. Your home is tidy enough, with all the toys and the mess tucked away in their little cubbies. Your son is dressed up enough; he’s finally put on his pants and shirt, although you missed a button and he won’t let you fix it. The storm is outside, and you’re safely sheltered in. And your relationship with your ex is civil enough, so you feel…

Fine enough.

But the doorman buzzes in, and you can definitely tell the awkwardness in his voice. “Afternoon, Ma’am. I have your husband— I mean, Chef Luca— I mean Mr. Bailey—”

You sigh, not having the energy to let this go on. “Yeah, yeah. Send him up.”

Alfie looks up from his coloring book and practically jumps out of the couch. “My tummy hurts, I’m gonna make a doodie!”

“No running!” You remind him just a second too late, watching him dash over to the bathroom and slamming the door closed. He has a nervous stomach just like you, and as you feel the icky twist in your gut… you can’t help but empathize with his antics today. You would be fucking shit up too, if you only could.

There’s a knock at the door, and you brace yourself as if you’re about to let the storm itself in (although, quite frankly, you probably are). Your hand feels clammy, and you have to wipe it off on your dress before you unlock the door and turn the knob.

“Hey.”

If the storm was a person, you wouldn’t have associated it with the man standing before you. So tall and broad and sturdy. With boyish features and dark blond locks like gentle daylight. It feels like a reach to imagine the seven years of your relationship with him was, indeed, an epic fucking hurricane.

Still.

You can’t help that you miss him.

“Come on in.” You step aside, not really meeting his gaze.

He murmurs a small thanks and apology, a staple combination in Luca’s British vernacular, as he squeezes in through the door with his duffel bag and suitcase.

“I thought you’d dropped these off at your hotel before you came here.”

“I know. I was going to, but…” he puts down his bags close to the jacket closet, like he always does, “But I got held up for ages and traffic was awful and I didn’t want Alfie to wait even longer, so…”

“Right.” You nod absently. “Well. He’s in the bathroom, should be out in a second, so… have a seat. Do you want anything to drink?”

“Um, water’s fine.” He takes his seat on the dining table.

You’re not sure which one is more jarring; the sheer familiarity of this, or the fact that it isn’t anymore. The two of you just hovering in the home you used to share, courteous but distant.

Luca looks around the place, and notices all the differences right away. You kept the glass dining table and two of the chairs, but changed the corner seating into a plush dining bench against the kitchen island. He recognizes Alfie’s favorite stuffed bunny on the couch, although the throw pillows were new. But he takes one look at the wall… and his heart drops.

Gone are any traces of him in the snapshots of your life. The pictures are all of you and Alfie—eating ice cream in the park, grinning and showing his first lost tooth, dressed up on Halloween… He really shouldn’t be surprised or disappointed to find the wedding portrait gone, or the vacation selfie in Italy four years ago. But it hurts quite a bit to find a generic flower portrait replacing the picture of him kissing you on the forehead while Alfie, laying on your chest, merely hours after his birth.

“Yeah, I…” you clear your throat as you hand him the glass of water, “…did some redecorating.”

“It looks good.” He manages a stiff nod, taking a hesitant swig of water.

“You look…” good, you want to say. Because he is. He’s got that tan and the haircut that reminds you of when you first met him years ago. But you can’t say that. So you settle with, “You look well.”

He meets your eyes, really meets your eyes for the first time, and you try to convince yourself the little flutter you feel inside is just your nervous stomach. But he smiles, soft and earnest. “So do you.”

You turn back and open the fridge, welcoming the cold air and how it cools down the burning warmth on your cheeks. Trying not to freak out and decide what you’re getting, so you don’t look like an idiot. Your hand grabs a can of ginger ale, and you sigh in relief.

“How’s Alfie doing in school?”

“He’s doing alright. He’s enjoying his art classes. Math is still a struggle, but Ms. Rashad says his reading is quite advanced for his age.” You relax a little bit into the conversation. The topic of your son resets you a little bit into a somewhat common ground as co-parents. Plain and simple.

“Definitely takes after you. My dyslexic ass could never.”

You smile at that. Small jokes are still there, always a good sign.

“And the, uh…” he lowers his voice, “the anxiety?”

“Comes and goes. He’s been complaining about a stomach ache all day.” You glance towards the bathroom.

He frowns in concern. “Should we go check on him?”

“Sure…” You walk together with Luca following suit, tentatively knocking at the door. “Alfie? Hey bub, how’s your doodie?” It sounds silly, but you find it helps to ask open questions instead of showing your worries outright.

A flush from inside. “There’s no doodie,” he hollers. His voice is murmured from the barrier, and then the running tap water.

You catch the unease in Luca’s features, and you feel a little bad for him. It wouldn’t feel great that your own son is nervous to see you after many months apart. “You wanna come out, then? Your dad’s here.” You try to sound cheerful and upbeat, hoping it’ll hype them both up.

The two-second gap never felt so long. But the door opens, and there he is, standing meekly against the frame. Staring up at you and then at Luca.

Luca’s heart nearly stops as those big doe eyes stare up at him, a spitting image of you. The same softness. The same spark of stubbornness.

The same vulnerable look.

“Hey, bub.”

“Hi.”

“Can I get a hug?”

There’s a brief pause, before he steps forward and throws his arms around his father’s middle. Luca grunts softly, a little surprised by the sheer force Alfie is hugging him, his heart swelling three times over.

“Oh my God, look at you!” He ruffles the boy’s dark hair and kneels down to level with him. His cherubic face is small cupped in his large hand, but not as small as Luca remembered it. “You’re so tall now!”

“Of course. I’m 3 feet and 8 inches tall now. Right, Mommy?” He proudly announces, getting the exact height completely memorized.

“That’s right,” you confirm with a grin.

Luca gasps, a smile blooming on his face. “What?”

Alfie nods. “I’m gonna be as tall as you.”

“No! Don’t grow up so fast!” He playfully cries out.

“Why?”

“Because I won’t get to do this anymore!” Luca seizes his boy into his arms and sweeps him off of his bunny-socked feet, sending Alfie into a fit of hysterical giggles.

The sight makes you chuckle, but the feeling could bring Luca to happy tears. He’s been gone for so long, he’s afraid he’d forget how it feels to hold his son in his arms again. Or worse, that his son would find his presence alien.

But he’s here now. With you and the son you share. Attacking Alfie in tickles and noisy kisses, and letting the boy climb him like monkey bars. And it calms his anxious heart a bit as he reminds himself, everything’s fine.

And as things fall back into place, thunder crashes outside, as if sobering all of you back into reality. Alfie shirks into himself, climbing off of his father’s back. You want to reach out for him so badly, but at the same time, not wanting to interrupt his bonding time with his dad.

“It’s okay, bub. It’s just thunderclap,” Luca soothes emphatically over the sudden silence, bringing Alfie back down to his feet. He smooths his son’s hair gently, comfortingly. “I got you, I got you…”

“Do animals even come out in the rain?” Alfie is back to his withdrawn self, mumbling his words and avoiding Luca’s gaze.

“Some animals actually love playing in the rain,” you chime in helpfully.

Luca keeps his tone cheerful and bright. “Yeah, and you can wear your raincoat and your wellies and I’ll even let you jump in puddles—”

“I don’t wanna do that! I wanna stay home!” He whines, voice raising a little.

“It’s your dad’s time—”

“No!”

“Alfie.” Your tone is firmer now, as he struggles out of his father’s arms and runs to his favorite corner of the couch in the living room, holding his stuffed bunny tight.

But Alfie’s got a point. This is not the kind of rain where you can take a leisurely stroll in. No, this is the kind where you stay huddled inside and hope it doesn’t flood the streets. Luca takes a thoughtful look at Alfie who is sulking and shrinking from the sound of thunder, at the window completely obscured from rain, and then at you… offering an apologetic smile.

So much for quality time with his son.

Luca’s heart sinks a little. He sighs in defeat. “Maybe we should just wait it out…”

“Are you sure? I mean, you flew 9 hours to see him—“

“And I don’t want him to be pissed at me the whole time we’re hanging out,” he reasons. “Besides, I don’t think any Uber would take our order at this time.”

It makes sense, you think. As much as you want this awkward little broken family dance to end, you know that staying in and waiting it out is the best option. Alfie would feel much more comfortable at home than in whatever hotel Luca is staying in. And maybe it’s your protective side talking, but if he ever gets fussy, you’d prefer to be around to deal with it.

“Alright, fine.”

“Yeah? Is that okay with you?”

You shrug. The truth is a little more complicated, but ultimately you settle with a simple, “yes.”

Alfie takes a quick glance at you and Luca emerging from the hallway (you have your mother’s side eye, Luca always said), before returning to fiddling his stuffed bunny’s ears (your father’s neutral look of disapproval, you would say). Like clockwork, Luca takes the seat next to Alfie, while you take the puffy stool in front of him.

“That wasn’t very nice of you to raise your voice at me and your dad like that. I get that you’re nervous about the weather—a bit startled, too— but still. We don’t raise our voices in this household.”

Alfie looks at you and Luca. “I’m sorry.”

Luca nods in acknowledgement. “I’m sorry for being late, buddy.” He gingerly reaches out to touch the boy’s hand. “You’re right, though. It might be best to stay in for a bit.” He motions at the rain hammering down on the window outside.

“I told you. I wanna stay at home.”

“I know. And we are for now. We can…” Luca scans around for something to do. His eyes fall on the coloring book and the open box of color pencils next to it. Bingo! “We can… color some drawings in that book?”

He pouts, not entirely sold on the idea but not outright refusing it either.

“Or, hey, I got some new drawings on me. You can color them, too.” Luca takes off his hoodie and shows off the tattoos on his arms.

God, you forgot about the plethora of trashy tattoos adorning his skin. Even worse, you forgot how it highlights the defined curves of his biceps. Focus, for fuck’s sake! You avert your gaze towards the flower portrait on the wall.

Alfie perks up a little. “This is my old drawing.” His tiny finger pokes at his forearm, on a tattoo of a stick figure climbing up the stairs. “You still have it?”

“Of course. It’s there forever. I’ll always have it.” Luca finds himself choking up at that simple admission. A little token of childhood of his ever-growing love. “Go on, get your crayons.”

Alfie looks at you as if seeking permission, and it makes you want to laugh that he shares the same animated eyebrows as his father.

“Go ahead, bub,” you usher him off lightly, and as soon as he’s out of sight, nods at your ex. “Good save.”

Luca half-smiles. “Thanks. You should chill out. Read a book, take a nap or something. I got him.”

“What, are you trying to kick me out?”

“No, I just—”

Your smile breaks out. “I’m kidding! Go hang out with Alf. I got a Zoom meeting in a few minutes anyway.”

He sighs in relief, chuckling lightly. “You almost got me there…”

You briefly pat his shoulder and for an even briefer moment, his hand is atop yours. The big ‘A’ tattoo on the back of his hand—your son’s initial in a bold Gothic letter— serves as a reminder of what’s past; a whirlwind romance, the wild days of being a family of a merry band of misfits…

Misfits. That’s the biggest takeaway here, you suppose. Your pieces don’t quite fit right. Not without little Alfie gluing you together.

With a final squeeze on Luca’s shoulder, you make your way to your bedroom, making space for Luca’s puzzle pieces to fit with Alfie’s because they don’t fit yours anymore.

***

05:04 PM

By the time your Zoom meeting ends, the pelting rain outside is louder and the chatter inside is nearly inaudible. It feels nice for about ten seconds… until you remember that you have a six-year-old at home and long bouts of silence can be quite… well, suspicious. You pad out into the hallway to check on him.

“Let’s see. You wanna do the sunflower next? What do you think, my love?”

Oh right. For a moment, you forgot that the thirty-year-old other parent is here with him.

Luca has his t-shirt sleeves hiked all the way up, biceps in full display as Alfie colors in a tattoo on the back part of his upper arm. The boy’s tongue sticks out and his eyebrows furrow in focus. It seems like a delicate operation between them, so you linger out of sight for just a while longer.

“Why do you like sunflowers, Dad?”

The two of you have always supported his inquisitive mind, and he missed these kinds of questions most of all. Even if the answers can be a little complicated. “Because of your mum, actually.”

“You like it because Mommy likes it?” Alfie’s little nose crinkles.

Luca chuckles in amusement, sensing the judgment in his son’s tone. Damn you guys for teaching Alfie not to get carried away by trends. “Well… when your mum and I first met, it was winter in Chicago and it’s pretty bleak and gloomy and freezing. But, your mum had a little sunflower by the window—just like that one.” He glances at the little potted sunflower on the windowsill. “She said it’s a reminder to let the sun shine in. I thought it was adorable. We started doing that everywhere we lived and… I don’t know, it reminds me of home.”

“Do you have a sunflower by your window, Dad?”

His heart catches as he realizes the answer. “No, I don’t…”

“Why? You don’t miss home?”

There’s a sharp pang of hurt in hearing that innocent query. The apartment in Copenhagen, as nice as it is, has never been much of a home for Luca. He would get up before the sun is up and return from work late at night—lather, rinse and repeat. On his days off, he would either go on a morning run and spend much of his time outside, or sleep til noon and live on instant ramen and takeout. There’s no time for a sunflower by the window. No room. He made sure of that.

He doesn’t deserve one after leaving his wife and son for fucking Noma.

Luca swallows back the lump in his throat, although the slight waver in his voice gives him away. “I got my sunflower right here, bub. My little piece of home.” He taps on his arm softly as his son finishes up.

Alfie hums, pleased with how the tattoo looks, now filled in with yellow and black and brown crayons. “I think this is my favorite one.”

“Yeah? Not the tabasco?” Luca grins, looking down at his forearm—specifically at the mostly accurate red and green of the hot sauce bottle.

“No…” Alfie taps his chin with his finger thoughtfully. “This one is prettier.”

Luca maneuvers around to look at the sunflower tattoo a little better. “You’re right, it is much prettier. Maybe I should get the colors in permanently, huh?”

The boy’s face lights up. “Can you?”

“Yeah. I think I will. Nice job, my little tattoo artist.” Luca pulls him into a bear hug and kisses the top of Alfie’s head.

You can’t help but chuckle, glad to see them bonding again, lost in your thoughts for a moment.

“Mommy! Dad says I can be a tattoo artist!” Alfie snaps you out of your reverie.

“Is that right?” Your eyebrows shoot up, struggling to maintain a neutral expression while staring at Luca like with all due respect, what the fuck?

He raises his hands in surrender. “I just said he’s my little tattoo artist, that’s all.”

“I colored in all of Dad’s tattoos! Look!” Alfie tugs at his dad’s arm, beaming as he shows off his work.

You step forward, studying the results of the tattoo makeover. Every single tattoo is colored in; some accurately, like the sunflower and tabasco, while others (like the purple fish and chips and blue scotch bonnet)… not so much. You don’t know which one’s more amusing; your son’s artistic style, or your ex’s bashful look as he models the art works on his arms.

“Looks great, bub. Well done!” You ruffle Alfie’s hair, enjoying his improved mood.

“Can I watch Bluey now?”

You purse your lips comically. “I don’t know, bub. Why don’t you look at your checklist on the fridge and see if you can?”

Alfie bounds past you, towards the fridge, and reads the checklist out loud to himself. “Have you… brushed your teeth? Yes. Brushed your hair? Yes…” He flattens his wavy locks with the palm of his hand, continues reading with a lower murmur. “Mommy, I did everything except tidy up my room and play outside for 30 minutes!”

“Okay. Obviously we can’t play outside, so… why don’t you just go clean your room and I’ll let you watch Bluey for a bit?”

Alfie gamely nods and goes into his bedroom, his bunny socks muting his footsteps against the hardwood floor.

Meanwhile, it takes you an extra beat to realize how close you’re standing with Luca without your child between you. He rolls down the sleeves of his black t-shirt sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

“Your meeting went okay?”

“It’s alright.” You look at literally anything but the man in front of you, ultimately stopping at your potted sunflower by the windowsill. “That storm out there, on the other hand…”

“Yeah…”

You take an inconspicuous look at the hallway, making sure your son is out of earshot. “Weather reports say it might last a few more hours.”

Luca huffs, trying not to stress out about the possibility of street floods. Of all the things he missed, New York thunderstorms are not one of them. Still, this shitty weather has granted him some time with his son, at his former home… with his former spouse. And God, does he miss this more than he dreads the weather…

“Want me to make you guys dinner?” He offers earnestly.

You pull back, returning to your normal volume. “Oh. No, you don’t have to—”

“I don’t mind. Really. Might as well, right?”

You hear heavy footsteps from the bedroom and Alfie hollers from the hallway. “I’m all done!”

“Don’t forget your crayons!”

Alfie promptly makes a beeline towards his leftover mess. “Heard, Mommy.” He hurriedly puts his crayons back in the box and rushes into his room to put it away. Returning mere moments later with a newfound spring in his steps. “I’m done for real! Now can I please watch Bluey now?”

“I can cook while he gets his screen time.”

The two boys look at you with their best puppy eyes, and it’s the most disarming thing you’ve seen in a while—and the resemblance between them only makes things worse. You playfully roll your eyes in relent. “Alright, alright. Go ahead. Watch your TV and make your dinner.”

There’s a quiet little yesss from Alfie as Luca low-fives him before they scatter, one to the living room and the other to the kitchen. For a moment, you feel like you were transported back in time. For the first time in over two years, you’re caught between cartoon sounds from the TV and the kitchen alive again. All was well in the household.

“Is he still a picky eater?” Luca mouths the last two words inaudibly.

You raise your eyebrows in confirmation. “All he wants to eat is chicken nuggies.”

“I can do chicken nuggies,” he shrugs easily, rummaging through the freezer and takes out a pack of chicken breasts. “Or some version of that.”

Upon overhearing the key word, Alfie’s head all but whips toward Luca. “We’re having chicken nuggies for dinner?”

“Er, kind of.”

“Can I help?” He perks up from the back of the couch, excitement bubbling over.

Luca smiles apologetically. “Maybe later, my love. Daddy’s gonna be using a big knife…” he says as he checks the blade closely, swiping it with his thumb. “…which is dull, by the way. When was the last time you sharpened this?”

“I… have no idea.” You frown. You don’t even remember sharpening any knives… ever. Meanwhile, Luca simply rummages through the kitchen drawer, which makes you ask, “What are you doing?”

“I’m sharpening it,” he states matter-of-factly, already setting up a makeshift sharpening station which… what?

“Didn’t even know we had that,” you murmur plainly as you watch him work. Taking out a block of whetstone from the drawer (where did that even come from?) and running it under the sink. Laying out a kitchen rag and the stone on top of it.

He chuckles a little, scraping the blade against the stone at an angle, firmly but carefully. “Can’t leave you good Santoku knives without the proper sharpening tools, right?”

“You never taught me how to do it, though.”

“Yes, I have.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“What are you talking about? Back in Chicago, I—”

You burst out laughing. “Oh my God, that was one time forever ago! And you never let me sharpen the knives. You literally always do it.”

He pauses, grinning bashfully. “Fair…”

For the umpteenth time that day, Luca’s heart catches—this time from hearing you laugh. Your warm voice rings so pleasantly in his ears, and the way your face lights up… he almost forgets there’s a storm outside, because he’s got a lovely summer day right here in front of him.

And honestly, what is beautiful sunny Copenhagen compared to this warmth of the two people he loves the most?

“Alright, alright. You want a refresher? Come here.”

You gingerly take the place next to him, arms crossed so as to not invade his space. Neither of you say anything when your shoulders brush against each other. It’s brief, painstakingly so, but eerily familiar. You wouldn’t admit that you want to stay pressed against him a little longer, but… you do.

“Okay, so. You see this bit right here?” His finger runs up the line where the blade flattens into the edge. “Rest the knife on the stone on this angle, start from the heel—near the handle— and just… bring it in,” he demonstrates the inward sliding motion—short and precise and repetitive, “and work your way up to the tip.”

You silently watch him work for a moment, handling the knife. Firm and steady, but not harsh. On the contrary, it’s almost… delicate. You’ve seen many chefs work in your lifetime, but no one is as composed or stoic (or handsome, but that is beside the point) as Luca. It’s quite fascinating.

“And you do this on both sides, right?” You vaguely recall.

“Good memory.” He nods appreciatively. “Some people like to do each side one at a time, back and forth, but I like to do one side, get that burr forming…”

“What’s a burr, sir?”

Luca chuckles at your little Hamilton reference. “So when you work on this side, you’ll feel a nice little rough bit forming on the other side like this.” He slides his thumb from the knife’s spine to the edge and carefully guides your hand through the motion. “Feel that?“

Yes. That should be an easy enough answer, because yes, you do feel the rough edge of the excess metal on the blade. But it’s a bit hard to focus on that when you’re more fixated on the rough calluses of his fingertips instead…

In theory, playing a knife with your almost ex-husband is as bad as a bad idea can get. In practice, though… Having your hand in his again, feeling him so close to you, smelling his perfume…

“That’s the burr. Once you get it on one side, you can switch over to the other side and balance it out.” His voice is lower now. Softer. “And you just… do it over and over again until you’ve worked off the burr and have a smooth and sharp blade.”

Luca switches the knife to your other hand and stands behind you, hoping to God you can’t feel his pounding heart as his chest presses against your back. Gently guiding you through the sharpening motion—the firm, steady, angled scraping of the blade towards you. You swear to God, every pull brings him just a tad closer.

“So you basically have to break the knife a little to fix it?”

“That’s basically it, yeah.”

The storm feels miles away. His hands are still curled against yours. His chest flush against your back. His body heat emanates from within him and shrouds you like your favorite cardigan.

“Listen, I—”

“Thanks… for the refresher.” And with that, you put the knife down on the kitchen rag and pull away.

It takes him an extra second to snap out of it and step back to make way for you as you retreat back into your bedroom. “Yeah, yeah. No problem.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck your fucking life to hell.

***

if you've reached the end of this page, thank you so much for reading! do tell me what you think, reblog, send me asks, thoughts, ANYTHING. i would LOVE to hear your opinion!!!

#will poulter #chef luca #luca the bear #the bear fx #chef luca x reader #luca x reader #chef luca x ex-wife!reader #chef luca fic #chef luca smut #will poulter fic #will poulter fluff #will poulter angst #will poulter smut #ava writes

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roll-of-royces · 9 months ago

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HC: The LaDS Find You as a Neko

This is a request I ran into by @chryssikyu and as I love a good Neko I had fun!

Xavier considers himself to be fairly prepared for the world at large. He's not so simple as most people seem to think he is, but this he did not expect.

You are asleep, curled up on top of the covers instead of beneath them. That's not the unusual part, the two of you are avid nap takers. Many afternoons have been dedicated to curling up together and falling asleep in the sun.

This is different. This is different for several reasons. One, you're napping in nothing but a thin white nightdress that barely comes to the mid-thigh. Two, you have two large fluffy looking cat ears. Three, those ears are accompanied by a lush tail that drapes over your thigh as you slumber.

The fur has a soft pale white sheen. He has no idea how this could have happened, and he's seen so much in his life. Xavier approaches, steps light, as if he is approaching a threat instead of the light of his life. His hand reaches out, tentatively brushing the tip of your new ear. It twitches, not a trick.

He can't help himself, he sinks onto the edge of the bed, you huff but don't awaken. Before he knows it he has his hand around your tail, dragging downward to feel the soft warmth. You open your eyes, and those too have changed. Your pupils are different, cat like, though still your color.

"Do you understand me?" He asks carefully.

You hum, yawn again, and rest your head on his lap, "Xavier." Your voice is the same, still rough with sleep. Still you, just you a little different.

"What happened?" His hand comes to curl into your hair, it feels softer than it was before. It's nice.

"Dunno." You close your eyes, apparently content to go back to sleep. "Missed you."

He smiles, because that never gets old to hear. You lean into his hand, arms curling around his waist. Well, he could nap.

"Move over." He murmurs and you do as asked, knowing well enough he will join you. You'll figure this out in due time. For now he curls atop the bed, with you pressed along his side, tail twitching contentedly as he holds you to him.

It's not entirely uncommon for Zayne to find you in his office, especially since the two of you started openly stating you're a couple. Sometimes you drop in to see him, sometimes you're only there long enough to leave take-out on his desk before you're gone again.

Regardless seeing you is always a pleasant surprise. He says your name in greeting, but you keep looking out the window. You're in a hoodie, hood up. It might be Xaviers'. Zayne chews on the jealousy of that for a moment, before letting out a slow breath through his nose.

You must have been cold. He'll give you his jacket to wear home. You don't look up when he enters, eyes still pinned on something out of the window. He takes another step and sees Clopidogrel hovering on the windowsill. "We should set out some more nuts for him." Zayne says conversationally, walking toward his desk to get the bag he has there for this very purpose.

Once he's by his desk he gets a view of your face, somewhat shadowed by the hood. There is enough light to see your eyes, the unnatural shape of them. Zayne freezes, scanning you over for injuries. Bag forgotten he heads right for you, watching you track the resident squirrel.

His hand comes to your chin, pulling your face up to look at him. A doctor's gaze that floods concern through him, he pushes the hood back and is met with twitching fluffy black ears. His thumb pulls your lip up to see the sharpness of some of your teeth. He's heard of this condition only vaguely.

Harmless, short term. Like the common cold, the tightness in his shoulders relaxes. "Are you alright?"

Your eyes continue to track the squirrel, "Yes."

"You can't have him." Zayne informs you, amusement coloring his tone. He'll need to take the rest of the day off at least, make sure you're safe. Your impulsivity will be up, you're likely to do something foolish.

"Want him."

He reaches out and pets the top of your head, scratching at your scalp with his nails to distract you from the prey you are being denied. It works, your eyes slip closed, and you lean into his hand.

"We'll get you some food on the way home." He promises. "Come on, kitten."

It's the first time he's used the term of endearment but Zayne thinks it might stick.

Rafayel juggles the bags over one arm as he pushes his studio door open with his foot, calling out as soon as he's through, "If only my bodyguard came with me today. These bags are so heavy!" He gets the door closed, frowning when you don't call out in reply or approach.

Depositing the bags onto the kitchen counter Rafayel goes off in search of you. He doesn't expect what he finds. You're on the balcony outside of your shared bedroom, in nothing but one of his shirts. Which normally he would not mind, not one bit.

However. You have a pair of purple ears and a tail to match, a tail that is moving on its own, flicking from side to side. Oh no, oh no. You've got that weird cat sickness. He's read about it, he even had a nightmare once.

Rafayel rushes toward you, colliding with the balcony railing to look at you. And when you turn to him, ears pivoting, eyes strange he doesn't know what to do. "Are you ... are you alright?"

You nod, and then step into his arms. He flounders momentarily before he remembers this is you, cat or not, this is you. And he is safe. He is safe.

His arms wrap around you, as you tuck yourself against his chest. "Play with me, I'm bored."

Rafayel relaxes further hearing you sound normal, if a bit needy. He likes when you're needy, he likes the fact you need him. "What do you want to do? Not eat me I hope."

Your eyes spark with mirth, and then you sink your teeth into the side of his neck. He squeaks, but you let go and it didn't really hurt.

"I'm not on the menu." He scolds. "Find another fish to chew on."

#l&ds #love and deepspace #lads #xavier love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader #xavier x reader #neko #lads headcanons

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h4neypot · 11 days ago

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i love you, i'm sorry

pairing: jschlatt x reader summary: you come back to your home state of new york, not expecting to run into schlatt, your long-time best friend turned boyfriend turned ex. genre: angst / fluff not edited!

Walking through the streets of New York made you feel cold. Well, yes, it was in the middle of December in the northern hemisphere, and yes, this winter was the harshest in a while, but those didn’t affect you as much as the heartbreak and hurt did.

The last time you were in this state, you were still dating Schlatt. The two of you grew up together: running away from each other screaming “cooties,” making fun of each other during the awkward stages, and realizing that the warm and safe feeling was love. You went through it all with Schlatt. He was your everything – the one constant throughout your life.

It was only when you moved out of state that things went bad. You got a better job offer in Pennsylvania, not only would it pay more, but it was what you dreamed of doing. Schlatt was reluctant, but with you assuring that nothing would change, he eventually cheered you on and hugged you goodbye at the airport gates.

Then, he moved to Texas. The already unstable relationship between you two worsened as the distance got bigger. You were busy, he was busy, and all of a sudden, all of the terrible aspects of a long-distance relationship rose. You felt insecure and needy asking Schlatt to call or text. Schlatt often snapped at you due to lack of sleep or stress, making you feel worse about it. You held onto hope that it would get better soon, but before you knew it, he sent a text saying you two should break up.

You were baffled, of course. How could that bastard do it over text? Years of knowing you, years of loving you, and yet he couldn’t get the balls to call? You went through the five stages of grief – denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally, acceptance. It took months for you to get to the final stage. Some days though, when things were rough, it was like you were back to square 1 and all you felt was anger and sadness towards it all.

It didn’t help that Schlatt would call you every once in a while, and you, you who was always there for him no matter what, answered. You answered every single time without fail. And yeah, you felt like an idiot. He broke up with you; he shattered your heart into pieces and left you there to deal with it alone. He constantly berated you towards the end of the relationship, he was awful. Yet, you were always there, whispering soothing sentences to him when he called about feeling stressed, about not feeling the love and passion of his work, about missing you.

You were so deep in your thoughts that you didn’t notice the person walking in front of you. You bumped into the stranger. The other guy spoke first, “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking and-”

The voice was too familiar. It was the same voice of the man who said he’d love you forever, the man who said you two were destined to be, meant to be, and the man who called you every so often saying he made a mistake, missed you, and you should come home.

Schlatt was standing right in front of you. You haven’t seen him in months – you two broke up over the summer. He was wearing a black t-shirt, dark brown jacket, and light brown pants. His hair was long and fluffy, you almost wanted to reach out and run your hands through it like you used to. He looked good. And you hated that he looked good.

“Schlatt?”

It was like he didn’t recognize you until you spoke. His mouth opened slightly in shock and said your name as if he wasn’t expecting it to be you. “What are you doing home?”

“It’s Christmas.” You shrugged. “Where else to celebrate the holiday than in New York? Home?”

“You left home.” He deadpanned.

Ouch. We’re still not over that? You thought. Fucking hypocrite.

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion and anger, “So did you? You moved to bum fuck Texas, Schlatt.”

He exhaled a bit at that, horribly attempting to conceal a laugh, “I moved back to the Big Apple.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Why didn’t you call?”

“Why do I need to?”

He scoffed at that. Perhaps you were being petty and harsh, but a part of you felt like it was necessary. Like it was a way for you to make him hurt as he did to you.

He cleared his throat, “Mom still having everyone over for Christmas?”

Every year, your mom held a big holiday dinner for family friends two or three days before Christmas. Schlatt and his family were always invited. You hated that one of your favorite traditions ended up being something you were dreading now.

“Yeah, she called your mom about it. Mom didn’t tell you?”

It was unspoken but not unnoticed that the two of you called each other’s moms “Mom.” It was an inside joke between the four of you; when you and Schlatt finally started dating, both of your moms made fun of you, saying that they planned it from the start and waited forever for it to happen, and Schlatt’s mom told you to call her “Mom,” saying you have been a part of the family since the day you and he met. Everything about this conversation felt bittersweet.

“No. Don’t remember.”

“Well, it’s tomorrow night. You don’t need to come.”

He scoffed again. “Of course, I’m coming. Why are you acting like this?”

“Acting like what?”

“Like,” He gestured his hands around, “I dunno, like mean.”

Now you were the one to scoff. “Mean? Me being mean? That’s funny coming from you.”

Schlatt scrunched his face. “What?”

“Schlatt, come on, don’t act like you were kind. You were mine, but you were awful.” You exasperated, slowly becoming annoyed at him. How did he not know how much he hurt you?

He said your name, “I mean, I was going through it, yeah, but I wasn’t terrible. We broke up because it was too much for both of us.”

“It was killing me, Schlatt.” It felt like a ball of fire was growing brighter and brighter, fueled by the anger and hurt you thought passed. “You, I mean, you called me names, called me needy, and annoying and too much,” You stepped closer to him, jabbing your finger into his chest at each point, “when all I wanted was you. All I wanted was to spend time with you, call you, ask how you were doing. That’s all I fucking wanted, Schlatt. And you broke up with me!” You threw your hands up, scoffing at the sick joke. “Over text, mind you. As if the years we spent dating, the years we spent being best friends weren’t enough for you to give me the decency of a phone call.”

You started tearing up at this point; you silently prayed they wouldn’t fall.

“And worse of all, after you broke my heart, you kept on calling. You wanted me in your life enough to keep talking to me, but not enough to be with me. You made me continue to hold onto your baggage despite ending things with me. You are cruel and evil and I hate you. I will never forgive you.” The tears streamed down your face despite the will to keep them in, and you hit his chest with your fists, hoping it’d hurt him as much as you hurt (you knew they would never compare).

Your tiny jabs and hits were stopped when Schlatt held onto your wrists with his hands. You looked up and saw his face. You were so close to him you could count the freckles on his face. You saw how he looked the same but still different from the boy you grew up loving. He had the same eyes, nose, and lips, but he lost the baby face, grew a beard, and even had more prominent wrinkles. You kept crying at the thought of what happened to you two, “I just don’t understand how we ended up like this, Schlatt.”

“I know, darling. I know.” He moved his hands from your wrist to your hands. You reveled in the familiar warmth you missed. His hands were still much bigger than yours. “I’m sorry. Baby, I’m so sorry.”

You could see tears start to well up in his eyes too, “I didn’t know. Okay? I didn’t know that you felt like this. I knew I was too busy and I know you, baby, I know that you would understand. It just wasn’t fair for you. You, I mean, fuck, you deserve everything and more, you have to know that? And I couldn’t give it to you. I mean, I was a mess and hated everything in my life; I hated Texas, I hated my job, but I love you. You were the only thing keeping me going, but I couldn’t even love you the way you deserve and be a good boyfriend. I knew you would never leave me, so yeah, I pushed you away, but I didn’t realize how mean I was, and I’m so sorry. This isn’t an excuse but just an explanation.”

He leaned his forehead against yours; you smelt the scent of his cologne and closed your eyes to the images of tens, hundreds, thousands of memories between you two coming back.

“I love you. I will spend the rest of my life loving you. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

You were overwhelmed by it all. Schlatt knew you so well that he pushed you away because he thought it was best for you. He did it for you. The words you desperately wanted to hear were finally hitting your ears. Schlatt still loved you.

His hand cupped your cheek. You instinctively leaned towards it, and he wiped a tear away with his thumb. “You don’t have to say anything. Just know that I love you and I’m sorry.”

You kissed him.

It felt like the first time you kissed him back when you were both thirteen. It was rushed and messy, but passionate and full of love. You gently rested your hand on his cheek, your fingers brushing against the rough texture of his beard. In response, he lifted his other hand to your face, his palms cradling your cheeks with a familiar warmth.

You pulled away first, and Schlatt looked like he couldn’t believe what happened. Like he didn't expect you to kiss him at all. Hell, you didn’t expect you to kiss him either.

“I love you.” You said, voice barely above a whisper. “I understand why you did what you did. But I’m not letting you off so easily mister.”

Schlatt smiled wide, a sight you missed dearly, and held your hand. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

“We still need to talk and you know things won’t go straight to how they were, I mean I probably have like severe trust issues and lik-”

He put his hand over your mouth. “Baby, stop rambling.”

You licked his palm. He scrunched his face in disgust, “I forgot you did that.”

Sticking out your tongue, you teased, “Forgot deez nuts in your mouth.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise and laughed, an honest and real one, making you laugh with him. “I missed you.”

Calming down from the giggles, you couldn’t help but sigh, “I missed you too.”

“It’s cold. Let’s go back to yours.”

“Alright, take a woman out before getting in her pants, god, Schlatt.”

He rolled his eyes, “No you freak, I wanna say hi to your mom. I haven’t been stopping by since the, you know.”

“Break up isn’t a slur or anything Schlatt.” You giggled, making fun of him.

“Whatever. Come here.” He put his arm around your shoulder and the two of you walked towards your home – hearts lighter and fuller.

ok so i lied and am uploading this rn because i love it idc im wild and free again this is unedited so sry about mistakes this was supposed to end in angst but whatever it's the holiday spirit i love me some childhood friends to lovers to exes to lovers again! here are some songs i listened to on repeat while writing: merry christmas, please don't call i love you, i'm sorry scott street

#jschlatt x reader #schlatt x reader #schlatt x you #jschlatt fluff #jschlatt angst

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justanothervigalanty · 4 months ago

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things batmom did for her kid’s when they were younger and they still think about! (The robins)

(All art is mine)

Dick

-remodelled his intier room after he mentioned at dinner he missed being able to practise his acrobatics right in tents and not having to ask you to drive him two an hour away gym, so when he was at school you put up some silks, a hoop, mats on the ground just to be safe, but his favourite thing was the flying Grayson’s poster you put above his bed.

-sat down with him for 10 minutes before bed and helped him learn some words from the English dictionary and you always helped with English (as he constantly struggled and still asks for help sometimes reading some emails).

-forced asked Bruce to bye a small motorbike jacket and helmet so you could take dick out on your one from when you were a young adult that you saw him watching as you fixed the engine, Bruce complimented and dick got a bright blue jacket and navy helmet that you wrote dick Grayson on and dick put his painted hand print on the back, (you still have it!).

Jason

-simply hugging him after he started crying and repeatedly apologising after he accidentally called you mom (which turned into ma later on) for the first time, he thought you would get mad but you told him he could call you mom or y/n you didn’t mind only if he wanted to though. -you took him to the library every Monday afternoon, after he told you he wanted to learn how to read better so he wouldn’t be behind when he started school

-You again forced polity asked for another motorbike helmet because Jason had seen your bike in the garage this is how it went:

“Don’t we have a child’s halmet?” “Not for Jace we don’t.” “Why can’t he have Richard’s old one?” “Number one Jace likes red not blue, number two i have had enough of Jason having the second hand treatment, number 3 call him by his nickname you know dick hate’s it when you call him that.” “Fine” “Yay, thanks babe” “You are a child.” “Say that again you’ll be on the couch tonight!” (From out the room)

so yea Jason got his own red version off the helmet. (You still havethis one two, right next to dick’s on a shelf)

Tim

-this one is very simple but it means a lot to Tim. You and Bruce had been arguing a lot after Jason’s death and one night you took Tim and when out to coffee shop. You just didn’t want to be around Bruce and we’re not about to leave another one of your sons with him. Well you and Tim spent around 3 hours at the coffee place and during those 3 hours Tim asked if Jason would hate him for replacing him. So you spent the next 2 and a half hours talking about how Jason would off loved Tim or how Tim was his own person or reassuring him that he wasn’t the cause for all the arguments or that dick would come around eventually but was still hurting really badly after Jason died.

-you were the first person Tim came out to saying he had a crush on kon’al Kent or when kon asked him out he asked your opinion for everything! What to wear, how to act, what to say. Everything!

Damian (I can’t draw Damian 🥲 so I found this)

-Damian din’t like you at all so when you learn Aribic he was shocked to hear *good morning* come from your mouth he was surprised! You did this for 2 things. 1 two help Damian feel more comfortable and 2 so you could cuss out talia for sleeping with Bruce.

-you had some fencing equipment put out so Damian wouldn’t continue to butcher your lawn. (The poor bushes)

-you yelled at talia multiple times for miss treating YOUR son badly.

-and you helped dick bye Damian bat cow

#jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake wayne #damian wayne #batmom reader #jason todd x mom!reader #dick Grayson x mom!reader #damian wayne x mom!reader #tim drake x mom!reader

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margowritesthings · 1 year ago

Text

A Job Well Done

pairing: Arthur Morgan x reader (f) word count: 4944 words warnings: 18+ minors dni, sexually explicit, oral (f giving), rough oral, a little choking, a touch of voyeurism, explicit language, it's pretty much a blowjob fic authors note: idk what to say... this started as a little drabble because me and my fiancé love having a little smoke together at night and.... well, here we are I guess?? i hope you enjoy you lovely lot, and if you've asked to be tagged and you're not please let me know!! I have a new system for keeping track of my taglist and I may have lost some requests in the transfer

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries @delilah-grimes @mrsarthurmorgan7 @twola@the-marsh-harrier @wildfloweroutlaw @photo1030 @luvliewriting@pine4pple-b0i *if i've missed you please let me know!!!*

You pull Arthur’s jacket tighter around your shoulders, settling into the old wooden chair while it creaks beneath you. Thanks to being in the middle of the Lemoyne swamps, it isn’t too cold despite the moon hanging so high in the sky above you, the jacket is more for comfort. From where you sit, you can see near the whole camp, watching lanterns flicker off incrementally as each member of your makeshift family retires for the night. A few of the boys stay up, drinking by the fire, their voices muffled and distant in the thick air.

It’s been a week to the day since you last saw Arthur, before he left to track a rather sizable bounty down and attempt to cushion out the camp funds, and God do you miss him. The days feel so much longer, nights so lonely you’ve considered saddling up and finding the bastard yourself just to bring him home sooner. Comfort can be found, though, in the ways Arthur’s presence has bled so deeply into your life that his physical being doesn’t even need to be here.

His smell lingers on the jacket he left (the one he wore every day before he had to leave just so you could wear it when you missed him), that perfect mix of tobacco and whiskey and something so ineffably Arthur that you soak up every time you wrap it around your frame.

He’s there in the routines you've built your lives around, intertwined as they are, the ones you can’t shake even if he’s not beside you. The cup of coffee in a morning, his so much better tasting than yours but you try anyway. The first morning after he left, you made two, ending up giving the extra to a very grateful Abigail to save face.

There’s a nightly routine, too. The one where you get ready for bed, then climb through the window to meet him on your balcony. He’s always there waiting with a cigarette hanging from his lips, patting his lap ready for you to crawl on. He’ll drag a match across his boot, (or sometimes the bottom of yours, if you’re still wearing them) lighting up the smoke before handing it to you. You’ll pass it between each other, catching up on your days, limbs entangled just how they should be as you watch Shady Belle fall asleep around you.

Without him, those routines bring you comfort, grasping onto the remnants of your cowboy until his safe return. That’s why you’re sitting in this spot, pulling a cigar out of the little tin stash box Arthur left behind. Normally it’s just a cigarette, you could never survive a cigar a night and have the throat to tell the tale, but there’s something inexplicably Arthur about this brand of smokes, something you’re seeking tonight.

You pluck a match from the tin, striking it against the table beside you, never having gotten the knack of igniting the thing on your boot as effortlessly as Arthur does, and light the cigar between your lips. The all-familiar woody essence dances across your tongue, your tired muscles relaxing from the first few tokes.

It’s just you, the moon and the crickets as you sit on the balcony, Arthur’s smoke between your lips. You wonder what he’s doing. He should be sleeping, but knowing him he’s probably up planning, or doing exactly what you are right now. You pray he’s safe, hasn’t been gotten by the law or worse, gotten himself killed. You can’t let yourself even think about that, the very idea bringing a tremble to your limbs. To combat the sudden spike in anxiety, the next time you bring the cigar to your lips you drag in just that bit more smoke, letting it soak down your spine. Not nearly as experienced in smoking as Arthur, you cough a little, but you recover much quicker than you used to.

Memories of that first time, of Arthur offering you the little brown stick and you nervously nodding, bring a little smile to your face. Oh, how you spluttered, Arthur giving you his drink on instinct, only realising that the whiskey burn would do the opposite of help once it was too late. You’d have been in your right mind to be embarrassed as hell, but by the way he chuckled as he rubbed circles around your back told you that he found it nothing but adorable.

You sit there for a few minutes, basking in the precious peace so seldom found nowadays and taking a drag every now and then, the smoke riding a sigh from your lips. Your eyes slip closed, trying to shut off as many senses as you can to really connect with that smell and taste, imagining him emerging from your bedroom window to be here with you.

He’s much less graceful than you are, often catching some part of his person on the windowsill when he climbs out onto the balcony. So many nights spent patching up little holes in his pant legs, right where that out sticking nail used to be in the frame before he ‘bested it in combat’ (i.e. pulled it out with a hunting knife and threw it ceremoniously in the lake).

Manifestation is a powerful tool, you’ve always believed that, but you still nearly jump out of your skin when you feel a large hand grasp your shoulder just as you imagined, Arthur’s gruff, hushed whisper tickling the words “hey, sweetheart” into the skin of your neck. It takes you a second to catch your breath, heart racing from the shock before everything registers and reality sets in.

“Arthur?”

He’s here.

“C’mere, darlin’.”

You fly out of your seat, the rickety old thing nearly splintering under the force, launching yourself into his open arms to burrow yourself into him. Every part of him consumes your senses and you drink it all in like an addict. The smell, the real thing, much more of that Arthur essence than the whiskey or cigars, probably because he forewent breaks in his journey for those little pleasures to get back to you sooner.

He seems to be taking you in as much as you are him, inhaling long through his nose and sighing it out contentedly, feeling whole again after so long without you in his arms.

“I missed ya’, beautiful.” He says softly into your hair, holding you tight against him, his knuckles brushing up and down the small of your back through layers of clothes you’ve stolen from him.

“I missed you so much…” You mumble into his shirt, hardly able to breathe through the wall of hard chest muscle you’re pressed against, caring even less.

It’s only then do you remember the cigar, forgotten and abandoned, smoking away on the table propped up on a jar lid turned makeshift ashtray. Most of the boys don’t bother with one, and neither did Arthur, until a fateful night a few months before you started dating when you first handed him the jar and told him you read something about birds and rabbits eating the butts of cigarettes. He kept the little piece of junk right next to his bedside, waiting for you to find it after that first night together.

Arthur spots your momentary pull of attention, pulling his chest away to raise a brow down at you with a little chuckle rumbling his chest.

“Having a fancy smoke of a night, are we?”

A cheeky little smirk- Arthur’s favourite, actually- tugs at the corner of your lips, waiting patiently for him to kiss it away.

“The smell reminds me of you…” you play coy, earring yourself that kiss when Arthur lifts you up to his height, kissing you softly, letting his world and yours fall back into place together.

“Well I’m here now, angel. Wanna sit? Could do with a nice cigar with my girl to celebrate a job well done.”

You’re eager to nod, heart fluttering at the prospect of getting to sit with him and hear all about his trip. He untangles from you to sit down first, patting his lap for you to crawl into. You fit perfectly together (you should do, you were made for eachother), head resting on his shoulder, legs splayed over his thighs with your arm draped over his shoulder. The cigar has gone out, so Arthur strikes a match so expertly on his spurs before shaking it out and placing his hand on the small of your back for support. You lean into him, watching him take puffs of the cigar and feeling the tiniest bit of tension leave his joints. He looks so natural with a smoke between his teeth, commanding an air of power with each movement he makes. Smoking doesn’t suit just everyone, you think, but God, does it suit him.

“We’re celebrating? You got the bastard, then?”

“Sure did,” he says, smoke spilling from his lips with each syllable. Arthur looks you over again, drinking in the dearly missed view, before kissing you on the forehead and flipping the cigar between his fingers to offer it up, “Eventually found him up in Fort Brennand, but he weren’t alone. Nearly lost a damn eye, but luckily only Woffard had to be brought in alive, so I dropped the other bastards and ran.”

You hang on his every word, your hero. You know he’s downplaying the fight, the danger of it all, but he does it so that you don’t worry every time he’s gone. It never works, and you always do, but you love him for trying.

“Oh, Arthur, I’m so glad you’re alright…” You coo, pressing a hand to his cheek, feeling the weeks worth of stubble scratching against your palm. He nuzzles into your touch, not unlike a cat, and your find yourself keeping your hand there to mindlessly play with his hair, tipping his hat off to put on your own head. He chuckles, reaching to adjust it on you.

“Course I am, couldn’t leave you here all alone with this buncha’ fools, could I? Besides, someones gotta bring home the bacon around here, and you know Marston’s too trigger happy to bring a bounty in alive.”

“So you got the full price?” Your eyes gleam, the proudest smile on your features as Arthur nods and shifts both your weights for a moment to pull out a stack of bills and smack them on the table dramatically.

“You’re damn straight I did, baby.”

Of course he did. Arthur never fails, and God knows how much the camp needs this right now, freedoms diminishing by the day as Dutch makes more enemies and plans jobs that just seem to keep going wrong. But you don’t want to think about that right now. Right now, there is only you and Arthur, and the promise of a whole night spent with him uninterrupted. You hand him the cigar back, along with a stolen kiss, and he takes another mesmerising drag. The way he holds it, every so often tipping the ash into the first gift you ever gave him, it does things to you that you just can’t explain. It’s just a cigar, and yet you’re pressing your thighs together tight to futilely subdue the tightness coiling between them.

“I’m so proud of you… I always am.” Unkempt locks of hair are twisted between your fingers, your face so close to Arthur’s you can pepper his cheek, temple and lips, whenever not occupied, with little kisses, Arthur’s hat sometimes tipping up against his forehead on your head. The two of you are always like this after a few days apart, unable to get enough of each other or keep your hands off one another. You shift your weight to access him better, catching his bottom lip between your teeth to press a long, tender kiss there. He hums under you, hand splaying under your jacket to grasp at your shirt. It’s seconds before you feel it, that hardening that nudges up against your thigh, prodding and reminding you just how much Arthur has missed you.

You pull away from the kiss, just enough to raise a teasing brow at how sensitive your cowboy is to your touch. He shrugs, unashamed, with that cheeky grin and those glistening eyes directed right at you.

“What? I missed ya…” His words are accompanied with a pinch of your ass, which makes you writhe on top of his stiffness, the friction dragging a low growl from deep within his chest.

“I can see that, cowboy… I missed you too. I missed you more.” You emphasise, nipping at his lip again and splaying your fingers across his chest. He rises to your touch, and you feel him stiffen more so under you. It takes a second of manoeuvring, but you’re soon straddling him, hovering above him like the angel he sees you to be. From this angle, with the moon behind you, you’re glowing.

“You absolutely did not, you little siren…” He growls again, pulling at the flesh of your ass so that you’re grinding against him, the friction of denim against denim igniting you both and burning so wonderfully.

“Oh, yeah? I can prove it.” There’s a little cock of your head, a raise of one teasing brow as you start to slide off him. He looks confused, disappointed, even, until your knees rest on the planks of wood on the balcony floor and he instinctively spreads his legs to give you the space between them. Your fingers splay across his thick thighs, and they tense under your touch, as does Arthur’s jaw. He’s starved after a week without you, clearly trying to reign in a control he’s struggling to possess. There’s no wonder, having his girl knelt before him like this.

“You wanna take this to the bedroom?” He growls out, abandoning the still smoking cigar in the jar lid. You look up at him, peeking out from under the rim of his hat.

“No.” You reach for the cigar, taking a few drags yourself before flipping it in your fingers just like he did and placing it between his teeth, “Finish your smoke.”

A distant laugh captures Arthur’s attention for a second, reminding you both just how close you are to the other gang members. You’re somewhat hidden by the railing, but if they looked in your direction, Arthur is fully visible from the chest up. A simple bob of your head- and you’re planning on plenty- would bring you into view.

The look Arthur gives you when he quickly diverts his attention back from Marston and the others is downright feral, especially when your hands reach for his belt buckle. Nimble fingers make quick word of the obstruction, and you’re soon pulling Arthur’s thick, long length out from his jeans. He groans at your very touch, involuntarily bucking his hips up into your hand.

You laugh, the sound a tempting little giggle as you tell him “Patience, cowboy…”

He almost snarls in response, clearly having been goddamn patient enough over the last week where all he could do is fuck himself with your name on his lips and the thought of you knelt just like this between his legs at the forefront of his mind, always.

Just as you lean in, when your soft lips trace over his rosy, swollen head, he pulls you back by plucking his hat from atop your head and throwing it to the side. He rests the cigar between the fingers of his free hand to free his mouth to speak to you.

“Need to see you while I fuck that pretty little moutha’ yours, angel…”

His words soak through you (and soak you through), and you just can’t wait a second longer, needy to have his cock deep down your throat, desperate for the burning of your lungs and the stinging in your eyes when he loses that control he so often vehemently clings to.

Unable to wait a second longer, you run your tongue from base to tip, feeling every vein pulsing under your muscle and eliciting a deep groan from Arthur. When you finally take him in your mouth, his hand reaches to cup your cheek, following you down as you take as much of him as you can.

“Fuck.” He groans, fingers reaching to tangle in your hair, scratching at your scalp. He’s probably louder than he should be, your eyes flickering to the general direction of the others as a warning, but they soon snap back to your cowboy, an intense eye contact burning at your skin as the head of his cock bumps the back of your throat. Arthur never takes his eyes off you, guiding you up and down his length and bringing the smoke to his lips. The tip of the cigar flares a deep, fiery orange, and smoke billows from his mouth with each laboured breath you coax from him. The way he’s sitting, fingers of one hand pulling at your hair, controlling your movements, and the other limply holding the smoke, he exudes a power many seek to master but never quite get. It makes your heart swell and your cunt throb for him, knowing on your knees before him is the only place you ever want to be, knowing only you inhabit it.

You can taste Arthur, his salty essence leaking from the pure ecstasy you’re providing and spit pools in your throat, mixing with it and dribbling down your chin. Arthur catches it with his thumb, guiding you off his cock to push the digit into your mouth and let you suckle from it. You do, hungrily, adjusting on your knees to better take Arthur deep down your throat and-

“Arthur! That you?”

Marston.

For eyes widen at each other, Arthur instinctively pushing you a little lower by your shoulder to keep you out of sight. John hasn’t seen you, and you’d like to keep it that way, being in the incriminating position you are between Arthur’s legs.

You spot the irritated sigh, the twitch of Arthur’s jaw as he plasters a fake friendliness onto his features and peers over the balcony to see his brother standing on the clearing below.

“Sure is. Whatchu’ want?”

Straight to the point.

“We didn’t hear you get back. How long’ve you been here?”

All that tension you’ve worked so hard to dissipate comes back to Arthur’s form with a crashing force. You can almost hear his plea for just one second a’ goddamn peace, merely by the way he sighs before answering.

“Not long, thought I’d try and sneak past you fools and get some shut eye.”

Subtle, cowboy.

Ever oblivious, or simply not caring, John continues, “How’d it go, then? You got the bastard?”

He has you pressed against his thigh to hide you from sight, cock standing to attention right beside your face. It’s too tempting, especially with a none the wiser Marston stood right below. When your tongue darts out, hovering above Arthur’s twitching, aching cock, his eyes flick down to you, warning residing deep in his eyes. You take it as less of a warning, more a challenge.

You wouldn’t.

Oh, but I would.

And you do. You lift up, just enough to fit the head of his throbbing cock past your lips and slide the whole length in. It bumps the back of your throat, but upon hearing Arthur’s strangled, poorly hidden groan, you can’t seem to stop yourself.

“Y-uh… Yeah, I got ‘em…”

It’s impressive, how he can just about hold a conversation despite his cock being so far down your throat his balls rest on your chin.

You can’t see John, but you can only imagine how his head must tilt and his brows must pull together at the strange response from Arthur.

“You alright, brother?”

He won’t be.

You blink up at Arthur, feigning an innocent, near angelic expression as you inhale through your nose and push him even further into you. You hum, low and quiet, letting the vibrations pass through him. Arthur whimpers, instantly knocking any and all sounds you’ve ever heard from top spot and replacing them as your favourite in the whole world.

“I-I’m fine. Just tired.” He tries to hint again, to no avail. His fingers are digging into your shoulder with a bruising force, that control slipping bit by bit with every passing second, every little movement. Tears prick at your eyes, that burning in your lungs you’ve been reaching for finally igniting. You’re stuffed with him, feeling so full that it’s hard to breathe. When you go to release him, to be able to gasp for precious air, you realise you can’t, Arthur’s huge hand holding you right in place with his palm flush against the back of your neck. Revenge.

“Where’s the Mrs?”

A raise of a brow. You’re not married, but everything is so naturally right between you and Arthur that the gang just seem to have defaulted to that. It makes you beam, wanting nothing more than to be this man’s wife, the kind of wife that makes him cum down your throat while he has a menial conversation.

“S-She’s- fuck…” When he grips harder at you, you gag around his length, tears now streaming down your cheeks and mixing with your spittle and the little bits of precum that leak out from Arthur. “She’s in bed. I-I better go check on her, a-actually.” He whimpers again, fingers now gripping into your hair to keep you in place. You’re not sure how much longer you can last like this, struggling to breathe, overflowing and, God, so wet for him.

John sounds unconvinced. You’d giggle, if you could.

“Alright… Well, g’night, brother.”

Arthur barely manages a grunt, and you can feel his thighs tensing and twitching from the sheer effort of not bucking his hips up into you and giving the pair of you away. He stills, most likely waiting for Marston to fuck off already, before he rips you away from him and pulls you to your feet, gripping your aching jaw with force enough force to keep it open.

“You goddamn siren.” He isn’t mad. He’s trying to be, but you know Arthur far too well, and he’s burning with a fire far hotter than mere anger. Need.

The mischievous glint in your eye is all you can offer for response, what with his iron grip on your face, but you do manage to slip your tongue out and lick the pad of his thumb, tasting the mixture of fluids still lingering.

It’s all getting too much, knowing what you just did and who you did it around, hearing Arthur unable to string a sentence together because of you. You don’t think you’ve ever been so turned on in your life, so desperate for a release that you’re pathetically writhing in Arthur’s hold. He notices, forced anger on his features replaced with a cockiness that only comes from knowing he’s regaining the power in the situation.

Your cheeks tingle when he releases you, sitting back in the seat and leaning back, one elbow resting on the arm of the old wooden chair and picking the cigar back up. God, you could ride him in that chair till morning, if you thought the wood wouldn’t splinter under the force.

“You gonna finish what you started, my little siren?” He asks, taking an especially long toke from the smoke while he waits for you to drop to your knees before him. Your cunt throbs, screaming out for his attention, but it would seem your antics have earned you punishment.

Your knees hit the wood with a force, though an involuntary whimper escapes you, hips grinding pathetically against nothing. Arthur notices, smirking like a goddamn cheshire cat at his little wanton whore.

“Patience, angel.” Your own words echo back to you like a slap in the face. You definitely deserve this.

The grip you had on the power in this game you’re playing with Arthur officially disappears when his hand snakes around the back of your neck, grasping at your hair and winding it around his wrist like a leash. You have to tilt your head so the tugging at your scalp is a mere burn rather than a sharp pain, but that’s just where he wants you.

“Now, little siren, I’m gonna teach ya’ some manners, and you’re gonna finish what you started, alright? And if you’re a good girl, maybe I’ll think about getting that sweet little cunt of yours off…”

It’s all it takes, the promise of Arthur’s fingers deep inside you while he sucks on your clit just how you like it, lapping up your juices like a man starved, and the defiance in your eyes dissipates. Arthur bends you to his whim, messy, sloppy putty in his hands as he drags you onto his weeping cock. You’re all but drooling for him, leaking out of the corners of your mouth when he slips into you. Your scalp tingles with the pull, especially when Arthur involuntarily tightens his grip with a hiss of his breath. His tip bumps the back of your throat, but he doesn’t stop even when you’ve fit all of him in that you can.

“Fuck, good girl, just like that baby girl…” he groans, and when you open your eyes to look up to him, he is watching you with a gaze so intense you feel like it could tear you apart. The tension burns between you, coiling so tight the chirp of a nearby cricket could snap it.

There’s an unspoken question in your eyes when you start to nearly choke on his length of when you’ll be released, but his eyes darken, “Come on, baby, you can take more, can’t you?”

He seems to register your fear, but it phases him little. It seems more a challenge, really, coaxing him into rocking his hips into you, pushing you even further onto his cock until you feel it start to breach past your throat in a way you didn’t even know possible. You splutter, wriggling and writhing as you try your hardest to breathe through your nose.

“Shh… good girl,” he coos, a ravenous look taking over your usually so lovable cowboy. You’ve pushed him, and God do you live for it. “Not much further… wanna see you take all of my cock, alright? You gonna do that for me, angel?”

You can’t nod, but it isn’t much of a question, not much choice available with your limited movements and the way Arthur has completely commandeered your body. You’re irrevocably his, body and soul.

It doesn’t feel possible to fit more of him in, your throat burning for relief that won’t come until Arthur is satisfied, but when he bucks his hips into you, you feel his base press against your nose. He groans hard, the noise initially from the sensation of having your throat wrapped around his cock, but when he sees the sight of you, tear stained and gagging on him, the moan is pulled out into a noise of pure ecstasy.

“Good girl… my good fuckin’ girl.”

His thumb rubs lovingly over your wet cheek, a sensation you cling to as the corners of your vision get fuzzy. Fuck, you’re not sure how much longer you can hold out, but you’re so desperate to feel Arthur’s spend trickling down your throat, feel him lose control and moan just for you that you’d honestly be willing to die for it.

Your expression, complete with lust-fogged, watery eyes, and beautifully flushed skin, teases the last of Arthur’s restraint like a razor thin blade against that final thread. When it finally snaps, you’re allowed one gasp for air, before he’s thrusting back into you hard. You can feel him stiffen, even more so than before, as his hips splutter into your mouth and he starts to tumble over the precipice into that realm of pleasure that only the two of you share.

“F-Fuck, sweetheart, I’m gonna-” But he interrupts himself with a visceral, primal groan, the vibration of it shattering the both of you. You take advantage of his practically inebriated state to regain some of your own anatomy, managing to swirl your tongue around his pulsing head inside your mouth. The hot, salty spend blooms across your tongue at that, Arthur guiding you by the cheek to bob up and down on his cock while he paints your throat white. His moans are a melody you’ll never tire of, animalistic and vulnerable all the same.

It feels like it never stops, Arthur’s spend filling your mouth up and leaking out from the corners of your lip. You can hardly stay still, writhing your needy cunt against your own heel, desperate for a reward you’re earning when you look him in the eye and swallow it all down. Pride blooms across Arthur’s features, saturated with a love that warms you from the inside out. His thumb caresses your face softly, wiping the tear tracks as you finally release his cock from your mouth and he guides you to your feet, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then nose, then lips.

“My good girl…” He coos, barely above a whisper as you breathe each other in, both as breathless as the other. Your throat aches, your jaw burning, but you’d do it a thousand times over to experience what you just did all over again.

“Now…” He splits the sentence with another kiss, catching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “Get on inside, sweetheart, I think you’ve earned yourself a reward.”

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan x you #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fanfiction #arthur morgan fanfic #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead redeption 2 #red dead 2

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jadeylovesmarvelxo · 10 months ago

Text

Older Eddie x Reader

Smutty, slightly angsty mini fic, minors shoo, 18+

🖤

You shouldn't be here. You knew that. But after a final fight with your boyfriend Dominic you had come to the one person that you felt safe with.

Eddie Munson's reputation in the town proceeded him, he was the big bad wolf that everyone should stay away from, had woman eating out of the palm of his hands and didn't give a fuck what anyone though.

Eddie was your next door neighbour and you'd been intrigued by him from the minute you seen him.

He was also so fucking hot. Panty dropping hot, and you were having the best sex of your life with him for the last few weeks.

You knock on his door and he opens it, he's standing all smug, a giant smirk on his face. "What brings you here at this time princess?"

He knows what you're doing here he always knows but he's just teasing you, tying you up in knots with how good he looked. His messy curls are tied up in a bun and he's wearing those jeans that makes his ass look amazing, the leather jacket that you loved.

"Let me guess? Dominic was being an asshole and you came running to me to make you feel better hmm sweetheart?" he plays with a strand of your hair, it flusters you immediately. His touch never fails to send you in a spin.

"I really like being with you Eddie" you murmur and it's the truth. The honesty in your voice must throw him as he's quiet for a minute.

"You like how I make you come so hard that you almost black out. That I fuck you senseless and in a way that your useless prick of a boyfriend could never do ... and princess? It's my fucking pleasure" he murmurs and tugs you close to him.

He's so cocky, so sure of himself but it's not like he isn't telling the truth.

"Get on the bed sweetheart. When I'm done with you, you won't even remember that dickheads name"

...

Eddie moves to kiss your neck, uses his fingers to pleasure you, pumping in and out of your sweet spot and sending spasms of pleasure through.

He's made quick work of your clothes and thrown them on the floor, along with his jeans. His lips move down your body and it's like they are everywhere, burning into your skin.

It's been a few days since you were last here and you've missed this. The exquisite pleasure only Eddie could give you.

Eddie is in no hurry to rush any of this, takes his time as works you into a frenzy, has you so wet and mewling for him.

"Please Eddie, I need you" You moan and his brown eyes fill with amusement as he strokes your cheek, his lips hover over yours.

"Oh sweetheart you're so fucking needy for me, does your limp dick boyfriend get you this hot... No. Of course he doesn't" he chuckles.

Taking him by surprise you manage to end up on top of him. Straddling him and your hands run down his chest, moving slow and watching as his eyes fill with lust.

"So fucking beautiful" his eyes rake hungrily over you body and he dips his head down to your breasts and sucks, kisses and leaves gentle bites over them.

His thrusts grow more erratic as you ride him faster and faster, fierce kisses are exchanged and Eddie's head throws back as he moans. "Fuck that's it princess. I love how fucking amazing you feel"

When you come you almost see stars. Feel Eddie moan as he stills and spills into you, his thrusts slowing as he leaves lazy kisses over your neck.

🖤

It's a little while later and you're sprawled beside Eddie, boneless and just wanting to close the distance between you and be close to him.

But this isn't like that. You'd love to stay and cuddle, love to be with him like you want to.

Eddie gets up and stretches. "Have to head to Gareth's. Will you be okay seeing yourself out princess?" he asks as he gets dressed and you smile even if you don't feel like it.

He leans down and kisses you briefly then he heads out. There's a hollow feeling in your chest and you cuddle back into the pillow for a second, get lose in the scent of Eddie's cologne just for a little bit.

You get up and dress quickly, then leave but there an ache inside you that so badly wants this to be more. Does he even want that? He's made it clear that this was just sex to him.

It's obvious that it means so much more to you and you sigh sadly, you were falling in love with someone who had no intention of wanting anything more with you...

With that thought you head into your car with a heavy heart.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x y/n #older eddie munson #eddie munson #eddie smut

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chaosjunkieman · 1 month ago

Text

The Boy Who Blocked His Own Shot (Five Hargreeves x Reader Angst)

Warnings: HURT/COMFORT. ANGST. SORRY.

A/N: well fuck.

Word Count: 909

Summary: Seeing Five after all these years makes her realize she made a mistake.

“I can’t keep doing this,” she laughs darkly. A sickening click rolling off her tongue as she pushes him away.

“I -I just need time,” he stutters. Reaching out in a grabbing motion for her hand. The hand that made him feel safe.

“I’ve been giving you time. I’ve been with you during all of this! Each apocalypse, each timeline bullshit. You cant admit that you’re in love with me. I see it god damn it. I see it every day. But you wont allow yourself.” She stutters out angrily. Taking steps back from him as he tries to reach closer.

“N-n-o, please,” he chokes out on his own tears that were stuffing his throat.

She throws her hands up to get him to stop.

“I’m sorry, but until you can give me the time of day, I’m out of here.” She sternly states.

Grabbing her duffle bag that sat by the front door of what was their shared condo, she also grabs her jacket and keys from the side table. Swallowing as she turns to step out. Not daring to look back. As the door shuts behind her, she winches at the disgruntled shout from Five. Tears that dance on her lashes flow freely as she walks away from what was her home.

It was October 1st, the siblings shared birthday. Luther had called a few days prior inviting everyone to a birthday party for all of them. At the time, she had told him she needed to think about it. Knowing that he was going to be there. Luther told her that he understood but hoped that she would attend, stating that he at least missed her at family gatherings. But ultimately, she decided last minute to attend.

The walk to the Hargreeves family home was shaky. Her body trembled each minute she drew closer to arriving. Standing in the outside entrance, she dishes around for her flask. Taking a quick sip of the whiskey to help calm the nerves. Taking a few deep breaths, she climbs the stairs to the front door, letting herself in. She could hear everyone chattering in the family room. Taking another deep breath she walks in. Knocking on one of the old wooden beams. Grabbing everyones attention.

“Wow! I mean, hi, it’s so good to see you!” Luther says with a bright smile coming over to greet her in a large hug.

Everyone else saying their hellos.

“Guys, where’s top shelf whiskey Dad had hid-“ A slightly deeper voice cuts them all off from their greetings. A head pops up behind the bar. It was Five.

Her breath caught in her throat as he stopped in his tracks. A bottle of beer held loosely in his fingers slips and crashes loudly to the floor.

Her heart races as she gives him a once over. His hair was shaggier now. Just past his ears. Wearing the same old black office suit that slightly outlined the minor muscles he had.

“I,” she stutters. Looking between Luther and Five panickily. Shaking her head, she turns to dart out of the room.

She rushes upstairs towards their old bedrooms. Indistinctively, she runs into Fives old room. She takes a look around amidst her panic attack to see what she had done. Tears brim to her eyes as she realizes where she was. Just as she was about to step out of his room, a bright blue light shimmers and Five had materialized in front of her.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Five stutters, putting his hands up in defense.

“I can’t do this, not now, this was a mistake.” She trembles.

“No please,” Five replies, looking more desperate than shes ever seen him.

She looks between him and the door before her thoughts are cut off by him speaking again.

“I can’t loose you again.” He stutters. Slowly lowering his hands down to hers.

She slightly pulls away. But is shocked by Five falling down his knees.

“No, please, stay,” Five chokes out as tears slip.

He grabs ahold of her waist roughly, pulling her into him as his head laid against her stomach.

“You were right,” Five cries quietly. “’bout everything. I’m so, so, sorry I couldn’t be the man you needed.” Her own tears start to flow down her cheeks.

She starts to pet his hair as he cries into her.

“I’m just so happy to see you again, after all these years, you never left my mind.” Five whispers out.

“Five,” she whispers. Pulling at his suit jacket to make him stand.

“I forgave you along time ago,” she replies. Brushing his bangs out of his eyes and tucking the strands behind one ear.

The look of love and adoration was overwhelming from his irises. Cupping his cheeks, she smiles at him.

“Take me home please.” She asks.

At her response. Five smashes his lips to hers. Desperately, he wraps his arms tightly around her waist to bring her close. She loses her balance and just as shes about to fall, Five turns her, and they blip. A groan leaves her lips as her back is flushed with a mattress. The familiarity of the bed made her realize that Five had blipped them back to the condo they shared. Knowing that he never left it made her heart churn.

He smiles as he hovers above her and she returns the smile.

“Welcome home Mrs. Hargreeves,” he whispers as he returns his lips to hers.

#five hargreaves fanfiction #five hargreaves x reader #five hargreeves #the umbrella academy #tua #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x reader angst

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cod-dump · 1 year ago

Note

Your teen au has me in a chokehold so I thought I would add something to it

Gaz, Ghost, and Farah steal each other’s clothes all the time like one day Gaz could walk in wearing Ghosts favorite band tee or Farah wearing Gaz’s iconic hat or ghost stealing a pair of socks from Farah

They also do this with price and Nikolai

At some point everyone has worn price’s fishing hat (I think it might be more of a bucket hat) ghost has worn Nikolai’s combat boots (they’re the same shoe size) Farah wears price’s T shirts and Gaz like to do a combo and wear price’s pants and Nikolai’s shirts

Nikolai at first didn’t like his stuff being stolen until one day everyone was wearing something from Nikolai and he just chose defeat.

(P.s ghost has accidentally wore one of Alex’s shirts because he thought that’s it was Gaz’s and when Price questioned him about it he said the first thing that’s came to mind and it’s was that’s the shirt belonged to soap.)

-🫠

Thief (teen!Ghost au)

———

Living in a house of three teenagers meant no one’s clothes were safe. They mostly stole from each other, sometimes out if spite, sometimes because they couldn’t find anything they wanted to wear. Or because they simply just want whatever it is that had caught their eye.

“SIMON THOSE ARE MY SOCKS!”

“YOU LEFT FUZZY SOCKS UNGUARDED AND YOU’RE SURPRISED I GRABBED THEM?”

Nikolai was used to the yelling over stolen clothes given the kids were starting to gravitate towards stealing John’s clothes… which meant his were next. He just knew one of them were going to grab something of his, he’s seen Simon eying his bomber jacket.

“Simon, no.”

He’s thankful for being practically immune to Simon’s tactical puppy eyes by this point, much to the kid’s annoyance. Unless he was genuinely upset, nothing he could do would get Nik to bow.

“Niiiiik, pleeaaasssseeeee— I wanna look good for Johnny on our date!”

Nik snorts, “You could be covered in horseshit and that boy would still look at you like you hung the stars.”

Simon tries to argue but Nik reached over and flicked his nose, the boy jerking away and shutting his mouth in response. The glare that followed made Nik remember who he was dealing with: Simon Price.

Simon said nothing more as he stalked away into the house, Nik certain he just invoked the boy’s wrath. He wasn’t scared but he was worried because Simon could get creative… and spiteful. So he was sure to tuck his jacket away in his SUV before settling down with John in bed that night to watch a movie. Nik was close to falling asleep, John was already tucked into his side, completely oblivious to the movie by this point but refusing to fall asleep.

If it had happened a moment later, he wouldn’t have caught it. It wasn’t a noticeable sound by any means, but Nik noticed. He knew what it was too— His car door being shut as quietly as possible. He felt his eye twitch, eyes looking over to where his keys rested on the dresser.

That brat broke into my car.

Nik, of course, was angry that someone broke into his SUV… but he was also a bit proud that Simon was the one to do it successfully without setting off the alarm.

Nik carefully slid out of bed, John grumbling at him leaving before he flopped over where Nik was laying and almost instantly fell asleep. Nik just snorts before he went to slid his boots on, quickly discovering that they were missing. He blinked before he realized where they were.

“Oh, so we raised a thief,” John made a curious grunt at that, a sign that he heard Nik say something, but the fact he just went back to sleep showed that he didn’t register any of Nik’s words.

He ended up grabbing some tennis shoes before leaving, determined to figure what Simon was up to. He had to grab one of John’s jackets considering he knows his bomber had been snatched. He went out to his SUV, glaring at the apparently undisturbed vehicle. Simon was nowhere in sight and Nik had no choice but to wait for him to come back… Well, he did have a choice but he didn’t feel like tracking down the kid.

So he returned to bed, deciding that he’ll have a chat with Simon in the morning.

Nik was the first up, heading straight to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. He noticed that his boots had been returned so Nik assumed his jacket had also been returned. A second time Simon had managed to get into Nik’s SUV without setting off the alarm. Where did he learn to do that? From his friends?

Nikolai was deep in thought, glaring at the brewing coffee pot as John walked into the kitchen with a yawn. He was greeted with a kiss to his shoulder before John went to grab mugs for the coffee.

“What did that brewer do to you?” John joked as he slid Nik’s favorite mug on the counter in front of him.

“Hm? Oh, nothing I’m just thinking.”

“Well, don’t think too hard or you’ll scare the thing into not wanting to work.”

“Eh, I’ll buy you a new one.”

“… On a second thought, break it. I need a new one, anyways… especially after the ramen incident with Simon.”

Nikolai snickers, hearing someone come down the stairs with a light yet heavy step. Farah, barely awake, walks into the kitchen a grunts a ‘morning’ before sitting down into a chair.

“Is the coffee ready?”

“Farah-“

“I’m an adult!”

Nikolai could hear the boys moving around upstairs, knowing that they probably won’t come down until they smell food. Nik hums before he pours himself a cup of coffee, blowing on it as he steps away from the coffee maker.

“I need to check my email.”

No one said anything as he left, heading upstairs to have a talk with Simon. He knocked on Kyle’s door as he passed, “Go help your dad with breakfast.”

A tired whine was his immediate response, “Niiiik-“

“I could do it, and burn everything. Or Farah can do it and make it spicy-“

Kyle liked spice, Nik liked spice and so did John— Farah’s spice tolerance was terrifying. John handled it better than the rest of them but it would be a lot for breakfast. Kyle left his room rather quickly, almost slipping down the stairs in the process.

“Slow, Kyle!”

“I’m fine!”

Nik makes sure Kyle gets down the stairs safely before he moved on to Simon’s room. He knocked on the door, a muffled grunt and Riley barking answering him a moment later. Nik opens the door and there was Simon, buried under his mountain of blankets and Riley in his play pen, jumping around with his tail wagging when he saw Nik. Nik closed the door and sipped his coffee before he set it on the TV stand.

Simon poked his head out from under the blankets, hair poking everywhere and worn eyeliner that he clearly forgot to wipe off smeared around his eyes. He stared at Nik in confusion while Nik just leaned on his door with a knowing smirk. Simon blinked before his eyes widened, sitting up quickly and throwing a few blankets to the floor as he did.

“M-morning, Nik…”

“Late night?”

Simon’s eyes flickered to his closet before he forces himself to look at Nik, “No…”

“Hmm… You sure?”

Nik moved towards the closet and Simon scrambled off the bed to grab him. Nik groaned when Simon grabbed him around the middle, when did he get so big? He used to be just a tiny boy, where did this guy come from?

Nik wrestled Simon for a moment, trying to pry him off so he can get to the closet. He managed to throw Simon back on his bed, freezing for a moment because he was certain Simon was going to bounce off and into the wall. Thankfully he didn’t, stunning him and allowing Nikolai to swing open his closet door.

“Oh? What’s this? My jacket!?”

Nik grabs his bomber jacket, presenting it to Simon. Simon was pale, eying his door and window. Nik tucked his jacket under his arm before he made a face at Simon, waiting for him to start talking.

“I snuck out last night to go to a party with Johnny.”

Nik blinked, “A party?”

Simon was not a party kid. Sure, he hung out with Alejandro and their friends but Nik couldn’t recall them ever partying.

“Yea— I wanted to look cool so I borrowed your jacket!”

“And my boots.”

Simon gawks, truly horrified that Nik knew about the boots, “I-I brought them back! Please don’t tell Dad!”

Nik stares at him, looking to the whining Riley before he steps over to Simon, “Fine, I won’t tell your dad… if you tell me where you learned how to break into cars.”

“I-I-“

“Was it that hooligan friend of yours?”

Simon lightens up, “Ale doesn’t like it when you call him that.”

“Well, that’s what he is so he should get over it.”

Simon snorts, “No, it wasn’t Ale… Uh-“

“Simon-“

“… It was Johnny.”

Nik makes a face, “Johnny? Your good little Catholic boyfriend?”

“His dad’s a mechanic so he knows how to poke around cars.”

“And he taught you how to do it?”

Simon wouldn’t meet Nik’s eyes, fear in his eyes. Nikolai just huffed, truly impressed, “That’s a keeper.”

Simon blinked and looked up at Nik, “What?”

“That boy managed to get you to sit down and learn something new! You’re so hard to teach new things, let alone wiring and car mechanics! He’s a keeper!”

Simon bites lip, holding back a big smile. Riley finally let out a loud, high pitched bark, tired of being ignored. Nik reaches over and tries to smooth and tame Simon’s hair before his grabbed Simon’s ear in a pinch.

“OW! NIK!”

“That’s for stealing my shit. Now go take Riley out before he explodes.”

Simon jumps up and goes to get Riley, Nik opening the door and letting the boy run through with the squirming puppy. Simon went down the stairs at a nerve-racking speed before he took Riley to the back door to let him into the back garden. Breakfast was almost done, Kyle and John just waiting for Nik and Simon to join Farah at the table.

“What was with the thumping upstairs?”

Nik just grinned, “Waking up Simon.”

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