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mcmansionhell · 6 months ago

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the motel room, or: on datedness

Often I find myself nostalgic for things that haven't disappeared yet. This feeling is enhanced by the strange conviction that once I stop looking at these things, I will never see them again, that I am living in the last moment of looking. This is sense is strongest for me in the interiors of buildings perhaps because, like items of clothing, they are of a fashionable nature, in other words, more impermanent than they probably should be.

As I get older, to stumble on something truly dated, once a drag, is now a gift. After over a decade of real estate aggregation and the havoc it's wreaked on how we as a society perceive and decorate houses, if you're going to Zillow to search for the dated (which used to be like shooting fish in a barrel), you'll be searching aimlessly, for hours, to increasingly no avail, even with all the filters engaged. (The only way to get around this is locational knowledge of datedness gleaned from the real world.) If you try to find images of the dated elsewhere on the internet, you will find that the search is not intuitive. In this day and age, you cannot simply Google "80s hotel room" anymore, what with the disintegration of the search engine ecosystem and the AI generated nonsense and the algorithmic preference for something popular (the same specific images collected over and over again on social media), recent, and usually a derivative of the original search query (in this case, finding material along the lines of r/nostalgia or the Backrooms.)

To find what one is looking for online, one must game the search engine with filters that only show content predating 2021, or, even better, use existing resources (or those previously discovered) both online and in print. In the physical world of interiors, to find what one is looking for one must also now lurk around obscure places, and often outside the realm of the domestic which is so beholden to and cursed by the churn of fashion and the logic of speculation. Our open world is rapidly closing, while, paradoxically, remaining ostensibly open. It's true, I can open Zillow. I can still search. In the curated, aggregated realm, it is becoming harder and harder to find, and ultimately, to look.

But what if, despite all these changes, datedness was never really searchable? This is a strange symmetry, one could say an obscurity, between interiors and online. It is perhaps unintentional, and it lurks in the places where searching doesn't work, one because no one is searching there, or two, because an aesthetic, for all our cataloguing, curation, aggregation, hoarding, is not inherently indexable and even if it was, there are vasts swaths of the internet and the world that are not categorized via certain - or any - parameters. The internet curator's job is to find them and aggregate them, but it becomes harder and harder to do. They can only be stumbled upon or known in an outside, offline, historical or situational way. If to index, to aggregate, is, or at least was for the last 30 years, to profit (whether monetarily or in likes), then to be dated, in many respects, is the aesthetic manifestation of barely breaking even. Of not starting, preserving, or reinventing but just doing a job.

We see this online as well. While the old-web Geocities look and later Blingee MySpace-era swag have become aestheticized and fetishized, a kind of naive art for a naive time, a great many old websites have not received the same treatment. These are no less naive but they are harder to repackage or commodify because they are simple and boring. They are not "core" enough.

As with interiors, web datedness can be found in part or as a whole. For example, sites like Imgur or Reddit are not in and of themselves dated but they are full of remnants, of 15-year old posts and their "you, sir, have won the internet" vernacular that certainly are. Other websites are dated because they were made a long time ago by and for a clientele that doesn't have a need or the skill to update (we see this often with Web 2.0 e-commerce sites that figured out how to do a basic mobile page and reckoned it was enough). The next language of datedness, like the all-white landlord-special interior, is the default, clean Squarespace restaurant page, a landing space that's the digital equivalent of a flyer, rarely gleaned unless someone needs a menu, has a food allergy or if information about the place is not available immediately from Google Maps. I say this only to maintain that there is a continuity in practices between the on- and off-line world beyond what we would immediately assume, and that we cannot blame everything on algorithms.

But now you may ask, what is, exactly, datedness? Having spent two days in a distinctly dated hotel room, I've decided to sit in utter boredom with the numinous past and try and pin it down.

II.

I am in an obscure place. I am in Saint-Georges, Quebec, Canada, on assignment. I am staying at a specific motel, the Voyageur. By my estimation the hotel was originally built in the late seventies and I'd be shocked if it was older than 1989. The hotel exterior was remodeled sometime in the 2000s with EIFS cladding and beige paint. Above is a picture of my room, which, forgive me, is in the process of being inhabited. American (and to a lesser extent Canadian) hotel rooms are some of the most churned through, renovated spaces in the world, and it's pretty rare, unless you're staying in either very small towns or are forced by economic necessity to stay at real holes in the wall, to find ones from this era. The last real hitter for me was a 90s Day's Inn in the meme-famous Breezewood, PA during the pandemic.

At first my reaction to seeing the room was cautionary. It was the last room in town, and certainly compared to other options, probably not the world's first choice. However, after staying in real, genuine European shitholes covering professional cycling I've become a class-A connoisseur of bad rooms. This one was definitively three stars. A mutter of "okay time to do a quick look through." But upon further inspection (post-bedbug paranoia) I came to the realization that maybe the always-new brainrot I'd been so critical of had seeped a teeny bit into my own subconscious and here I was snubbing my nose at a blessing in disguise. The room is not a bad room, nor is it unclean. It's just old. It's dated. We are sentimental about interiors like this now because they are disappearing, but they are for my parents what 2005 beige-core is for me and what 2010s greige will become for the generation after. When I'm writing about datedness, I'm writing in general using a previous era's examples because datedness, by its very nature, is a transitional status. Its end state is the mixed emotion of seeing things for what they are yet still appreciating them, expressed here.

Datedness is the period between vintage and contemporary. It is the sentiment between quotidian and subpar. It is uncurated and preserved only by way of inertia, not initiative. It gives us a specific feeling we don't necessarily like, one that is deliberately evoked in the media subcultures surrounding so-called "liminal" spaces: the fuguelike feeling of being spatially trapped in a time while our real time is passing. Datedness in the real world is not a curated experience, it is only what was. It is different from nostalgia because it is not deliberately remembered, yearned for or attached to sweetness. Instead, it is somehow annoying. It is like stumbling into the world of adults as a child, but now you're the adult and the child in you is disappointed. (The real child-you forgot a dull hotel room the moment something more interesting came along.) An image of my father puts his car keys on the table, looks around and says, "It'll do." We have an intolerance for datedness because it is the realization of what sufficed. Sufficiency in many ways implies lack.

However, for all its datedness, many, if not all, of the things in this room will never be seen again if the room is renovated. They will become unpurchaseable and extinct. Things like the bizarrely-patterned linoleum tile in the shower, the hose connecting to the specific faucet of the once-luxurious (or at least middling) jacuzzi tub whose jets haven't been exercised since the fall of the Berlin Wall. The wide berth of the tank on the toilet. There is nothing, really, worth saving about these things. Even the most sentimental among us wouldn't dare argue that the items and finishes in this room are particularly important from a design or historical standpoint. Not everything old has a patina. They're too cheaply made to salvage. Plastic tile. Bowed plywood. The image-artifacts of these rooms, gussied up for Booking dot com, will also, inevitably disappear, relegated to the dustheap of web caches and comments that say "it was ok kinda expensive but close to twon (sic)." You wouldn't be able to find them anyway unless you were looking for a room.

One does, of course, recognize a little bit of design in what's here. Signifiers of an era. The wood-veneer of the late 70s giving way to the pastel overtones of the 80s. Perhaps even a slow 90s. The all-in-one vanity floating above the floor, a modernist basement bathroom hallmark. White walls as a sign of cleanliness. Gestures, in the curved lines of the nightstands, towards postmodernity. Metallic lamp bases with wide-brimmed shades, a whisper of glamor. A kind of scalloped aura to the club chairs. The color teal mediated through hundreds if not thousands of shoes. Yellowing plastic, including the strips of "molding" that visually tie floor to wall. These are remnants (or are they intuitions?) of so many movements and micromovements, none of them definite enough to point to the influence of a single designer, hell, even of a single decade, just strands of past-ness accumulated into one thread, which is cheapness. Continuity exists in the materials only because everything was purchased as a set from a wholesale catalog.

In some way a hotel is supposed to be placeless. Anonymous. Everything tries to be that way now, even houses. Perhaps because we don't like the way we spy on ourselves and lease our images out to the world so we crave the specificity of hotel anonymity, of someplace we move through on our way to bigger, better or at least different things. The hotel was designed to be frictionless but because it is in a little town, it sees little use and because it sees little use, there are elements that can last far longer than they were intended and which inadvertently cause friction. (The janky door unlocks with a key. The shower hose keeps coming out of the faucet. It's deeply annoying.)

Lack of wear and lack of funds only keep them that way. Not even the paper goods of the eighties have been exhausted yet. Datedness is not a choice but an inevitability. Because it is not a choice, it is not advertised except in a utilitarian sense. It is kept subtle on the hotel websites, out of shame. Because it does not subscribe to an advertiser's economy of the now, of the curated type rather than the "here is my service" type, it disappears into the folds of the earth and cannot be searched for in the way "design" can. It can only be discovered by accident.

When I look at all of these objects and things, I do so knowing I will never see them again, at least not all here together like this, as a cohesive whole assembled for a specific purpose. I don't think I'll ever have reason to come back to this town or this place, which has given me an unexpected experience of being peevish in my father's time. Whenever I end up in a place like this, where all is as it was, I get the sense that it will take a very long time for others to experience this sensation again with the things my generation has made. The machinations of fashion work rapaciously to make sure that nothing is ever old, not people, not rooms, not items, not furniture, not fabrics, not even design, that old matron who loves to wax poetic about futurity and timelessness. The plastic-veneered particleboard used here is now the bedrock of countless landfills. Eventually it will become the chemical-laced soil upon which we build our condos. It is possible that we are standing now at the very last frontier of our prior datedness. The next one has not yet elided. It's a special place. Spend a night. Take pictures.

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#architecture #design #1980s #datedness #essay #the backrooms #oddcore #dreamcore #weirdcore

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disgustingtwitches · 4 months ago

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MDNI

Working at a restaurant with 141 (pt. 4)

You thought it was a mistake when someone called in reserving a party of 14 for a birthday. The voice on the other line assures you it is not, and that they'll be arriving at 7pm. You inform everyone.

"Who wid want a birthday in this shithole?"

Johnny gaffaued, spraying down some dishes.

"Probably just a prank call."

Kyle replied, arms wrapped around your waist and head resting on your shoulders. But it wasn't a prank call. The first half of the party arrive and you and Gaz have to scramble to push tables together. It's overwhelming, everyone is talking all at once, demanding things left and right. Gaz swoops in to help deal with one half the table while you the other. The food comes out, leaving you to be able to sit in the back for a few minutes, talking to the guys about nothing. Walking back out, some older man was snapping his fingers at you, waving his arms as if they weren't the only fucking people in the joint.

"Steaks burnt to hell, remake it."

He slides the plate to you, making you catch it before it falls off the side of the table. You apologize profusely and send it back to the kitchen. Price raises an eyebrow,

"Looks fine to me."

He stares at the piece of charcoal on the plate.

"Fucks sake, lemme do it."

Simon grabs his shoulder and cooks another steak. You set it down infront of the old man, watching him take a bite. He throws his fork down,

"Still burnt. How hard is it to cook a fucking steak?"

You look at the plate, meats still pink in the middle. Apologize again and offer to remake it.

"No, don't bother. Jesus."

He stares daggers into you. You wring your hands nervously.

"Actually, everyone's food was shit. None of us should have to pay for this."

Your mouth goes dry. You look over your shoulder to meet eyes with Kyle at the bar. He immediately walks over.

"Everything alright?"

He puts on his nicest customer service voice and that charming smile that can melt anyone. Except this asshole apparently.

"No everything is not alright, this was the worst dining experience I've ever had! Everything came out wrong, and it all tastes like shit!"

Spit flies out from the mans mouth. Kyle stands between you and the customer, trying to diffuse the situation. And much to your horror, one by one, the table starts to leave. You try to say something but they ignore you.

"Go get Johnny."

You run back, trying to act casual in front of Simon and John while tugging Johnny by the sleeve. He looks down, concerned.

He's on the floor before you can finish telling him what happened,

"Ye'r gonnae have tae pay sir."

His tone is more firm than Gaz, arms crossed and looking down at the old man. You're almost in tears as you watch more of the table file out the door, you turn back to look at Gaz. He frowns, furious. There's a heated argument at the table, the old man is yelling now. Not at Kyle or Johnny, but the only person he wasn't afraid of; you. The commotion makes John and Simon step out. This idiot is gonna get himself killed. You can see the moment when the customer loses the fight in his eyes. Shuts right up as soon as Simon says,

"Problem?"

Like a fish out of water, all the old man does is open and close his mouth wordlessly.

"Grab the cheque."

You don't know who Simon said that to but you and Soap crash into each other turning around and walking to the POS system. Ghost gently grabs the bill from your shaky hands and shoves it into the customers chest,

"Cash only."

"I don't have cash."

"There's an ATM around the corner."

The old man nearly jumps out of his seat,

"Right. Be right back."

He rushes to the door, Kyle and John follow.

"Oh there's no need-"

"Making sure you don't get lost."

Kyle smiles, eyes dangerous. It's about five minutes when they're back, the old man placing some 20s down before complaining under his breath. Then he gets kicked out,

"I need my change!"

He looks over Johnny's shoulder, looking to you for help. You shrug, arms crossed. When the door closes you sigh, running fingers through your hair

"You alright, darling?"

Gaz asks, voice as sweet as ever, gentle hand on your face. You nod.

That evening was pleasant. More than that really. They pampered you, cooed and soothed you as you huffed and sniffled. Ran you a hot bath,

"Poor thing, dinnae deserve tha."

Johnny massaged shampoo into your hair.

"Won't let you stay around next time we deal with something like that again."

Kyle kneaded the tension out your shoulders. John sat you in his lap, brushing hair out of your face while saying sweet nothings. You really do enjoy milking this for all it's worth, sad eyes looking up and huffing like you didn't get over that bullshit as soon as that old man walked out the door.

"Pampered little princess, you know that?"

Simon's lips are pressed up to your neck, just under your ear. You just nod, his words rattling around your brain while you got fucked senseless. You're tired, but the boys promised to coax an orgasm out of you. From each one of them. Then another. Well, you're a trooper, so what's one more round? Showered with soft kisses and praise, a foolish smile is painted across your face in a pleasurable state of stupor; Gosh, aren't you just spoiled rotten?

**sorry if it's short! I am on holiday ( ╥ω╥ )**

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ceilidho · 2 months ago

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'still wakes the deep' au

prompt: You're an environmental scientist conducting research on an off-shore oil rig with only a few days left before you're slated to leave. The eldritch creature they accidentally awaken throws a wrench in the works. First Meeting masterlist

Choppy waters like Neptune’s eye meet your gaze when you look back at where you came from, the land on the other side but a beige striation on the horizon.

“Afraid of heights, doctor?” your escort asks, his amusement borderline distasteful. It must stroke their ego to watch newcomers come aboard and flounder, gawking at the swells and waves crashing against the oil rig, each wave so cataclysmic that it’s a wonder the structure stays upright. A wonder of engineering, that is.

The rig manager stands closer to the railing, staring without fear out into the ocean surrounding you. His sea legs are likelier studier than the ones that wash up ashore every fourteen days when he’s due for his OSHA mandated break. His knees don’t even buckle at the sight of the barnacles clinging nerve-wrackingly high up on the rig legs. Far too high up for comfort.

“No, sir,” you reply, shaking your head. “Just water.”

He barks a laugh at that. “Plenny o’ that around here. Wouldn’y go leaning my head over the rail then, if I was you.”

You take another look down, balking at the frothy white streaking the latticework barrier around the jacket legs. No worries there; there isn’t a chance in hell you’ll be going anywhere near the rails. You’re too high up to know for sure, but you wonder if there are sharks plumbing the depths beneath the rig, excited by the noise and activity on board.

You’d be shark chum if you went overboard. Beyond that, you’d be fish food; no sympathy from the sea to be found this far from land.

“Where should I set up?” you ask instead.

Sensing your eagerness to get started—and to get away from the edge of the rig—he gestures for you to follow him and sets off towards the door closest to you, leading you into the interior of the rig. “This way, doc—got a room already set up for ye. Cozier in there than out here.”

The first few days aren’t so bad after that. You spend the first day getting unpacked, your suitcase already waiting for you in your quarters, which doubles as your office, and then turn in early after prepping for the next day.

As anticipated, you spend the next day hunched over the toilet bowl, stomach roiling from spending too long staring at the turbulent waters below. You’ve done this before but it never gets any easier. Despite your chosen field of research, you’re suited for dry land, not the sea. It’s the price you have to pay though.

No coffee that first morning. Just tea to help settle your stomach. And it does for a bit—lets you get through your first day worth of tests without you upchucking while collecting water samples from the discharge point. You’ll save your indoor work for the days when the crests of the waves are high enough to spray the working deck. By dinner, your stomach is a little more settled, but still you elect to eat in your quarters instead of with the workers in the mess.

You haven’t been on the rig long enough to have made any enemies, nor do you think that’s something that’ll happen during your brief time on board, but you definitely haven’t made any friends. It comes with the territory. The men that work on these rigs out in the middle of the ocean—even the ones on land, for that matter—tend to view your kind with distrust at the very least, if not outright hostility.

It’s hard to blame them. The purpose of your visit isn’t to shower them with praises. You’re stationed on the rig for the next few days to collect data and samples to assess the environmental impact of the rig’s operations. It puts you somewhat at odds with them, the outcome of your work being potentially to the detriment of theirs.

Some whisper the word like blasphemy. Government worker. They say it like you’re the Baba Yaga or a witch living in a cottage at the edge of the village, like uttering the word too loudly will summon you. There’s too much work to do around the rig for them to cluck their tongues like gossipy hens, but the men find time for it anyway. You’d roll your eyes if you were any greener.

The truth is though, you’re used to it, and at this point in your career, you don’t have it in you to act like it’s such a shock that they wouldn’t give you the red carpet treatment. All you need is a hot cup of coffee, an office (or even just a desk) to write your reports, and some space to conduct your research without being badgered with questions.

Most of the men tend to blur together, a medley of fluorescent yellow hard hats and navy coveralls, respirators strung around their necks and goggles covering their eyes. It’s easy enough to mistake them for one another.

Only one of them has managed to catch your eye so far, though you can’t say it’s for a particularly good reason. Of the lot of them, he’s the loudest. Which is saying something, considering that the crew tend to speak in shouts and hollers to make up for the crashing waves beneath them and the howling winds above them. He’s also among the tallest, broad shouldered and muscled—a former first responder or military, if you had to guess, though you keep your assumptions to yourself.

You know better than to ask questions around him because you’ve learned in the short time that you’ve spent on the rig not to give him—Soap, they call him, or MacTavish when the rig manager is particularly pissed off—even an inch.

It’s another crew member that gives you that heads up. “Din’y pay him any mind.”

“Who?” you ask, looking up from your work.

The crew member nods to the man posted on the other side of the main deck. “Soap. Bit of a showboat, that one. Always stirrin’ up the boys, gettin’ ‘em all riled up. Din’y let him distract ye too much.”

“Oh. Thanks.” You look back down at the data sheets in front of you. “I’m not worried though. He hasn’t been too much trouble.”

Famous last words.

He isn’t too much trouble until he suddenly is; until he’s suddenly everywhere, always in your way somehow. Not so much underfoot as just always around the corner waiting with his stupid smug smirk that you’ve grown to despise and half-lidded electric blue eyes roving up and down the length of you. Aggravating you at every turn.

Your first meeting is an accident. At least, it seems that way, and likely is—he seems too blunt for coincidences or chance meetings, happy to tell you to your face that he manipulated the situation in order to get you on your own.

You’re wandering down one of the many circulatory hallways and slightly lost when a door suddenly opens, blocking your way. A jumpsuit-clad man twice your size walks out, his hair just brushing the top of the doorframe. Though you recognize him instantly, you’d never gotten close enough for the details to cement in your mental image of him. Up close, you get a better look.

The faint lines around his eyes and mouth betray either his age or the life he’s lived. Weathered; bronzed from days at a time spent under the sun. You’d noticed the mohawk earlier, but staring at the side of his head now, you can see the faint puckering of a healed wound splintering out from his temple into his hairline. Though the sides of his head are freshly shorn, the scar looks old—maybe a year, maybe more.

When he notices that he’s not alone in the hall, his head turns in your direction and he stops, one foot still in the other room. Two thick brows go up at the sight of you standing there with your tablet clutched to your chest.

“Hullo gorgeous,” Soap purrs, pupils suddenly pinpricks and your stomach drops.

Because of course he would. You’d long figured he might be an arrogant piece of work from what little you’ve observed of him from across the rig, but you should’ve known he’d also be a flirt. He’s too good-looking not to be one. Tall and broad, with biceps the size of your head. You’re sure he rolls his shirt sleeves up just to feel them strain against the muscles of his arms. You certainly can’t help the way your eyes are drawn there.

“Ah ken who ye are,” he says, taking a step towards you until the tips of his boots nearly touch yours. The door is still wide open behind him, swinging slowly towards the wall behind it. Soap towers over you easily, tipping his head to stare down at you. Your lips press into a tight line when his eyes drop to your chest, staring at the outline of your tits through your cardigan.

“Okay,” you say through stiff lips.

“Yer that lass from the government. Ah thought ye'd be auld,” he jokes, shit-eating grin on his face.

You nearly groan. It’s too early for this shit and you’re too tired from being up all night working on your report on the rig’s discharge water quality.

“Well, I’m not,” you reply woodenly instead, altogether unimpressed with him.

For as fit as he is, you’re not here to flirt or hookup, and you’re good at separating work and your personal life. If anyone manages to get under your skin enough to tempt you, it won’t be the man undressing you with his eyes while covered in a thin layer of grime and sweat.

“Nae, yer no’,” he agrees, voice a low burr. His eyes flick up to meet yours. “I’m John, by the way.”

“I know.”

“…It’s polite tae give yer name when someone introduces thersel's tae ye.”

“I’d rather you just call me doctor.”

“Doctor, eh?” Soap purrs, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “Dae ye dae house calls, doc? Hae been feelin’ a wee bit feverish lately.”

You can’t help the way your cheeks heat at his comment. “Not that kind of doctor. Do you mind getting out of the way?”

“Jesus, I din’y ken ye’d be so fuckin’ prickly. Thought ye government workers were cheery a' the time.”

“Not when we have work to do,” you bite out, decidedly uncomfortable with his shameless perusal and eager just to get on with your day. “Can you move please? I have somewhere to be.”

All that does is force him to take another step closer, toe-to-toe with you now. You should’ve known he’d take that as an invitation. He reeks of grease and brine, the smell pungent and clinging to his skin and clothes. Almost like he sleeps and works in the same pair of coveralls instead of bringing his dirty clothes down to the laundry facility like everyone else at the end of the week.

You tell yourself to stop staring at where his coveralls open to a sweat-slicked chest, dark hair poking up over the neckline, but your eyes don’t comply. A small cross dangles from a chain around his neck, nestled in the hair just above his pecs.

“Good Catholic lass, are ye?” Soap asks, noticing the focal point of your gaze.

You scrunch up your nose at that. “No. I didn’t—it’s none of your business anyway.”

The stutter is where his eyes light up, a little gleam in the blue that lets you know you’ve caught his interest. Like seeing a storm well off in the distance and bracing for it anyway, knowing that you’re in its path no matter what you do.

“A’right, doc, Ah'll leave ye tae it. Gotta get back myself anyway,” he says, rolling his shoulders back and standing up taller, and it’s only in that moment that you realize how low his neck had been bent in order to get closer to you. “Wait. I can’y let ye go lookin’ like that.”

You’re about to ask him what he means when he suddenly grabs you by the front of your cardigan and pulls you towards him, getting the grease on his hands all over the fabric. Your eyes nearly bug out of your skull as he pops the topmost button into its corresponding hole, the only one you’d left purposefully loose.

The only reason you don’t snap at him to take his hands off you is because your tongue is a knot in your throat.

“There we go,” Soap coos when the button is in, looking down at his handiwork all over the front of your shirt. “Lookin’ like part o’ the crew already.”

Your heart pounds in your chest long after he lets you go. When he steps to the side, the door flush with the wall by now, you dart around him, walking away as fast as your legs can carry you without sprinting. You ignore the way he belts out a laugh at your swift departure. Ignore the way your stomach cramps at the sound as well.

He might end up being more trouble than you thought.

#ceil writing #soap x reader #cod x reader #soap/reader #soap x you #john soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish x reader

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soaps-mohawk · 11 months ago

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 6: One Step Closer

Summary: You're all trying to adjust to the changes happening between you and the members of your pack.

Pairings: Poly 141 x reader, some Price x Gaz

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, suggestive content, handjobs, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, language

A/N: I'm not entirely happy with this one and might come back when I feel better and do some changes, but for now, it's fine. Mostly just a filler chapter more than anything. Some sweet moments, some maybe steamy...Building up for some more exciting things coming in the next parts. Also I just wanted to clear something up, pretty much everyone in this universe is at least a little bisexual. That will make sense once you read the chapter.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

(Gif found on Google)

He curses the click of the door as it opens, making sure to go slowly so it doesn’t squeak as it’s prone to when it rains. His lips turn up in a smile as he catches a glimpse at the sight on the couch, no more than half a moment before Price’s honed senses cause him to wake at the change in atmosphere.

He blinks tired eyes at Gaz, head lifting from where it had drooped to his chest in his sleep. He adjusts his hold on you, still asleep and unaware in the safety of your alpha’s arms.

“Sleeping in your office again, sir?” Gaz says quietly, stepping closer to the couch.

Price grunts quietly, shifting his hold on you so he can lift a hand to rub at his eyes. His voice is thick and gravelly with sleep as he answers. “Didn’t mean to.”

Gaz hums, running a hand through Price’s hair as the air between them changes from Captain and Sergeant to alpha and beta. “Should get you both to bed.”

“You take her.” Price murmurs. “She’ll forgive you easier for invading her space.”

Gaz knows he’s right. He’d already been invited in once. His scent in your space would be less jarring than Price’s. Price carefully unravels your arms from around his neck, letting Gaz slip his arms under you to lift you off his lap. You stir slightly at the movement, letting out a quiet grumble.

“Shh pretty girl.” Gaz shushes you, letting your head rest against his shoulder. “Just taking you to bed.”

Price follows behind him as he carries you through the halls to your room. You’re asleep by the time he reaches your door, Price opening it for him. Gaz slips in, carrying you to your bed. He makes sure you’re comfortable, tucking the blanket around you before leaning down to kiss your forehead.

He spares one last glance at you fast asleep before he closes the door, turning to Price. “Your turn.”

“You gonna carry me too?” Price asks, a playful glint shining in his eyes despite the obvious exhaustion.

Gaz huffs out a laugh. “You wish.” He puts a hand on his back, guiding Price down to his door, closest to the entry to the barracks.

He follows the alpha into his space, meticulously clean and tidy as usual. They both blink against the harsh overhead light, Gaz leaning against the door as Price begins emptying his pockets, getting settled in his space.

“She knelt for me tonight.” Price says as he sits at his desk to unlace his boots.

“She’s making headway.” Gaz replies, surprised that you asked to kneel so soon. He knows how meaningful kneeling is to both alpha and omega, how intense it can be, how much trust there is involved.

Price hums, standing to remove his pants. “I fear Laswell was right. She’s turning out to be a good fit.”

“She’s already got Simon worked up.” Gaz smiles, moving to the dresser to fish out clean sleep clothes. “I fear she may be taking a page out of Johnny’s book.”

“Well, if it gets him to stop torturing himself, then I can’t say I’ll complain.” Price says, pulling his shirt over his head. “You know how he is.”

“I know.” Gaz says, holding out the clean shirt and sweatpants. “Can’t say I blame him entirely. Not after what he’s been through.”

Price slips on the clean clothes, stepping closer to Gaz. “He’ll warm up to our girl eventually.”

“‘Our girl?’” Gaz’s eyebrows lift as Price steps in even closer, their noses brushing. “That’s quite the jump.”

“She’s been our girl from the start. As soon as those papers were finalized, there was no sending her back.” Price says, pressing a kiss to the corner of Gaz’s lips. “I wouldn’t put her through that. Not after everything.”

Gaz pulls back, Staring at Price’s face. “You know something.”

“I wouldn’t say I know anything, but I have my suspicions.” He moves past Gaz, turning off the overhead light. “I know we all do.”

“You think she’ll tell us?”

“I think she will, with time. I don’t want to push her into too much too soon.” He pats Gaz on the ass. “Come on, in bed.”

“Sir, yes sir.” Gaz smirks, Price giving him a look as the beta pulls down the covers, crawling into the bed.

Price groans internally, trying to calm the twitch in his pants at the mental picture of you, those big puppy eyes shining playfully as you saluted him. The small spark of excitement every time you call him “sir.” How easily you relaxed for him while you knelt, giving over complete trust and control to him for an hour.

He crawls under the covers, tossing an arm over Gaz, trying to block out all the mental images flashing through his head.

“Forget something in your pocket, sir?” Gaz says, the smirk evident in his voice.

“Shut it, Garrick.”

You’re jarred awake by the sound of movement in the hallway. You let out a quiet noise of indignation, letting your eyes close again. It’s too early, around the time the boys leave to go workout. You’ve been graciously given a couple days off to rest and recover, likely Price’s recommendation. You knew if it were up to Ghost, he’d force you to work through the pain. You’re glad for the break, though, and you would be even if you weren’t horribly sore.

Your head is still spinning a bit from last night. You’re not quite sure how you made it to bed, but the faint scent of clean linen and the sea gives you an idea. You bury your face in your pillow, letting out a groan. You knelt for Price last night. You opened yourself up to that vulnerability, and he had graciously guided and supported you through it. He didn’t scruff you, even though he could have, nor was there any demand for control in his grasp, he could have easily taken it.

He’d been a good alpha, helping you relax and destress. You feel lighter for the first time in weeks, since you found out where you were going and who your new pack was going to be. You feel lighter than you have in your entire time on this base, though that could just be the endorphins still flowing a bit from kneeling for your alpha.

It’ll be easier to come down from it once you’re bonded, you know that. Once there’s that connection between you, and you’re around him all the time. You’ll be moving into his room, or at least you’ll spend most of your time in there. You’ll sleep in his bed with him. You wonder if he’s a cuddler, or if he prefers personal space. Would Gaz join you sometimes? You can practically feel the warmth of being sandwiched between them, battle hardened hands trailing along your bare body because you’ll be naked and well bonded with both of them.

You bury your burning face in your pillow letting out a muffled, quiet scream at the thoughts your mind is conjuring. You feel hot, warmth pooling in your stomach. There’s no going back to sleep now, you know that.

You get up, rushing to the bathroom to splash cold water on your face and erase the thoughts in your head. It’s entirely natural, having these thoughts. You will get to that place, very soon, with Price. The others could pursue that sort of relationship with you as well, if they wanted to. It will likely happen naturally with Gaz, given his bond with Price, and after your kiss with Soap...

You’re not sure if it would happen with Ghost, or if he would allow it. You can’t help but think about yesterday, how easily he had overpowered you with just his scent. You had been scared, as it was your nature to be when an alpha was posing a direct threat to you, but the way he had looked hovering over you, the feeling of him pressed against you when he’d pinned you to the floor. How easily he got you into that position. A shiver runs down your spine at the thought of him pinning you down like that, or better, pinning you against Soap, his hand on the back of your neck.

You splash cold water on your face, holding your breath until your lower body stops pulsing in time with your heart. You let out a quiet curse, focusing on getting ready for the day before grabbing your book and heading for the rec room to try and calm yourself.

“You’re up early, love.”

You jump at the voice, lowering your book as you look up from your spot stretched out on the couch. Gaz is standing there, skin dewy with sweat. They must have just returned from their morning workout, heading in to shower and get ready for the day. Gaz must have noticed your scent and followed it.

“Couldn’t get back to sleep.” You explain as he moves closer to the couch. “Gaz!” You shriek as he crawls over you, dropping his body on top of yours. “You’re all sweaty!”

“You can shower later.” He says, resting his face against your chest, his elbows pressed into the cushions so he’s not completely squishing you with his weight.

“You should be showering now.” You say, trying not to breathe in too much of his scent. It’s heavily tainted with the scent of sweat and musk.

“Then we can shower together.” He murmurs, nuzzling his face further into your chest.

Your face warms, your heart rate picking up at his teasing. The thought of being enclosed in the shower with him, such a small space, packed in together. Skin to skin, bare before each other. You might implode beneath him, warmth beginning to travel down your spine after your thoughts earlier.

“Relax.” He murmurs with a grin, obviously picking up the quickening of your heart rate and the change in your scent. “I’m teasing.”

He’s just as bad as Soap, but not quite as blatant with it. While Soap would tease at any open opportunity, Gaz tended to choose his moments wisely, slipping some teasing remark in when you least expected it.

Gaz goes quiet as he lays there, his breathing steady. You mark your page before reaching up to set the book on the arm of the couch. You can’t help yourself as you run your fingers through his short cropped, damp curls, gently scratching at his scalp. He makes a quiet noise, his body getting heavier.

“Gaz?” You murmur, earning a grunt in response. “Are you falling asleep?”

“Can’t help it.” He murmurs. “So comfy.”

Your cheeks warm as he nuzzles into your chest, letting out a content sigh. You fight the urge to release one of your own, feeling warm and content even pressed against the lumpy cushions of the couch. How easy it is to find comfort even in the most uncomfortable places.

It doesn’t have to be uncomfortable.

Your heart rate kicks up again, hand stilling where it had been scratching Gaz’s scalp. You’re allowed to want. You asked yesterday and nothing bad happened.

“Gaz?” You murmur, trying to fight the nervous twisting of your stomach. “Would you...if I wanted something, would you get it for me, even if it’s stupid?”

Gaz shifts on top of you, knees pressing into the couch as he pushes himself higher so you’re face to face. One of his legs is between yours, holding him up so he doesn’t squish you under his weight.

He stares down at you, blinking the haze of sleep from his dark eyes. “Babygirl, I’d take over the world for you if that’s what you wanted.”

Your lips part in surprise at his answer. You’re not entirely sure he’s allowed to say something like that, even as a joke. The sentiment of it is not lost on you, and you find tears prickling the backs of your eyes.

His arms shift beneath you, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “Tell me what you want.”

You stare up into those big, sweet, dark eyes. Gaz radiates a kindness and calmness like you haven’t felt in a long time. Not that the others aren’t kind, even in Ghost and his aggressiveness, you’ve felt the protective drive within him. It wasn’t based on any claim or sense of ownership, even a sense of duty couldn’t bring forward that kind of reaction. But Gaz...there’s just something so soft and gentle despite the danger he could pose.

“Kiss me.” You blurt out, realizing you’ve been staring for far too long.

Gaz stares down at you, a grin slowly spreading on his lips. “Just that? Here I thought you were gonna say something impossible like world domination.”

“Well, if you’re offering...” You shrug.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Probably shouldn’t be making those jokes.” He leans down closer. “Though, if you asked nicely...”

You let out a quiet sound as his lips press against yours. They’re just as soft as they look, pressing against yours so gently and softly. Your arms lift to his shoulders, curling into the fabric of his shirt. He coaxes your lips to move with his, copying his movements as he tilts his head slightly.

Warmth blooms beneath your skin as he kisses you, your head spinning. His scent invades your nose, seeping into your very being. You want to curl up in it, let it surround you like a warm blanket. You catch the whiff of something deeper, the scent of damp earth. Price. You have a sudden urge to pull his shirt collar to the side, to stare at the mark that decorates his scent gland at the base of his throat, a mirror of the one you’ll carry in a few short weeks.

“Ye didnae tell me ye were startin’ a cuddle pile!”

An excited voice causes you both to separate, Gaz barely managing to lift himself up enough so that you don’t get squished when Soap practically jumps on his back.

“Bloody hell, mate,” Gaz grunts. “Tryna squish our poor omega?”

The weight above you shifts before Soap’s head appears over Gaz’s shoulder, a wide grin on his face. “Mornin’ hen!”

“For someone so small, you weigh a ton.” Gaz says with a strain to his voice as sweat breaks out across his forehead from keeping his weight and Soap's off of you.

“I'm no that small.” Soap says, an offended tone to his voice as he goes limp on top of Gaz.

You can't help but giggle at their antics, especially as Gaz pushes himself up to a kneeling position, nearly sending Soap rolling to the floor. Your face is warm from your giggling as they both stand, playfully pushing each other.

“Alright, enough you two.” Price's voice cuts through their playful arguing, amusement shining in his eyes as he leans on the doorframe. “Almost time for breakfast.”

“Come on.” Gaz says, taking your hands and helping you up. “Let's get some pancakes in you before you turn into one.”

“You should try courting her.” Kyle says, scrolling through his phone as he lounges on John's bed. “Like old-fashioned courting.”

“What are you on about?” John grumbles, drying his face with a towel.

“Our little omega. You should try courting her.” Kyle repeats, looking over his phone at John.

John tosses his towel into his hamper before approaching the bed. Kyle lets his eyes rake over his form, his strong arms and soft stomach, thick, strong thighs and the prominent bulge at the front of his briefs.

“It would be worth a try.” Kyle continues, letting John pull the phone from his hands. “Omegas love that shit.”

“And what prompted this thought?” John asks, laying down on his side next to Kyle, pulling the younger man closer.

“She's getting all worked up by us now.” He says, biting back a groan as John trails a hand over his side. “She's kissed Soap and I so far. Got all worked up when I teased her about showering together this morning.” His hand trails through John's short hair as John licks at his throat. “I think she'd enjoy a little attention from her alpha.”

“What do you have in mind?” John murmurs before sinking his teeth into the soft skin of Kyle's throat.

Kyle shrugs, letting out a gasp as John bites at his throat. “Take her out for dinner? Buy her some things for her room? Give in to those alpha cravings a bit.”

John lets out a low growl, pinning Kyle on the bed beneath him. Kyle's lips lift in a smirk, fingers lifting to run through John's beard. His thumb drags across John's lower lip, gaze soft as he stares up at the alpha.

“You won't ruin anything by doing it. There's only so much time until her heat. If I were an alpha, I'd want her to be as comfortable as possible before then. Makes the shift into bonded pack life much easier.” Kyle says.

John leans down until their noses brush, groaning softly as Kyle digs his fingers into his shoulders. He knows Kyle is right. He should make an effort with you, at least try to ensure you're as comfortable around him as possible before he claims you. Most alphas wouldn't have waited for the first heat, wouldn't have even waited a week before claiming, before taking their omega to bed. He doesn't want to be like those alphas. He doesn't want to force you into more than you already have been, more than you will be.

He wants things to happen as naturally as possible, but that doesn't mean he can't try.

Kyle leans up, closing the distance between them and kissing him. He presses his beta back into the mattress, nipping harshly at his lips. Their tongues tangle together, tasting like peppermint toothpaste and something distinctly alpha and beta.

John presses his body closer to Kyle's groaning as his half hard cock drags against Kyle's. Kyle moans into his mouth as John begins grinding against him. Their bodies move together, a familiar dance they've both memorized the steps to.

John groans as Kyle's fingers trail down his back, blunt nails biting into the skin. Breathy moans slip from kiss-bruised plump lips as John kisses down Kyle's throat. Calloused fingers slip under the waistband of John's briefs, teasing the soft supple skin beneath. John grinds down against him harder, dragging his leaking cock against Kyle's twitching one.

“Fuck, Cap.” Kyle groans, bucking up against his alpha. “Lemme feel you.”

John wraps his arms around Kyle, flipping them over so he's on top. Kyle makes quick work of his boxers, tugging John's briefs down roughly. He groans, licking his lips at the sight of his alpha's leaking cock.

“Like what you see, pup?” John asks, lips lifting in a smirk.

“Fuck yes.” Kyle breathes, settling himself on John's thighs.

He leans down, wrapping a hand around both his and John's cocks. John groans as Kyle begins stroking them both, his cock twitching as more precum slips from his tip. He's close, the pent up frustrations from the last couple days along with the tantalizing scent of omega driving him to near insanity.

He feels like he might pop a knot as Kyle picks up the pace, one hand braced against his chest, his hips rocking in short thrusts. His head falls back as his orgasm slams into him, hit cum spurting across his stomach. Kyle groans loudly, frantically pumping his own cock as he reaches his peak, spurting his spend across his alpha's stomach too.

“Made quite the mess, Sergeant.” John says, trailing his fingers through the mix of cum on his stomach.

“Would you like me to clean it up, sir?” Kyle smirks, opening his mouth to allow John's fingers to push in.

His tongue swirls around his thick fingers, lapping them clean. Kyle shifts on top of him, bending down and trailing his tongue across John's stomach, licking up their mess.

“Good boy.” John hums, gently cradling the back of Kyle's neck.

The sky is dark as you make your way from your room. Gaz and Price are nowhere to be found, your cheeks warming at the thought of where they could be and what they could be up to. You take a breath to steady yourself, and your scent, before you head into the rec room. Soap and Ghost are there, Soap on the opposite end of the couch as usual, and Ghost in the chair next to the couch that faces the door.

He sees you first, his shoulders squaring just a bit. Soap turns to the doorway, a typical grin splitting his face when he sees you. It’s been a while since you’ve seen anyone be happy to see you, and you can’t deny that Soap’s joy is a bit contagious. He’s like an excited puppy. You can imagine if he had a tail, it would be wagging non-stop.

“Come tae join us, hen?” He asks, holding out a hand.

Ghost’s eyes are sharp as they stare at you, the silent warning not lost. You’re infringing on their space, infringing on his protective circle around his beta. You’re pushing a boundary and that could be dangerous.

It could be.

You move forward, taking Soap’s hand, letting him tug you down next to him on the couch. You ignore the eyes burning into you, boring holes into your skin as you settle in as close to Soap as you can. You almost smile in victory as Soap drapes his arm across the back of the couch, your attention turning to whatever is playing on the TV.

Ghost and Soap continue their conversation, Soap's fingers brushing your arm every so often. You can feel every time Ghost's burning gaze turns to you, every time he glowers at you for being so close to his beta. You can't help but wonder what's going through his mind, what he's thinking, what he's imagining.

You'll pay for this later.

You can only imagine how he'll punish you in your training for boldly breaching such an obvious boundary.

Soap doesn't seem to notice, or perhaps he simply doesn't care. It's not like you're not allowed to be close to Soap. As a member of your new pack, he had every right to pursue a bond with you if he wanted, regardless of how Ghost felt. Even though they're bonded, Soap is still his own person.

It's almost ironic.

You're starting to feel the exhaustion of your early morning as the night drags on, your head getting heavier and heavier. Ghost's need to glower at you has lessened a bit, his eyes only on you whenever you shift or move. Your head has drooped onto Soap's shoulder, an idea forming in your mind. You're sure it's the exhaustion making you so bold, or perhaps your new belief that the only way you'll even stand a chance at getting through to Ghost is to push those boundaries and stand up to him.

You lift your head, shifting your body until you're laying on the couch, resting your head on Soap's thigh. You watch Ghost's hands curl into fists where they rest on his lap, his eyes burning through your head as you make yourself comfortable. Soap's hand sinks into your hair, massaging your scalp as you lay there, your lips curling into a content smile.

You know it has to be eating at him just a little. A content beta and a preening omega, an image of what he could have if he simply got over whatever is keeping him from accepting you.

“Tired, lass?” Soap's gentle voice pulls you from your thoughts. Your mind had started to doze a bit, trailing off with your thoughts.

You make a quiet noise in agreement, nuzzling against his thigh.

“Let's get ye tae bed.” He says, squeezing your arm.

You're not expecting Ghost to follow as Soap leads you from the rec room, your fingers entwined with his. Even in your tired state you can feel the icy stare at your back, the looming presence of the alpha behind you as Soap walks you to your door.

“Night, hen.” Soap murmurs softly.

You're sure it's the exhaustion making you delirious as you stand on your toes, pressing your lips to his in a soft kiss. Soap hums against your lips, bending down to follow you as you go to pull away. You ignore the tickling at the back of your neck as he presses another kiss to your lips, your hand reaching for your doorknob and the security of your room.

“Night, Soap.” You murmur, slipping into your room before Ghost makes a rash decision.

You're going to regret it later, but you certainly don't at this moment.

The fabric isn’t as soft as it used to be. It’s been worn too much, washed too many times. You’ve stitched the ripped seam back together, a bit sloppy but you can hardly tell thanks to the luck of finding thread the same color as the sweatshirt. You hold it in your hands, staring at the frayed edges, the loose strings. Well loved, some might call it. Garbage, others might think.

“Finally fixing the holes?”

The voice cutting through the silence makes you jump, your head whipping around to the door. Price is standing there, leaning against the doorframe.

“Sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t mean to startle you.” He says.

“It’s alright, sir.” You say, calming your racing heart. You hadn’t even heard him approach. “I thought you were all at training.”

“I had a call I had to take.” He says, entering the room now that you’ve calmed. “Was heading back out when I caught a whiff of your scent.” He lowers himself onto the couch with a quiet groan, staring softly at you.

“I know it’s stupid, holding onto it when I could just ask for a new one.” You say, staring down at the sweatshirt in your hands.

“But it’s more than just a sweatshirt.” He says, tone soft and understanding.

You sink your teeth into your lip, fingers curling into the fabric in your hands. “One of the omegas at the institute gave it to me.” You say, holding the sweatshirt to your chest. “We were the same age so we were grouped together a lot and we got really close. She gave it to me when we reached selection age, since we both knew we were likely to get chosen fast and she wanted to give me something to remember her by. It’s a good thing she did too, because she did get chosen almost immediately.” You let out a quiet laugh, blinking back tears. “I’ve held on to it ever since. It doesn't even smell like her anymore. Hasn’t for a long time.”

Price is quiet for a few moments, his eyes on your face. You can’t look at him, your gaze on the sweatshirt in your lap. “You loved her.” He finally says, his tone not accusing or even disgusted.

It’s understanding. Knowing.

You take a shaky breath, hands closing into nervous fists around the sweatshirt. “Institutes try everything they can to prevent omegas from bonding with each other. Makes it too hard to separate us once we come of age. Alphas don’t want a distressed, unhappy omega, they’re expecting an eager, willing addition to their pack. It’s hard though, when you spend literal years together experiencing the same thing to not form bonds with each other.”

Price huffs quietly. “My grandfather used to tell me about the traditional pack boom after World War 2. When militaries across the world began to forbid bonding and pack formation within ranks. They were spending more time and money on preventing it from happening than anything else. It didn’t take them long to realize it was easier to allow the organic bonds to form. It made soldiers stronger, gave them purpose. It’s easier to look away than to fight what nature intends sometimes.” He smiles at you, stretching his arm across the back of the couch. “We are the last people that will judge you for it.”

You know that. You've known that from the start. The way their scents mingle, their bonds. They're a bonded pack for a reason.

“She never knew. Or, I never told her. I don't know where she ended up or where she is now.” You shrug, letting out a sardonic huff. “It's a lonely existence sometimes, being an omega.”

“I can only imagine.” Price says, giving you a sad smile.

“I suppose I should just get rid of it.” You say, staring at the sweatshirt. “No use holding onto something that could have never been.”

Price squeezes your shoulder gently. “Wait here.”

He gets up, leaving you alone in the rec room. You wait patiently for him to return, growing a bit nervous. What was he doing? Was he telling someone about your confession? Was he going to send you back because of it? You know your worries are unwarranted, but you can't stop them.

He returns a few moments later, a sweatshirt in his hands. “Here.” He says, holding it out to you. “They're standard issue, but I've never been one for sweatshirts. It's just been sitting in my closet.”

You take the sweatshirt, soft and new in your hands. It hardly smells like him, only the light residual scent from being in his room. “Thank you, sir.” You say, rubbing the fabric against your cheek.

He nods at your old sweatshirt. “This way you can save that one, and start picking this one apart.”

Your face warms at his cheeky comment, your head turning down bashfully. “It means a lot, sir. Really.”

“You'll get better use of it than I did.” He glances at his watch. “I best be getting back to the boys. We'll be back before dinner.”

“Wait-” You get up before he can leave, slowly approaching him with the sweatshirt in hand. Your face is burning as he stares down at you, eyebrows raised in waiting. “Will you...scent it?” You hold the sweatshirt out to him.

He looks surprised for a moment before he takes the fabric, rubbing his face and neck against it. He coats the sweatshirt in his scent, the smell of trees and petrichor filling your nose as you watch him. The back of your neck begins to prickle, the desire to roll in his scent getting stronger.

“Thank you, sir.” You say as he hands the sweatshirt back to you. “I'd...I'd also like to kneel again tonight, if that's alright.”

He smiles softly down at you. “Of course. I'll come and get you when I'm ready.” He leans down, pressing a kiss to your head before he takes his leave.

You pull on Price's sweatshirt, burying your nose in his scent for a moment. A smile pulls at your lips as you grab your old sweatshirt, making for your room.

You can't wait for tonight.

NEXT ->

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#call of duty #call of duty fic #cod #cod fic #john price x reader #captain price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #a/b/o #alpha beta omega dynamics

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latenightdaydreams · 9 months ago

Note

Okay, imagine mechanic!Konig who fixes your car and is just you know- hot. And then as payment he wants a date. In the back of his car. Where he fucks your brains out and is just so sweet. Mutters the dirtiest things about always being able to fix your car if you give him a baby or something and is just- god I'm feral for this man. And your writing!

Anyway, sorry if it's a weird ask. I love your writing to death, it's fantastic! Make sure to eat yummy snacks and stay hydrated!

AHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! That means so much to me and I'm so happy to have such great supporters like you! I absolutely LOVE this idea! I hope you enjoy! Thank you so so much for your support!! 💗

Mechanic!König x reader (fem)

MDNI🔞

Part 2

>cw: fem/afab, sex for payment, p in v, breeding kink, dirty talk

Word count: 1.4k

For more click here✍🏽🔞

You turn your car off and step out, accidently slamming the car door behind you. The ground underneath your feet is uneven as you make your way towards the open garage door. The place looks old and the location seems right out of a horror movie, but you push those thoughts aside.

Looking inside the garage you see a man bent over under the hood of a red pick-up truck. His dirty white shirt and oil-stained jeans are all you can see of him.

“Excuse me? Sir? Hi, I’m y/n, I was wondering if you could look at my car?” Your voice is small and polite, like your customer service voice.

König stops working on the truck and stands, looking over at you. His eyes roam your body, taking in your shape before his icy blue eyes finally meet yours. He looks around as if to check if you were here with anyone or if you came alone.

“What’s wrong with it?” He asks stoically not giving away how attracted to you he is just yet.

“I have trouble starting it and when it does turn on it makes this terrible screeching noise,” Your eyes scan his body, his muscles glistening from a light sheen of sweat across his body. His face is stern with scars across his cheek and upper lip, but it doesn’t take away from his handsomeness.

König stays quiet for a while before walking forward and grabbing a rag to wipe his hands off on, “Okay, let me take a look.”

Tossing the rag aside he walks forward towards you with his hand out for your keys. You place them in his palm, his eyes looking down at you as he towers over you with his 6’10 frame. You turn on your heels and walk to your car with König following close behind. His eyes are glued to the way your ass sways with every step you take.

He unlocks your car and leans in to turn the car on. His eyes watching the dashboard as the engine stalls turning over. Once your car eventually does, he hears the loud sound you spoke of and he knows the issue.

“You have a bad alternator.” He steps back and looks down at you before opening the hood of your car. “It’s an easy fix, should only take an hour, two at most.”

His eyes go back to you and his gaze lingers on your cleavage before looking back down at the car, “There are seats in the shop, you can wait there.”

“Okay, thank you.” You walk back to the garage and pull out your phone to help pass the time. You look around to see an old photo of a car and nothing else personal. The space is clean and only the sound of his radio fills the space.

An hour and a half passes by and König walks in. You put your phone back in your bag and stand.

“She turns on, no issues now.” He says as his eyes look around the shop trying not to be too intense with his gaze.

“Oh, thank you so much sir, -”

“König.” He cuts you off, his gaze going back to yours.

“Thank you, König.” You smile warmly at him. Looking down at your purse you begin to fish your wallet out, “How much do I owe you?”

König looks at the wallet in your hands before his gaze travels over your body once more. He wasn’t interested in your money. There is one thing he’s wanted since he saw you walking up to him, you. He didn’t want to be a perve and ask for it, so he just gave you a price, “$600.”

Your face drops as you only have $400 until next payday, “Can I pay $200 now, and the rest later.”

“I don’t take payments.”

“Oh...”

“But,” he walks closer to you, “I’m sure we can figure something out.” His large hand caresses the side of your face, a smirk on his lips.

You end up in the back of his SUV with blacked out windows parked behind his garage. Your clothes stripped off and thrown on the floor, your body completely exposed to him. His shirt pulled off showing you his muscular abdomen as his pants are pulled down around his knees. A soft blonde happy trail leading from his belly button to his erection. One of his hands gripping your thigh and holding one leg up as his other hand guides his condomless cock to your pussy.

He pushes in slowly at first, letting out a soft groan as he feels how tight you are. Your warm gummy walls wrapping around his cock as he bullies his way inside.

“Mein Gott your pussy is so tight Maus,” he moans as he grabs your other leg now. His lips kiss your legs up to your feet as he slowly bucks his hips forward. Your hands grasp the seat as he fucks you. Pathetic mewls leave your lips, feeling your pussy being stretched to an almost painful point.

“You’re so beautiful…” Letting go of one leg, he moves his hands down to your breast and begins to tug on your nipple, leaning in as his lips find your nipple; licking before sucking on your sensitive peak. His tongue circling around before wrapping his lips around and pulling gently, your fingers combing through his blonde hair. His mind wished you were full of milk so he could drink from you. His hands dropping down to your stomach and caressing your soft skin. Oh, how beautiful you’d look swollen and full with his child.

“You need a man to take care of you Schatzi,” he leans back and looks at your pretty pussy stretching around his fat cock. The sound of your wet cunt sounding like angels singing to him. He pushes both legs back and leans into you more as he begins to pound your pussy harder. His eyes watching your breast bounce before his eyes travel to your stomach. You’re tiny compared to his massive body, but taking his dick so well.

“I could be that man,” he groans, “you’d never have to worry about your car ever again Liebling.” His voice was laced with lust and ecstasy. König has never desired a woman so much before as he desires you.

“Just have my baby, let me fuck my baby into you.” He growls as one of his hands goes to your sopping wet pussy as begins to rub your clit.

Legs twitching, you’re lost in the euphoria of the moment. His cock filling you and making you so dick dizzy you don’t even fully register his words. “Please, yes, fuck me.”

“That’s what I want to fucking hear.” König grabs your leg and moves you on your side. He lays his body behind you on the seat and lifts your leg up. His face by yours as he gently kisses your neck and the side of your face. His cock slipped back into your wet pussy, causing your eyes to flutter. He let out a small sigh, “That’s my girl.”

König moves hair from your face as he continues to kiss all over you, “You’re so perfect Schatzi.”

His hand slowly slips down your thigh as he begins to rub your clit again, “Cum for me Liebling, cum on my cock.”

You turn your head to look at König, his eyebrows pinched together as his mouth hangs open. His eyes meet your and he leans in to kiss your soft lips. His tongue licks your lips before pushing between them. His tongue twirling in yours and tasting you, he’s in heaven. He can feel you begin to tighten around him as your legs begin to tremble. Your kiss begins to get lazy as you concentrate on your orgasm.

“Please, please, please.” You moan out, your breathing heavy. His hand rubs over your swollen sensitive clit faster making you squirm in his arms. You feel how wet you get as your pussy begins to squeeze around his cock, his balls tightening as he is eager to get off.

König’s eyes roll back as he leans his head against the seat now, his arm under you wrapping tightly around your stomach and grabs it. “Do you want my cum?”

“Yes,” you look back still on a high and watch his face as he closes his eyes while the pleasure takes over his whole being, “please cum in my tight pussy.”

That made him let out a loud groan as he moaned your name. His cock begins to throb as he releases deep inside of you. He leans forward to kiss your neck and check, desperately wanting your lips. You turn your head to meet his lips as you both kiss passionately.

Nine weeks later your car is still running great, but you’re 4 days late.

Part 2

#konig #konig x y/n #konig cod #konig x reader #könig #könig x reader #konig smut #könig smut #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig x you #konig x reader smut #könig x y/n #könig x you #könig call of duty #smut

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athenamikaelson · 14 days ago

Text

Klaus Mikaelson X Soulmate!Reader x Elijah Mikaelson Ch. 24

Word Count- 9.2k

Warnings- Swearing, mentions of death and violence, alcohol, kissing, sexual shiz, Klaus being freaky deaky (no children better be reading this)

A/n- Rebekah didn’t hook up with Damon she just hooked up with a rando after the dance!

“I’m bored,” Kol whined desperately to his siblings as they lounged in the grand living room.

Kol threw himself onto the leather ottoman, “Our sister is a strumpet, but at least she’s having fun. I need entertainment.”

Klaus narrows his eyes at his younger brother, “What are you waiting for? Go on have at it.”

“It’s no fun to go alone. Join me, Nik,” Kol leans forward with a mischievous look.

Klaus sends a bored look at him and then goes back to his sketch. Kol lets out a loud groan and stands up.

“Well, if you won’t go with me,” He taps his chin in thought, “I’m sure I can find someone to spend my afternoon with…what about that little mate of yours…Y/n, was it? Oh yes, I’m sure she’s great fun, I wonder if she’d let me-”

Kol is cut off from finishing his sentence as Klaus wraps his hand around his brother’s throat, “Finish that sentence and you’ll find yourself right back into that coffin of yours, brother. I’m sure it’s missed your company.” Kol not entirely caring for his brother’s antics, rolls his eyes, “Joking, brother,” Kol plucks Klaus’ fingers off his throat one by one, “And as you should know, you’re mate and I are now,” Kol frowns, “What do they call it now…oh yes, besties.”

Klaus’ mood gets darker the more Kol speaks.

“That’s not true!”

Both brothers turn at the whining of their sister.

“Y/n is my best friend!”

Kol raises an eyebrow in challenge, “Really? And did she say this herself or is this another one of your delusions.”

Rebekah glares at her brother before grabbing a nearby vase and hurling it at him.

Kol quickly darts away and laughs, “Your aim is almost as bad as your taste in men sister.”

Rebekah lets out a loud whine, resulting in Klaus groaning in annoyance.

“Enough of you two,” Klaus throws himself back down onto the couch, “I’ll put both of you back into your coffins.”

“Mother would never allow that,” Rebekah says proudly as she sits on the same couch as Klaus.

“Join me, brother. It’s the least you could do after sticking a dagger in my heart,” Kol tries to reason with Klaus. Besides, are you truly going to spend all afternoon drawing pictures of your pretty little obsession?”

Klaus’ eyes narrow at his brother, but he knows he can’t deny the accusation of his current muse.

With a final sigh, Klaus stands with a sound of annoyance, “Okay. Why not? I didn’t have nearly enough to drink last night what with you trying to murder Rebekah’s date.”

Klaus strolls by both of his siblings, taking the sketchbook filled with drawings of his soulmate with him.

“Yes, please go, this house has enough men rolling around in it,” Rebekah says annoyed as Kol begins to follow his brother.

Kol turns around and smirks at his sister, “Just like you, Bekah!”

Rebekah throws her purse at him, “Good riddance, both of you.”

—

“No sir,” I try not to roll my eyes at the middle-aged man sitting at the bar in front of me, “We do not offer refunds for alcohol you’ve already drank.”

The drunk man in front of me glares, “You’re mean.”

“I’m going to be a lot meaner if you don’t pay,” I deadpan back at him and with a roll of his eyes he fishes out a stack of ones from his pocket and throws them onto the bar counter.

“Great,” I mutter as the man drunkenly stalks away.

“Rough day?” I continue to count the ones as I answer Ric, “I love working my ass off for minimum wage.”

Ric lets out a chuckle, “Ya I bet… But if anyone can handle a job like this it’s you, Y/n.”

I look up from the money, “Ya? And why is that?”

Ric’s upper lip twitches, “You spent an entire summer living with Damon, without killing him. Because of that, I'm pretty sure you could do anything.”

I ponder Ric’s comment and then nod, “I am a person of great strength, aren’t I?”

Ric chuckles and raises his drink in agreement at my sarcastic comment, “Very much indeed.”

A moment later, a dark-haired woman sits down next to Ric. A little too close for my liking. Since Jenna has gone to Nebraska or wherever the hell she and Jeremy went, I’ve been keeping an eye on Ric to make sure he stays away from other women. She never asked me to do this, but as a fellow girls girl, I must.

My shoulders deflate as a customer at the other end of the bar ushers me over. As I deal with him I keep sending glances over to Ric and the mystery woman, who appear to be in a serious conversation.

After I deal with the man, I make my way over to Ric’s area and pretend to dry some glasses. Glasses I had already dried 20 minutes prior.

“It’s impossible to know anything about whoever stabbed you,” I overhear the woman and I raise my eyebrows up in shock, “Short, tall, left-handed, right-handed, no clue.”

Why the hell does Ric keep getting killed?!?

“Well, what about my head, why can’t I remember anything about the attack?”

“Your CT scans were clear. Maybe you were compelled to forget,” THe woman answers Ric.

“That wouldn’t be possible,” I casually chime in as if I wasn’t already listening to their conversation. Both adults turn to me with confused faces, “Y’know since Ric practically bathes in vervain. He drinks it a lot…Just like his girlfriend, Jenna. His longtime girlfriend.”

The woman furrows her eyebrows and gives me an odd look and I smile at her sweetly before turning around and going back to fucking around with the glasses.

“Wait… you think the person who did this to me was a vampire,” Ric questions quietly to the rando.

“I mean it’s the only option,” She answers and I fight the urge to ask why I vampire would stab Ric when they could just bite him, or like rip his head off.

“Oh, come on now.”

Oh god no.

That British accent has me tensing my shoulders and keeping my gaze towards the wall, hoping he hasn’t noticed me.

“Let’s not go blaming the new family in town just cause you lot have got yourselves a killer at large,” I hear Klaus say to Ric and whats-her-face, “Don’t mind us. My brother and I are just here to let off some steam, right, Kol?”

Great, he brought the ankle biter.

“Right.”

Ric and the woman are silent for a moment. “Ric, I’m going to play some pool, join me,” The woman’s voice comes out urgent and I don’t have to have eyes in the back of my head to know Ric is staring at me.

“Oh, don’t fret Alaric,” Klaus’ voice comes mocking, “I’m not going to lay a finger on Elena’s little friend, go have fun with your girl.”

His words hit my heart like a dagger, weird how now I’m just “Elena’s friend” when yesterday you were pretty much confessing your heart and soul to me. Pun intended.

“You alright, kid?”

Without turning around I throw a thumbs up at Ric. After a moment I hear the screeching of two stools.

Everything is quiet for a moment.

“If it isn’t my bestie.”

Lord, give me the strength.

I slowly turn around and face the two brothers. One watching me with an amused smirk and the other…just watches me.

Klaus’ eyes seem to be marking every inch of my face and body as if he’s committing me to memory.

“Ankle biter,” I retort as I wipe my hands on my apron and begin to walk to the other side of the bar.

“Aye, where do you think you’re going,” Kol’s foxlike tone halts me, “I would very much like a drink, and my brother here…well I’m sure a drink isn’t exactly what he wants from you.”

I almost choke on my breath at Kol’s words as I turn to face him.

“Also, what is this ankle-biter nonsense? Is that some type of term friends use for one another in this century,” Kol asks as he places his chin on his hand, watching me.

“Ya, sure.”

Kol seems to be delighted with my answer as he shoots a smug smile towards his brother. Klaus doesn’t give him the time of day though as he keeps his eyes on me.

“What do you want to drink, Kol,” I take a step closer to the bar as I grab a glass for him and Klaus.

“What do you recommend, Little Doll,” Kol smiles up at me.

“Arsonic.”

A loud laugh escapes Kol’s lips, but it’s Klaus’ light chuckle that I can’t help but fall into.

“Oh, she’s funny,” Kol says excitedly and then turns to his brother, “Odd fate mated her to the boring brothers,” this finally catches a glare from Klaus and Kol turns back to me and leans over the bar, “I’m sure I can contact some witch friends of mine and get that bond switched over to me. We’d have so much more fun.”

“Brother, another word out of you and it’ll be your tongue that comes out of your mouth,’’ Klaus bites and I instantly take a step back.

My movement catches the hybrid's attention and a small frown makes its way onto his face.

Klaus’ eyes are filled with something that makes my stomach twist. I turn my attention back towards Kol who is watching Klaus and I with his signature smirk.

“You’re getting bourbon,” I tell him as I turn and grab a bottle of liquor from the shelf behind me.

“Oh, goodie! Second shelf alcohol,” I bite down on my lip to keep my laugh hidden from Kol’s sarcastic remark.

I turn back around pour the brown liquid into two glasses and then place them in front of the two men.

“Thank you, Doll,’’ Kol says cheekily as he downs the liquid in one go. He then places the glass back on the counter and uses his forefinger to tap it.

“You know you guys are going to have to pay for this right,” I tap the bottle and raise an eyebrow at both of them, “I’m on vervain so you can’t just compel me to make it on the house.”

Kol quickly flings a hand to his heart and a look of hurt comes over his face, “You would really assume such horrible assumptions of us?”

I don’t even blink as I answer, “Yes.”

Kol’s fake-hurt look instantly drops into a smirk, “And you’d be correct. Knew you were a smart one. But, don’t you worry,” He sends a glance to his brother who is still staring at me, “Elijah and this thing have already given our siblings a rule book of things to not do when it comes to you. Compelling you is number three,” Kol holds up three fingers.

I furrow my brows in confusion as I turn to Klaus who has now found interest in his still-full glass, “Rule book? And why is compulsion only number three?!”

“Oh yes, my brothers gave a whole presentation to us last night on things we’re not allowed to do,” Kol nods thoughtfully.

“Kol, I will dagger you,” Klaus’ threat comes out harsh as he glares at his younger brother.

Kol rolls his eyes and then leans back over the bar again and whispers to me, “We’ll chat later.’

“You will not,” Klaus says before downing his downing his drink.

“Unlike you, Elijah says we’re allowed to speak to her,” Kol says matter-of-factly to his brother with a smirk.

In this light, no one would even guess that these two are psychopathic vampires, right now all they’re acting like is two brothers who like to piss each other off.

“That is because of Rebekah, you weren’t a part of the pardon.”

Kol glares at his brother.

“Don’t listen to him, Doll,” Kol turns back to me, “I won’t let them separate us.”

I purse my lips, “Yippee.”

Kol’s eyes go towards his drink and I roll my own. Nonetheless, I raise the bourbon bottle and pour him another one. I turn to look at Klaus, who surprise surprise is already looking at me, and I raise the glass in question.

Klaus nods his head, “Thank you, Love.”

I pour another drink for Klaus and then place the bottle onto the counter, then turn away hoping to go anywhere but here.

“Little Doll, where are you going? Stay and chat with us,” Kol’s grating voice makes me roll my eyes.

“I’m on the clock Kol. Unlike some people,” I send looks to both of the brothers, “I actually have to work to make money.”

Kol turns to his right side and then his left, “There’s no one else here, Darling.”

I copy his movements and let outa swear when I realize that there is no one else waiting for a drink.

“Come chat with us,” Kol pulls his wallet out of his jacket pocket and places it on the counter, “We’ll make it worth your time.”

“I’m not a prostitute, Kol.”

A low growl from Klaus sends shockwaves down my spine.

“Don’t listen to the dog, Doll. And I’d never insinuate you were a lady of the night. And besides,” Kol’s smirk deepens, “I’ve never had to pay a woman to spend a night with me. If anything they should’ve been paying me.”

I watch in silent disbelief at Kol’s hurt expression as he finishes his sentence. And here I thought Theo was full of himself.

“Right…”

“Ignore him, Astin Min, it’s what all my family does” Klaus’ voice pulls my attention.

A quick look of hurt covers Kol’s face and for a moment I wonder if he actually has real emotions.

“Whatever mutt.”

Nevermind.

“Pour yourself a drink, Doll,” Kol turns to me with a smile, “On me.”

I open my mouth to reject him but Klaus speaks first.

“She doesn’t drink,” His tone comes out casual as he takes a sip of his own drink, but as his eyes meet mine I’m taken back to the night before when I told him things about myself that not even Theo knows.

“Well, that’s lame,” Kol mutters under his breath, “What else is there to do for fun around here other than drink?”

I break eye contact with Klaus and shrug my shoulders, “Pretty much nothing.”

“Then why do you live here,” Kol’s question comes off actually inquisitive, unlike his other comments.

“Ask my mother,” I mutter under my breath.

“Yikes,” Kol yips, “Are we not a fan of mummy dearest.”

I clench my fists as I think back to my mother.

“Drop it, Kol…Luv,” Klaus’ unusually soft voice sends a wave of comfort over me and I unclench my fists.

“Would you mind,” He gestures to his finished drink.

I grab the bourbon bottle and begin refilling his drink. I notice though that instead of watching my face, like usual, he’s glaring at my hand.

“Me too, Doll,” Kol chimes in, and after I fill his brother’s glass I fill his as well.

“Why do you work here,” Klaus questions.

I send him a glance and begin tapping my fingers to the song playing on the bar’s speakers, “As I said before, I need the money.”

“For what?”

I want to roll my eyes at Klaus’ questioning but when I see the honest look on his face I just shrug, “Stuff.”

Klaus’ eyebrows narrow, “Stuff? What kind of stuff?”

“I don’t know, like bills, and stuff. College savings.”

Klaus’ eyes narrow further as if he can’t grasp the concept of me having to work for this stuff, “Wouldn’t your mother be the one who pays for that stuff?”

I let out an annoyed laugh, “You would think?”

“You could quit,” Klaus’ comment makes me roll my eyes.

“Have you not been listening? I need the money!”

Klaus leans back in his chair and sends me an annoyed look, “I’ll pay for these things.”

What is up with these Mikaelsons and wanting to financially support me??!?

“You’d pay for me,” I say skeptically, “You pay my car insurance, my car payment, my groceries, my taxes, my gas, my art supplies, my college fund, Theo’s college fund,” I list off all my expenses in annoyance.

“Without question.”

I eye Klaus for any sign of a lie, but the stern look on his face tells me everything I need to know. He’s being serious.

I release an uncomfortable noise and look away from him, “Well, thanks…but I can do it myself.”

From my peripheral, I see Klaus lean in and rest his elbows on the counter, “Just because you can, Love, doesn’t mean you should have to.”

I feel a burning in my eyes as I consider Klaus’ words.

“Good lord,” Kol groans, “If I’ll have to deal with this,” He gestures to Klaus and I, “For the next millenia. Might as well put me out of my misery and dagger me now.’’

Klaus sends a dark smirk to his brother, “With pleasure.”

“Oh! I remember her from last night,” Kol points off to the distance and I follow his finger towards Caroline, who has just walked in looking quite hot, “She looks like a tasty little thing.”

Klaus spares a fleeting glance at Caroline before turning back towards me, “Have at it brother,” He mutters without a care.

“Hello, Darling,” Kol calls to Caroline who strides past both men.

Caroline stops and sends a bored look to the men. Her gaze holds on Klaus’ back and a look of annoyance passes over her face.

“Join us for a drink will you,” Kol questions her and raises his glass.

“Who’s us?”

Caroline’s words have no hold over me, but the way she keeps looking at Klaus’ back as if she wants his attention, makes an annoyance build in my chest.

My eyes dart to Klaus momentarily and I see him send me an odd look before turning over his shoulder to glance at Caroline. The blonde vampire instantly flicks her hair over her shoulder as the hybrid looks at her and I hear Klaus let out a low chuckle.

Caroline’s features instantly morph into annoyance again when Klaus turns back around to face me with a knowing smirk.

“I’d rather die of thirst,” Caroline looks at Kol, “But thanks. Bye, Y/n.”

With one last glance at Klaus’ back, Caroline sends me a smile, before pretty much stomping back outside.

“Well,” Kol turns back towards me, “Hand me that bottle, love. I’m going to go harass the locals.”

“Are you going to pay for it?”

Kol must notice my change in mood as he smirks and opens up his wallet, “Of course love. Wouldn’t want to make you mad.”

I watch in awe as Kol fishes out a handful of one-hundreds and throws them on the counter in front of him.

“Kol, it’s a $80 bottle,” I say unbelievably.

Kol just smirks and shrugs, “With the way it tastes it better be…but the rest is your tip, Little Doll,” He reaches over the counter and grabs the bottle before standing up. He then glances at his brother, “Enjoy. Talk soon.”

I watch with my mouth open as Kol saunters over to the pool table where the woman Ric was previously talking to is standing. I turn my attention to the wad of money on the counter and quickly count it.

Eight hundred dollars. That’s a $720 tip. This is more than I’ll make in an entire month…hell two months.

I shake my head in disbelief as a happy laugh escapes me.

“Now that I know money makes you do that, I’ll be sure to tip you a lot.”

I look to Klaus, confused.

“What?”

Klaus looks at me with the same heartstopping look from last night, “Your smile,” He gestures to my mouth as if it’s nothing, “I rarely see you smile like that.”

Klaus’ comment has a wave of embarrassment flowing through me, “I’m not superficial or anything,” I deny as I hold the money close to me, “It’s just that…,” I pause unsure if I should continue, “This amount of money might not seem like much to you guys, but… to me, it’s life-changing. I don’t have a trust fund to fall back on if times get tough. All I have is the money I save and with all the money I spend on bills and Theo’s sports…I don’t have much left. If any at all.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Y/n. I may have never had to worry about money, but I understand what it feels like to want something out of reach.”

I tug on my bottom lip as I nod and put my large tip into my apron pocket, “Thanks.”

Klaus smirks, “No need to thank me, love.”

I lock eyes with him and I feel a small smile making its way onto my face. Klaus appears to start to say something but the voice of a customer from the other end of the bar turns my attention.

“Of course,” I hear Klaus mutter.

I hold up one finger to the customer and then turn back to Klaus.

Klaus nods, “Go, love. I’ll be here waiting.”

—

I let out a deep sigh as I finished dealing with a rush of customers. Normally when dealing with drunk people my anxiety level is only at 100 but with the everlasting stare I felt from Klaus the entire time my anxiety is now at a whopping 100,000.

“Do you need a refill,” I finally make my way over to Klaus who hasn't moved from his chair.

“I’m alright, Love,” The side of his lip twitches as he looks at me, “I do wonder though why get a job working as a bartender when it’s clear how much you loathe drunk people.”

I bring my hand up to my neck and rub out the tension. Klaus's eyes follow my movement and his normal bright blue seems to darken.

“I um… Don’t usually work as a bartender. But, someone called in sick so I covered for them.”

Klaus’ eyes make their way back up to my face and he nods in understanding.

“When do you get off?”

I glance down at the watch on my wrist and sigh, “Thankfully, only 30 more minutes.”

Klaus seems to be happy with my response.

“Great. What are you doing after this?”

I narrow my eyes at the hybrid, “Why do you ask?”

Klaus's lips morph into a smirk and he leans back and shrugs his shoulders, “Asking for a friend.’’

I let out a small laugh, “Right, of course. Because as I know you have so many of those.”

Klaus’ eyes narrow at my jab and I laugh again.

“Tell your friend that I have a date.”

Klaus’ smirk drops.

“Who?”

Klaus’ instant change in attitude startles me. Long gone is his casual demeanor, now replaced by something darker.

“What?”

At my question, Klaus leans in and practically glares at me, “Who is your date?”

I try not to let Klaus’ attitude freak me out as I lean into him so our faces are a few inches apart, “The leftover lasagna I have in my freezer at home.”

Klaus’ face instantly morphs into annoyance, “Are you serious right now?”

I shrug, “I never joke about pasta.”

Klaus runs a hand over his face, “Y/n…careful.”

I raise an eyebrow at him, “Why?”

Klaus takes his hand away from his face and instead brings it up to run a finger along my jawline. I inhale an involuntary breath as he watches me with a dark gleam in his eyes.

“You need to be careful because if I ever do find out you were to go on a date with another man,” My breath comes out shallow as he leans in so close our noses are practically touching, “I’d find him…rip all of his limbs off and then,” His eyes trail down to my lips, “I’d ravage you in his blood. So every time after that, every time a man even glances your way…all you’ll be able to think about is the feeling of me on top of you.”

I let out a squeak. A fucking squeak.

I can’t seem to find my words, which only seems to please Klaus.

“You…you,” I try to shove away any unwanted thoughts as I look a the man before me, “You’re not allowed to get jealous…we’re not even together. Like I talked with Elijah about, we’re going to be just friends for right now.”

Klaus lets out a loud laugh.

“Friends?!”

I furrow my brows at the tone in his voice.

“Y/n love,” Klaus meets my eye, “My brother may try to fool you and himself with that silly notion, but know this…you and I,” He points from himself to me, “Will never be just friends. Friends don’t think of each other the way you and I think of one another.”

I shake my head in denial, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Klaus tilts his head, “No? So that death glare you were sending your blood friend while she was trying to get my attention was nothing?”

God, I don’t know if I want to punch him or kiss him.

“Just to let you know though, you have no reason to be jealous. No other woman could sway my gaze away from my little muse.”

I feel my face heat at his confession and I open my mouth to try to deny him again but a piercing pain makes me release a loud gasp.

I feel my knees buckle as I clutch my heart.

“Y/n!” I think I can hear Klaus’ frantic voice but with the searing pain, it’s kind of hard to focus on anything.

I’m soon enveloped in a warm embrace as I feel hands go under my arms and my knees, bringing me into a bridal-style pose.

“I’ve got you, Love.”

I try to focus on the warmth of Klaus instead of my chest, but it’s kind of hard when it hurts like a motherfucker.

A rush of cold air hits my face, and I think we must be outside now.

“I’ve got to set you down for a moment, my love. I’ve got to go kill your friends momentarily.”

I try to open my eyes when I feel myself being placed on cold ground and I think I can see Stefan and Damon fighting with Klaus.

After a moment I feel a weight being lifted off my chest and I no longer feel the stabbing pain. Thank fuck.

“I should’ve killed you months ago,” I lift my head to see Klaus standing in front of me protectively and Stefan and Damon a few feet away from him looking disheveled. I lock eyes with Damon, and his eyes narrow as he looks at me for a moment before turning back toward Klaus.

“Do it. That’s not gonna stop Esther from killing you.”

The fuck?

“What did you say about my mother?”

I watch with bated breath as Klaus stalks toward the eldest Salvatore.

“You didn’t know I was friends with your mummy? Yeah, we have a lot in common. She hates you as much as I do.”

“Demon, you fucking idiot,” I cough out, as I try to sit up against the stone wall.

Klaus rushes towards him but is stopped by the sound of Elijah’s voice.

Yay, Lijah.

“Leave him!”

Klaus, Damon, and I, both turn to look up the stone staircase where Elijah stands.

“We still need him, Niklaus.”

Klaus takes a step closer to his brother, “What did mother do? What did she do, Elijah?”

Elijah starts walking down the stairs and as he gets to the bottom step he unbuttons his jacket and takes it off.

Why is this dude stripping right now?

“You’re shaking,” Elijah’s eyes meet mine and he reaches out his jacket for me to take. The cold look he had on his face, moments ago is gone and replaced with a sorrowful look as he gives me a once-over.

Oh. He's being chivalrous and here I’m calling him a stripper. My bad.

I reach out a hand, and as I catch a glimpse of its shaking I now just realize how right Elijah is. I try to muster up a small smile of thanks as I grab the jacket from him and place it over my shoulders. Elijah nods once before turning back and striding over the Damon.

“You tell me where the witches are or I’ll have my sister kill Elena right now.”

“What?!”

I feel my heart drop in my stomach at Elijah’s words and I push on the wall to stand up on wobbly legs.

“Elijah, what the hell are you talking about?!” For the very first time since meeting him, Elijah ignores me.

“You told me we had until after 9,” Damon says and I shake my head in confusion.

“I’m sure Rebekah would be more than happy to start her work early.’’

Elijah’s words send waves of fear through me.

A look of fear comes over Damon's face and he tries to rush past Elijah but Elijah halts him with a hand to his chest.

“And one last thing you should know. I see you have procured a center fondness for Y/n,” At Elijah’s comment Damon’s eyes meet mine, “As you may or may not know Y/n is my soulmate. As well as my brothers. With that being said if either one of us were to die…Y/n would shortly follow. Just thought you should know.”

Tears begin welling in my eyes as I watch Elijah. Damon looks at Elijah and Klaus, to see if either one of them is bluffing but when looking at both of their grim expressions he clenches his jaw. Damon pushes past Elijah, grabs Stefan, and begins to walk up the stairs. He stops though, momentarily and turns to look over his shoulder. We lock eyes and after a moment he shakes his head harshly and speeds away with his brother.

Tears stream down my face as I stare at the spot Damon was in only moments ago.

“Elskan,” Elijah’s soft voice comes from beside me and I flinch.

I take 3 large steps away and I stare wide-eyed at him.

“Do NOT come near me,” I raise an accusing finger at him and shrug off his coat from my shoulders.

“Elskan, please you don’t understand,” Elijah raises his hands and tries to step closer to me but takes another step away. He frowns at my movement but still stops moving.

“Understand what, Elijah!? That you’re threatening to kill my best friend?! Or that you’re using me as fucking leverage!”

It’s Elijah’s turn to flinch as I muster whatever strength I have left to yell at him.

“Elena is innocent! And I thought you were better than this to use my a fucking leverage against my friends!”

Elijah shakes his head, “You’re so-called innocent friend made a deal with my mother to rid my entire family of this earth.”

I shake my head in denial but Elijah continues.

“I asked Miss. Gilbert to be honest with me and she lied straight to my face. She was willing to let my entire family die, Y/n. But, I’m not. Especially when it means that you will also perish.”

“Elena would never do anything to hurt me,” I shake my head a wipe away the tears flowing down my face.

“Exactly… that is why I told Damon what would happen to you if my siblings and I were to die.”

Elijah begins to take another step toward me but he is interfered by Klaus.

A snarl leaves Elijah’s lips and I back up to the point where my back is now pressed into the wall.

“Give her space, brother,” I hear Klaus. Klaus turns over his shoulder to look at my quivering form and I see Elijah’s angry expression hinder as he looks at me.

“What the bloody hell happened?”

I whip around with teary eyes to see a groaning Kol, walk down the steps, with a look of anger on his face.

He looks at his brothers but when they don’t give him the time of day, he turns to me. His angry expression dims into confusion when he notices my tear-stained face.

“Which one of you did this?”

I’m shocked by the angry tone Kol directs at his brothers.

“Not now Kol,” Elijah glares at his younger brother, who glares back at him.

“Am I going to die tonight?” My quiet voice catches all three men’s attention and they turn to me.

“I won’t let that happen, love,” Klaus takes a step towards me but I move around him and find myself standing behind Kol.

Klaus seems hurt by my action but I honestly don’t give a flying fuck right now.

“What will happen to Theo if I die,” I feel my chest hurt as I mutter to myself. My body begins to shake and I blink rapidly as my vision goes in and out. I try to catch my breath but I think I’ve forgotten how to breathe. Oh God, I’m suffocating.

Warm hands press themselves to my face and I think I can hear Klaus’ voice through the ringing that is going through my head. Klaus’ voice is gone though as the ringing in my head gets louder and my breaths get shorter.

My breathing completely halts as a weight presses itself onto my lips.

I open my eyes and realize that Klaus is pressing his lips to mine. Again.

I’m practically knocked out of the panic attack I was in as I back away quickly from Klaus who watches my every move.

My eyes fling from Klaus to Kol who is watching the exchange with a raised eyebrow, and then I look to Elijah who now won’t meet my eye.

“Well, now that that is done…I’d like very much to not die today so let’s get this show on the road.”

I look towards Kol who eyes me for a moment before wrapping me under his arm and begins walking me up the stairs.

I go to take a step but my knees buckle and I begin to fall.

Thankfully, Kol wraps his arm around my waist and uses his strength to pretty much carry me up the stairs, “Don’t worry love. I’ve got you.”

I look up at him and find myself beginning to tear up again, “Thank you.”

Kol looks down at me and something shifts in his eyes momentarily before he looks forward and smirks, “What are friends for?”

—-

I’m now trudging through a cold, windy ass forest to go stop my soulmate's deranged mother from killing us all. Fantastic. Fuck I’m hungry.

Klaus, Elijah, and Kol walk ahead of me a few paces as I trudge behind. Kol offered to carry me the way but not wanting to feel like a damsel I denied him. Now as my aching muscles scream at me, I regret it.

Thankfully, I warm orange light can be seen from up ahead.

Elijah stops and turns to me, “You should stay here. We’ll handle this.”

I glare at Elijah and walk past him and the other two men, “Ya, because you three have been so good at handling things so far,” I spit.

I try to forget the pain as I march towards the open center of the woods where Esther stands with Finn in a circle of fire and salt.

Sigmund Freud, you would’ve loved these two.

Elijah comes to stand on my right, Klaus on my left and Kol walks behind them to stand right beside Klaus.

“My sons, come forward,” Esther says, and god I’ve never wanted to throw a punch at a woman more in my entire life.

“Stay beside me,” Finn puts his hand out to his mother and I frown at him.

“It’s okay. They can’t enter.”

“Ya, so why don’t you stop hiding behind your magic and come over here bitch,” I bite at her and I hear Kol snigger.

“Ah, yes. I’m afraid we haven’t properly met, my dear. I do want you to know I don’t blame you for your anger. I am incredibly sorry that fate has put you with my sons.”

The flames around Esther and Finn engulf and I feel the warmth spread across my cold face. I feel a slight tug on my elbow and Klaus and Elijah come to stand in front of me.

“Go fuck yourself, Esther.”

“That’s lovely,” Kol says as he looks at the flames, “We’re stuck out here while the favorite son plays sacrificial lamb. How pathetic you are, Finn.”

“Be quiet, Kol,” Esther stops him, “Your brother knows virtue you cannot even imagine.”

“Whatever you think of us killing your own children would be an atrocity.”

Esther shakes her head at Elijah’s words.

“My only regret is that I did not let you die a thousand years ago.”

“Enough,” Klaus exhausts, “All this talk is boring me. End this now, Mother or I’ll send you back to hell.”

A smirk comes onto my face at Klaus’ words.

“For a thousand years I’ve been forced to watch you; felt the pain of every victim; suffered while you shed blood. Even you, Elijah, with your claim to nobility you’re not better. All of you you’re a curse on this Earth stretched out over generations. If you’ve come to plead for your life I’m sorry. You’ve wasted your time.”

“And what of Y/n,” The mention of my name has me looking at Elijah who points his finger at me, “A girl who is nothing but caring, pure, and good of heart. And yet what? You burden her with death. She does not deserve this mother. She is good… I am asking you…do not harm the woman I love.”

Elijah’s eyes lock with mine and the emotions hidden in them pull something in me I didn’t know existed.

“Yes, she is innocent. But for how long? How long before your promised immortality results in her death or her transition into a monster like you all? Fate has already given his girl the hand of death. It is better I give her the mercy of a quick one now.”

A wave of anger I’ve never felt before exudes me as I push past Klaus and Elijah and stand at the ring of salt, heat from the fire be damned.

“You are unbelievable!”

“Excuse me?”

“You sit on your high horse hiding behind your poor son, while you degrade and belittle your other children! Instead of loving them for their faults, you have condemned them to think of themselves as nothing more than monsters. Yes, they have lived a thousand years, and yes they have spilled blood! But who the fuck wouldn’t!? I haven’t known any of them very long but I am sure that these so-called monsters you see as your children are not the people I see before me right now,” I point to Finn who watches me with a cold expression, “Finn for example follows you dutifully because that’s all he knows! It is all he’s been allowed to know! You pushed this idea that he and his siblings are all monsters who deserve nothing and yet here he stands ready to die at your altar for your approval! Finn was betrayed by his siblings for almost a thousand years and when he’s finally awoken I bet you just jumped at the fact that he would cling to the first sign of care and love anyone would show him, didn’t you,” I accuse the glaring woman in front of me and I look as Finn’s gaze turns to his mother, “A woman trying to sacrifice her own son isn’t what he needed Esther, he needed a mother. And what about Kol,” I whip around and point at the boy next to me, “Yes, I’ve only known him two days and he’s already a pain in my ass, but even in those two days he’s shown me more care than my own father or mother have ever shown me! And Klaus…,” I stop and make eye contact with Klaus who is watching me with an unreadable expression, “God…Esther, you are a pathetic excuse for a woman and mother. How many times did you excuse Mikael’s behavior? When Klaus came crying to you in pain, how many times did you just patch him up and then wait with bated breath until the next time he came to you needing help again? I have a mother like you, you know. And I love her because she’s my mother…but I also hate the ground she walks on because she’s an idiotic woman who was too scared to leave a man who caused nothing but pain for her children. And after all of that, you criticize Elijah’s attempts at being a better person?! You just went on and on about them being monsters but the second one of them tries to change you disparage him? Right now I’m pissed off at Elijah, but even though I am that doesn’t stop me from thinking that he is one of the best people I have ever met in my 18 years of life. Before I met him, I was nothing,” I say and I can see my vision start to blur with tears, “I was a quiet girl who nobody cared for. I woke each day waiting for life to be done with me, just as I was done with it. But then…,” I look to Elijah whose eyes are filled with nothing but pure devotion, “I met a man who did something I never thought anyone would ever be able to do…breathe. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t holding my breath around everyone. The day I met Elijah everything changed for me. Meeting him was the best day of my life…and also the first day I truly started living. So don’t you dare for a second blame your mistakes on them! You made your bed now fucking lie in it, Esther.”

Esther’s glare is harsh but nothing could sway the rage that flows through my body as I stare at the bitch in front of me.

Esther’s glare instantly shifts into fear and I am pulled back by Kol as the flames around the circle begin to flicker.

“No! Sisters, do not abandon me!”

Esther’s yells are useless as the flames around us flare up and Kol covers my body with his own. After another moment the heat of the flames is gone.

I glance up at Kol and send him a smile and he nods.

Klaus, Elijah, Kol, and I stand together as we look at the unlit circle where I stone-faced Finn and a frightened Esther stand.

“Finn,” Esther grabs her son's arm, “We must leave now.”

Finn looks down at his mother and then his gaze falls onto me.

“You’re your own person Finn. Peculiar…but still,” I smile at him and his chest puffs out.

Finn shrugs out his mother’s hold and shakes his head at her.

“Finn, what are you doing?”

I feel a sick smirk come onto my face as I look at Esther’s scared expression.

“I have lived for a thousand years mother, and yet I have spent none of those feeling alive. I think I deserve the chance to.”

I can’t help the giant smile that I feel across my face at Finn’s words. Hell ya, brother!

“Finn you have no idea what you’re talking about! Don’t let this insolent little harlot,” She gestures to me wildly, “Sway you from the plan!”

A flash of motion catches my eye and I let out a yelp as I watch Esther’s head get swiped off her body.

Elijah stands before his mother’s dead body with a grim expression on his face, “No one is allowed to insult, Y/n. Not even you, mother.”

I blink as I stare at Esther’s decapitated body.

“Well, mommy dearest is dead again.”

I look up to Kol whose attention goes from his mother’s body to Finn.

“You absolute fool,” Kol bites at Finn, and all three brothers turn to glare at the eldest Mikaelson.

Without thinking I rush in front of Finn and put a hand out stopping his brothers.

“Off limits!”

“Excuse me?!”

Kol stares wildly at me as if I have three heads.

“Yep. Just like you and me kol, Finn and I also have our own deal,” I look back towards Finn who looks at me confused before nodding along, “So if you dagger him, I’ll never speak to the three of you again.”

“I can live with that,” Kol mutters not taking his eyes off Finn.

“That’s fine…then that means our deal no longer stands, ankle biter. Tell me,” I smirk at Kol, “How many moth balls does that coffin of yours collect a year?”

Kol turns his glare from his brother to me, but I hold it.

“If anything I think you all owe Finn an apology. I mean Kol you’re pissed off for being daggered away for a hundred years, and yet you hold no sympathy for your brother who was daggered for ten times that?!”

Kol glare drops slightly as he thinks for a moment before rolling his eyes.

“I take it back…I wouldn’t want to be your mate.”

“Right back at you.”

With one final look at his brother, Kol speeds off into the dark forest.

My attention goes to Elijah and Klaus and I raise an eyebrow in challenge at them.

“What’s it going to be, boys?”

Elijah’s eyes don’t leave mine as he addresses his eldest brother, “Leave Finn.”

“Thank you, Y/n,” I hear Finn whisper to me before he also speeds off into the night.

I look a the two men before me and let out a shaky breath.

“Soooooooo…..”

“Did you mean what you said?”

I look at Elijah, “That I’m pissed off at you…yes.”

Elijah shakes his head, “Y/n…”

I rub a hand down my face and nod, “Yes. Every word.”

I don’t have time for my hand to move away from my face when I feel two strong arms wrap themselves around me in an embrace.

I release a shaky breath as I feel Elijah use one hand to grip my waist and the other to hold the back of my head.

I know I’m not much of a hugger…but damn this feels nice.

“Thank you.”

Elijah’s soft voice makes me almost forget I’m mad at him…almost.

“You’re welcome. But, I’m still pissed at you.”

“I know, Elskan,” Elijah says as he leans back and runs a hand through my hair, getting it out of my face.

A cough interrupts us and I glance over Elijah’s shoulder to Klaus who is watching us with a glare.

I step away from Elijah, who grunts in disapproval.

“So, I’m glad we didn’t die. That’s cool.”

Silence.

“Okay…well I’m starving and your mother’s decapitated head is right by my left foot soooooo….can we leave?”

—-

Klaus and I walk silently up the staircase to my front door. Elijah had left us earlier to go tell Rebekah about their mother.

When Klaus and I get to my door, I wait for him to say something, but sigh when all he does is stare at the door.

“Ok…Night,” I reach for the handle and begin to turn it when Klaus's hand grabs mine. I turn to look at him in question but before I can even blink I’m being tagged forward into Klaus’ embrace and his lips are attacking mine. It only takes my body a moment to catch on and before I realize what I’m doing I’m kissing him back. This seems to be the approval Klaus needed because he used his hand to grab my waist to pull my flush against his chest and his other hand to grip the back of my neck so I couldn’t move…not that I wanted to. I try to fight for dominance but that is quickly stopped when Klaus bites harshly into my bottom lip, making me exhale. This gives Klaus an opening as his tongue enters my mouth and begins fighting for dominance against my own. An involuntary moan escapes my lips at the feeling and Klaus releases a growl at the noise.

Klaus releases my mouth as we both catch our breaths.

My eyes widen as I see that Klaus’ once blue eyes are now a bright gold, with dark veins under them. Without thinking I reach a hand up and cup his face, and using my thumb I trace the veins.

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I whip around to see Theo wrapped in his fluffy robe with his phone to his ear glaring at Klaus and I, “I’ll have to call you back Jerebaby. My sister’s making out with a serial killer.”

Theo ends the call, stomps out of the house, and puts his hands on his hips sending glares to both Klaus and me.

“Seriously?! Young lady, in the house now!”

I raise an eyebrow at Theo and he does the exact same.

I turn to say goodbye, or really anything to Klaus but Theo stops me.

“NUH-UH HOUSE NOW!”

I roll my eyes and with a huff, I stomp inside.

Theo slams the door shut behind us and I whip around to him.

“Seriously, Theodore!?”

“Room now,” Theo yells and I glare at him.

“I’m older than you Theo, you can’t ground me.”

“Well, as the man of this house, I am.”

“You’re wearing a blue fluffy robe with bunny rabbits on it,” I deadpan as I look at my brother’s attire.

“AND?! ROOM NOW! We shall talk about this in the morning!”

I blink once at my brother before shaking my head and trudging over to my room.

—

After taking a VERY cold shower I finally get to settle down with my lasagna.

“Hello, Elskan.”

FUCKING SERIOUSLY

I whip around on my bed to see Elijah, who just magically appeared in the corner of my room. Yay.

“Ya, hi, Elijah. No offense but I haven’t eaten anything at all today and almost getting killed by a one thousand-year-old witch really does something to the stomach. So if you don’t mind, I’m going to eat while you say whatever it is you’re going to say.”

I huff and then stuff a forkful of pasta into my mouth.

“Of course, Elskan. Please don’t starve yourself. I’ll say my peace and then leave you.”

I hum to him as I pick a huge piece of pasta up with my fork and shove it into my mouth.

“I am leaving Mystic Falls.”

I feel my lasagna lodge in my throat as I inhale.

I clutch my throat as I feel myself choking and try to cough up my food.

“Y/n!”

Elijah runs to my side and hits my back and I spit out the chunk of pasta onto my plate.

With a shaky breath, I look up to Elijah who is staring at me, wide-eyed, “What the fuck do you mean you’re leaving?!”

Elijah shakes his head, “Are you alright?” I glare at him, “Elijah answer my question.”

Elijah eyes me for a moment before shaking his head and muttering something under his breath. He walks back over to the corner of my room and places himself on my desk chair.

“I am leaving.”

I blink, “Ya… I got that.”

Elijah sighs, “What I did today was unforgivable. I went against my moral code and hurt not just you, but your friend. I betrayed your trust and threatened an innocent girl's life. I can never forgive myself. That is why I must leave. My siblings will stay here to make sure you stay safe, but…me being around will only cause more pain.”

“Are you serious?”

Elijah picks up his head to meet my glare.

With a huff, I put my pasta, which is now cold, onto my side table, and stand up. With my hands on my hips, I walk over to Elijah and stand before his seated figure.

“Elijah you are a grown man, act like it.”

Elijah’s eyes narrow at my words, “Excuse me?”

“You talk a big game about taking accountability but right now, that is the farthest thing from what you are doing. You made a mess, clean it up. Don’t run away just because you’re scared of the repercussions.”

Elijah stands up, and I inhale when I realize just how close we are now.

“I am not scared,” Elijah’s low voice sends shivers down my spine as he leans down to meet my eye level.

I puff out my chest, “Is that so? Because all I see right now is a man who doesn’t go for anything he wants. Who is just letting everyone walk all over him. Elijah…you fucked up. But, running away is not going to change that. Own your mistakes, don’t hide from them.”

Elijah’s nostrils flare slightly and he raises an eyebrow, “You think I don’t go for what I want?”

The challenge in his voice makes a warmth flow throughout my body, “Yes…”

As soon as the word leaves my mouth, Elijah raises his hand and grips my throat pulling me into him. A startled gasp leaves my throat but it is quickly muted by the pressure of Elijah’s lip on my own. My mind seems to be working a mile a minute as I try to understand everything that is happening right now. Elijah is kissing me. Kissing me. Elijah is kissing me, while his hand is wrapped around my throat.

Kinky.

No, Y/n. Shut up.

As soon as I start to piece together everything, the pressure of Elijah’s mouth and his hand are gone. I blink as I see Elijah look almost hurt.

“You didn’t like that…I’m so sorry Elskan. I’ll go.”

Elijah’s words make me highly confused because I indeed liked what he just did.

“Why do you think I didn’t like it?”

Elijah’s eyebrows furrow, “You were distracted. I felt it. And you…,” He pauses and I see his cheeks turn a light pink. He’s nervous, “You didn’t kiss me back.”

Seeing Elijah’s hurt expression, mixed with his tinted cheeks pulls something out of me, and before I can stop myself I grab his tie and drag him over to me. As soon as he’s a few inches away I slam my lips onto his.

A shocked grunt escapes his throat and then a moment later he’s grabbing both of my cheeks and pulling my face flush against his. Just like with Klaus, I try to fight for dominance but that is short-lived with the intense pressure Elijah is kissing me with.

After a dizzying few minutes, Elijah unlocks our lips and rests his forehead against mine and I can’t stop the giggle that leaves me.

“Friends definitely don’t do that.”

417 notes · View notes

aimless-imagines-for-fun · 1 year ago

Text

Vacation: Part one

PART TWO PART THREE

Pairing :: OPLA!Sanji x fem!Reader

Warnings :: 18+ Content, NSFW/SMUT, Oral(f recieving), Semi-Public sex(they did it in an alley), Light teasing

Word Count :: 3,373

Summary :: After being forced on a vacation at the Baratie, you catch the eye of a certain blond cook who loves to tease you.

A/N :: I was trying to find the right mix between pervert simp anime Sanji and suave charming live-action Sanji. There will for sure be a part two.

Go watch the One Piece live-action.

“I see a place we can stop to make repairs, Captain Tommy,” You said, eye still focused on the small floating mass in the distance.

You worked on a merchant ship for a wealthy businessman named Greylock. You were his top secret contract negotiator. The reason you were a “secret” was because he never introduced you as a negotiator. You would always find your way to sneak into his potential clients’ and contract partners’ inner circle to figure out what type of people they were and what they wanted. With this personal knowledge, you would then come up with the best plan of action to secure a beneficial deal for the business. It was easy for you thanks to your typically quiet demeanor. You knew when to stay silent and read the room.

Captain Tommy, Greylock’s business partner, set a course for the wooden structure floating. “Let’s hope the owner’s kind enough to let us port for a while.”

“How long do you think it’ll take to repair the damages?”

“The storm banged us up pretty good, not to mention all the scrapes we’ve gotten from pirates.” He glanced around the ship. “I’d say at least three to four weeks.”

You cursed quietly under your breath. “Greylock isn’t going to be happy about that.”

Captain Tommy shrugged. “There’s nothing we can do. The ship’s falling apart. We won’t be able to make it to a port town before the ship sinks.”

You knew Greylock would be upset once you told him, so you took precocious measures to alleviate the anger.

You stood with him on the deck, watching as you approached your soon-to-be temporary home. "You know sir, you've been mentioning wanting to take a vacation for a while."

He sighed, shrugging. "That's because I'm getting older and tired of working. I became a merchant to see the world, not to work endlessly."

"Well then, how about you finally take that vacation now while we repair the ship?"

He turned his head to give you a weary look. "Take a vacation while the ship is repaired?"

You nodded with a smile. "Captain Tommy told me it would take at least three weeks to repair the ship. Instead of worrying about work, you should relax during that time."

"(Y/N)-"

"And you can give the crew a chance to rest. Were y'all dreary from that dreadful storm, not to mention the attacks we had to endure before?" You patted his shoulder. "You know what they say, a happy crew is a dutiful crew. And a tired crew typically ends up killing someone."

Grey lock laughed at your made-up saying, but you were able to persuade him. "You're right. We've been working too hard recently without a break." He looked out once more, finally in the distance to see the name of the place you'll all be staying for the next month. "Lads!" He shouted loud enough to grab everyone's attention. "I want you lot to enjoy yourselves at the Baratie. Think of our unscheduled stop as a surprise resort! Haha!"

Immediately the crew lit up. While everyone cheered and began to talk about what they'd do with their spare time, aside from repairs, you looked up at Captain Tommy. He had a small smirk, giving you a wink. He knew if anyone could get Greylock to give the entire crew a break, it'd be you.

You walked into Baratie behind Greylock and Captain Tommy. It was typically for the three of you to grab a bite together whenever you arrived at a new town so that you could discuss your work objectives. Today, however, it was simply a meal between friends.

A fish man greeted you at the entrance, accepting a small fee before allowing you to take your seats.

You looked over the menu, wondering what to try first. You'd be around for a while and we're sure you'd get to try a few items on the menu before departing. Greylock and Captain Tommy chatted with one another, used to your silence. They knew that you spoke when you felt you needed to.

The swing doors to the kitchen flew open. You glanced up from the menu, seeing a blond man to have caused the small ruckus. He looked upset, brows furrowed and tight lips turned down.

'I wonder what got him so riled up,' You thought.

You kept your eyes on him, noticing he was making his way to your table with a tray of bread rolls in hand. When he was about halfway, he noticed you sitting right of Greylock and his mood instantly seemed to pick up. After his eyes locked with yours, his gaze lit up and a dashing smile graced his lips.

Seeing his mood do a complete one-eighty after spotting you, you shot your eyes back down to your menu. 'Please don't be our waiter. Please don't be our waiter. Plea-'

"Hello gentlemen and fair lady, my name is Sanji. What would you like to drink to start you off? We have several rare Micqueot vintages in stock."

Almost throughout his entire introduction, you could feel his line of sight fixed on you. He didn’t mind that you didn’t look at him. It allowed him to sneak a glance at your chest without being noticed.

"Anything fancy would be a waste on me. I'll just have a simple whiskey to start with," Greylock said. Captain Tommy put up two fingers, requesting the same.

"And what will you be having, darling?"

"Hm… I'll have a sweet tea."

"A sweet drink for a sweet girl understood."

Your eyes shot towards him, a little shocked by his straightforward demeanor. He gave you a quick wink before walking away.

Now, it was time for the old men to act like school girls.

Greylock started the teasing first. "Awe, our little (Y/N) has a young man who's interested in her,"

"And by the small blush on her cheeks, I'd say she's interested too."

"Wh-what blush?" You stuttered, only now feeling the heat center in your cheeks.

"The one that's covering your entire face." Captain Tommy laughed.

"Shut up. I was just caught off guard by his remark." You practically shoved your face into the menu, embarrassed to face the men before you any longer.

They continued laughing for a moment before talking about what to order.

After Sanji came back with your drinks, it was time for you three to place your orders. Again, your colleagues ordered before you. This time though, you spoke right when Captain Tommy finished his sentence.

"And I will have the seared ahi tuna."

"Do you want the chocolate sin cake after for dessert, love? It's so moist it'll melt in your mouth, I promise," He said in a sultry tone for no other apparent reason than to get a rise out of you.

And once more, you were left stunned and your face was heating up. You were certain he was only teasing you, but you were still upset giving him the presumed reaction he wanted.

"She would love the chocolate cake!" Greylock's hand patted your back hard, causing you to fall forward a bit on the table. "It's been a while since she's had a good pastry."

“Coming right up.”

He left with a swift turn on his heels and when he was out of sight you glared daggers at the two accompanying you.

“What do you think you’re doing, sir?”

“Trying to make sure you have a fun time here.” He took a swig of his whiskey before continuing. “Listen, you’re always working hard for us, and you rarely make any time for yourself.”

You sink in your seat a bit. He was right. On the rare occasion you did flirt with others, it was to secure a deal, and then, you were gone.

“Plus, the boy’s easy on the eyes. You’d be mad to not give him a chance.” He bursted out laughing.

Captain Tommy was a bit more comforting with his words. “You probably won’t interact with him much, so don’t mind him.”

Choosing to believe him, you relaxed for the remainder of the meal. ‘Captain Tommy’s right. As long as I don’t come here again, I probably won’t run into him.’

Too bad you had a crew that loved to go out because about two days later, you found yourself back at the Baratie. This time, Sanji wasn’t your waiter which you were more than thankful for. Captain Tommy and Greylock might’ve teased you a bit, but the men with you now would have embarrassed you so much you would never step foot out of your living quarters again.

Around mid-way into your meal, you excused yourself from the table to go use the restroom. While walking down the hallway, your attention was on the various paintings that decorated the wall.

Since you weren’t paying much attention to what was in front of you, you collided with a firm chest. You nearly stumbled back until a pair of arms wrapped around you, holding you in place.

“Ah-! I-I’m so sorry! I should have been paying attention to where I was… going…” You looked up at the person you had bumped into, locking eyes with a familiar blue-eyed blond.

He gave you a large grin, replying. “No need to apologize madam. I should be the one apologizing,” You tilted your head, “for disturbing a fine piece of art like you.”

You immediately turned away, hoping he wouldn’t catch your growing blush. “Can you please let me go?” You asked timidly.

You felt his hold tighten for a quick second before letting you go. Without another word, you rushed past him to the women's restroom.

Sanji watched you run away, a playful grin plastered on his face. “Oh, I’m going to have fun with this one,” He mumbled, already missing the feeling of your body pressed against his.

This would be how every interaction you had with the blonde cook and occasional waiter, played out. You would try to be formal with him, he'd make a flirty or suggestive comment, and then you'd start to blush or stutter.

Typically it was whenever you went to eat at Baratie, but there were a few occasions when he managed to catch you outside.

"I must be in heaven because I'm seeing an angel before me." You tensed up in your seat and froze upon hearing Sanji.

You were at the small outdoor bar next to the giant fish-headed restaurant. Around the end of the first week, you noticed that the place had a pretty good view of the sunset. Sure, you saw the sun set often, but you rarely actually watched it fall below the horizon line, disappearing until morning. It was a minor peaceful event you wanted to enjoy on your supposed vacation alone.

The sky had already darkened by this point. You were just around to finish the drink you had.

"Good evening, Sanji."

He sat next to you, pouting playfully. "Come on m, (Y/N). We've known each other for over two weeks now. There's no need for you to keep acting so stuffy all the time."

You crossed your arms. "I'm not stuffy."

"Yes, you are. Every time I see you it's always a quick sentence or two before nothing but silence. I'm starting to think you don't like me."

'I wish it was that simple.' In fact, you were having the opposite reaction. You were used to making contracts and business deals with people when you spoke to them. You weren't used to being openly flirted with for no reason.

Like always, you avoided making eye contact with him. This time, you fixed your attention to the remaining ice cubes in your drink.

He leaned closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. "Or maybe, it's because you're too shy to admit you like me," He whispered, hot breath hitting your ear and sending a tingle throughout your body.

You snapped your head around, face burning up when you saw how close he was. That damn coy smile plastered on his perfect lips.

He chuckled to himself, brushing a strand of your hair out of your face. "That's it, isn't it?"

"Why do you keep messing with me?" You bluntly asked. Frankly, you were getting tired of his game, even if you weren't entirely sure what this game was.

This was the first time you had caught him off guard. He leaned back a bit, tilting his head. "What makes you think I'm messing with you?"

"If you actually had an interest in me, you would've told me or showed me by now. You just keep saying sweet nothings to mess with me and I'm sick of it," Your voice was growing frustrated, finally voicing your opinion. "I'm trying to enjoy my vacation, not be bothered by some- Hey!"

He grabbed your hand, lifting you from your seat with a tug and pulling you away. You followed, partly because you were unable to pull away and partly because of curiosity as to where he was taking you. He led you to a small alley a bit away.

Before you could question his intentions, he leaned down to press a firm kiss onto your lips. His hands fell to your hips, holding onto you with a firm grasp and locking you against the wall behind you. Almost as if he were afraid you’d try to escape. His nerves were quickly set to rest when you began kissing him back, your hands holding his shoulders. His tongue licked your bottom lip and you gladly parted, allowing him to shove his tongue in your mouth.

After some time, he pulled away and began trailing kisses down your neck. As he did, you felt his hands wander to the button of your shorts.

Feeling him work to undo them you asked him, “What are you doing?”

He pulled away, a coy smile still on his face. “Showing you that I have an interest in you.”

He began to pull your shorts down and you felt your heart begin to race. You weren’t directly out in the open, but if someone going down the main walkway happened to turn their heads they’d spot the two of you.

“Sanji, wait- What if- Ngh!”

He started rubbing your clit through your growing wet panties, chuckling at the quick response he got. “‘What if’ what, darling?”

You glared at him, trying to voice your concerns, but again, he continued to distract you with pleasure.

He knelt down on one knee, grabbing your left thigh, and hooking it over his shoulder after completely removing your shorts. You watched with half-lidded eyes as he pushed and held your underwear to the side, revealing your pussy. He stuck his tongue in first, licking up your folds while maintaining eye contact with you through his blond locks. He continued this motion and you bit your bottom lip, hoping not to make a noise.

He wasn’t having any of that though. If there was one thing he loved, it was to know he was doing a good job. At first, he had started to tease you a bit because he thought you were cute when you got flustered. As the days went on, he noticed that you might not have said much, but you couldn’t hide your physical reactions to him. Your face was almost always flushed around him. Your grip on whatever you held tightened with the simplest of sentences. It made him wonder what type of lover were you? Quiet, non-verbal, highly responsive to the slightest touches, etc.?

He had just never gotten you alone to figure it out, until now.

He sucked your clit, earning a squeal in response. Your hands immediately shot down to his head, grabbing hold of his hair.

‘She looks so cute trying to stay quiet.’

He could feel his pants tightening around his crotch, watching you squirm because of his touch. It was getting difficult for you to stay up with one leg, especially when he slotted two fingers into your wet cunt. He curved his fingers in you, moving them slowly at first before picking up the pace to match how quickly he was flicking his tongue against your clit.

“Sa-Sanji, I- I don’t think I ca-can last much longer,” You whined.

Even without you telling him, he could tell you were getting close. Your walls had started to tighten around his fingers and he had to hold the thigh of your standing leg to support you. He would’ve loved to have you come undone around his tongue, however, for his first time with you, he wanted to fully see your expression.

He pulled away and you let out a loud sigh of relief, panting a bit. You were a little disappointed you hadn’t finished but were hopeful to continue this in a more private enclosed area. Your head was a bit fuzzy though, and you didn’t pick up on the small noise of him undoing his trousers or when he completely pulled down your panties.

He grabbed your thighs and housed you up to position the head of his penis right at your entrance. When you felt it rub against your slick folds, your eyes widened. The two of you watched as he pushed his cock in, seeing it disappear in your cunt. He groaned, eyes rolling back for a moment at how tight you were wrapped around him. You whined, feeling his length fill you up.

Slowly, he rocked his hips back and forth, giving you a chance to adjust to him. He watched your face with amusement, a mix of pleasure and embarrassment in your expression. You were still biting down on your lip, hoping to be as discrete as possible given the situation you were in.

With one swift hard thrust though, you let out a moan. Your legs wrapped around his hips and your arms around his shoulders. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, allowing him to clearly hear all your little whimpers and mewls of delight.

After hearing your moan, he began to thrust harder, wishing to hear more of your voice. You could hear his grunting too, breath growing heavier and heavier with each stroke inside you.

No longer needing to hold you up with both hands, one of them slipped underneath your shirt, sliding under the cup of your bra. He groped your breast, happy at how soft it was in his hand.

The harder he continued to thrust, the shakier your moans got. You were getting close to your release again and he wasn’t far behind, his own breathing now becoming ragged. Now, with each thrust, he could feel your walls tighten around him. Wanting to make sure he got a good look at your face when you came, he briefly removed his hand from your breast to tug your hair back. With your face pulled away from his neck, he plastered his lips against yours, shoving his tongue once more in your mouth. After, his hand returned to groping your breast.

His grip on your thigh was so tight, that you were sure there would be markings. With how hard he was kissing you, your lips were bound to be puffy when he stopped.

Your mind was becoming foggy and all you were focused on was the pleasure you were in, no longer caring someone caught you. You moaned against his lips, your entire body growing tense in his hold. Your walls clamped around him, finally hitting your high.

Seeing your eyes fall shut, engrossed in the feeling of climaxing, combined with how your cunt squeezed against him, he hit deep one last time before unraveling himself. His cock pulsed in you, dumping his entire load inside, savoring how your body milked it.

He pulled away from the kiss, each of your breaths now shaky trying to regain your composure. Your head fell back against the wall, eyes remaining on him.

“What do we do now?” You asked.

“We plan out the rest of your vacation. You’re here for at least one more week, right?” He kissed your cheek. “That gives us one more week of fun, darling.”

#one piece imagine #one piece fanfic #one piece fanfiction #one piece smut #sanji x reader #sanji smut #sanji imagine #sanji fanfic #sanji fanfiction #one piece sanji x reader #one piece live action sanji x reader #one piece live action sanji #sanji #vinsmoke sanji #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji smut

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xiaowhore · 1 year ago

Text

hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don't cry!

premise. in which you manage to make neuvillette feel better at the expense of your dignity. (a fair trade, really.)

word count. 1.5k

note. do umbrellas exist at teyvat. i really don't know.

You've never taken Monsieur Neuvillette as the type to dramatically brood in the rain when he gets sad, but to be fair, you don't know much about him at all.

You clutch onto your umbrella, contemplating. So, uh... Are you supposed to approach him now? Shield him from the rain with your umbrella? That doesn't sound too bad, actually. But then what? Ask him if his pet fish died and now he's mourning his loss? That's hardly appropriate to say to the Chief of Justice... But it would be creepier to just stand there without saying anything, right?

You could leave and pretend you didn't see anything. Of course, that's an option too. It's possible he prefers to be left alone when he's unhappy.

But sulking while standing in the rain just gives “I want someone's attention” vibes, doesn't it?!

With a fit of reckless courage and a “fuck it” mindset, you advance your way forward to where he stands.

Regretting something as soon as you do it is on-brand for you, you realize as you soon come to learn you have to be on the tip of your toes to have the umbrella barely raising over his head instead of hanging from him. You must make a pathetic sight, attempting to shield both yourself and this hulking tower of a man from the rain with a tiny umbrella.

“...What are you doing?” Neuvillette turns around, taken aback when you're in much closer proximity than he expected. Panic flares in his eyes, and like the gentleman that he is, he steps back to create some distance. His head presses against the edge of the umbrella.

“Hey, you shouldn't move away!” You follow his movements, closing the gap. His head is now safely within the umbrella's reach, but you're an inch away from being pressed up against his chest. “I miscalculated. This thing's too small for us.”

When the initial shock wears off, his shoulders slump, a sign of him lowering his guard. “If you know that much, you should use it for yourself and go home.”

That doesn't sound like a bad idea. Appealing, even. You've never felt so silly in your entire life and the option to run away is looking more enticing with each second that ticks by.

Still.

“It's dangerous to walk alone at this hour. Won't you accompany me, sir?”

...Not the best excuse you could've come up with, but your mouth runs faster than your brain. Neuvillette, being the considerate person he is, actually takes some time to think about it, and you hurry to say, “If you leave me alone now, you could have another disappearance case in your hands tomorrow. Would you really like more work on your desk rather than some company tonight?”

He gives you a long, suffering stare that looks suspiciously like the one he gives to Lady Furina when she disappoints him, but he doesn't say no. His hand wraps around the umbrella handle, overlapping with your fingers. It takes another two seconds of that stare before you get the message and you let go, finally able to rest the balls of your feet on the ground as you stand on normal footing.

“I hope you don't make a hobby of coercion,” he hums as you walk together, your shoulders brushing every so often. “Or else I'd see you as a criminal suspect tomorrow instead of a victim.”

“I see that jokes aren't your strong suit, Monsieur Neuvillette.” You laugh awkwardly, your nervousness spiking to an all-time high throughout your entire interaction with him. It's been barely ten minutes.

Silence ensues.

“Do you like showers, sir?”

You should've just kept your mouth shut, damn it.

“I like them the same amount as the average person, I suppose.” The ridiculous question doesn't phase him, and you don't know how he's able to keep a straight face while saying that.

You decide to push your luck. “...Do you prefer bathing with cold or hot water?”

Finally, you draw out a light chuckle from him, the sound deep and pleased. It almost makes playing the fool worth it. “I've been told I'm not the best with small talk, but you seem to be worse than I am.”

Your head snaps up to look at him, affronted. “It wasn't a bad question!”

“Certainly not as bad as talking about the weather. Do you want me to praise you?”

Was the Chief Justice always this sassy? “You're making fun of me,” you point out the obvious, turning away and crossing your arms. “I asked about showers because you were standing in the rain.”

“You thought I liked showers because I was in the rain?”

“Well, I didn't know for sure. That's why I asked.” Even you can tell you're sounding more and more ridiculous by the minute. Was your house always this far? You can't wait to dive to your bed and pretend this encounter never happened. “I think I'll just shut up now.”

“Really, now?”

“Every time I open my mouth around you, I embarrass myself further. I think it's for the best.”

You hear another chuckle as heat crawls up to your cheeks, spreading to your ears. “For what it's worth, you did put me out of my terrible mood. You're quite funny.”

“That's a nice way to say you think I'm being strange.” You hide your face with your hands, peeking at Neuvillette's expression between your fingers. Bathed in the silvery moonlight, he looks straight out of a painting, even with wet hair and drenched clothes.

You've never seen him up close, never even dreamed of standing next to him. Now, you're exchanging jabs at each other like it's the most normal thing in the world, like you weren't just thinking he was someone out of reach when you watched his court trial in amazement. Now, he's so close that you can almost feel the heat from his body, so much more tangible than just a figure you admired from afar.

“But I do have your strangeness to thank,” he admits, looking off into the distance. The stars shine bright in his eyes. “Had it not been for you squeezing me under your umbrella and forcing me to walk you home, I'd surely still be under the rain.”

“...Couldn't you have phrased that better?”

“In court, I only state facts.”

You laugh dryly. “You could spare me some dignity by embellishing the story a bit... Oh, we're here.” You were so occupied defending yourself from his witty comments that you didn't realize you had already arrived home until your door was right at your face. You glance at Neuvillette, who then nods towards the door. If he's disappointed to have the stroll cut short, he doesn't show it.

“Go in. It is rather late.” He closes the umbrella and offers it back to you, a gentle smile on his face. The sight is almost like a reward for your efforts; the small upturn of the corners of his lips makes all the difference, his sharp, cold gaze softening into something more affectionate. The rainbow after the storm. The gratitude for a small kindness.

“You have to get home, too,” you utter, pushing it back to him.

“The rain stopped a few minutes ago,” he insists, gesturing behind him. You blink owlishly, observing the still pools of rainwater. You didn't even notice. Why didn't he say so? You didn't have to squeeze together under such a tiny umbrella, then.

“You should still keep it.”

He raises an eyebrow, inquisitive. “Why?”

You unlock your door, stepping inside, but still not closing it shut. “Well, it gives you an incentive to see me again.” You grin at him mischievously, like you thought of a genius plan. “I work at the cafe in the main street. I'm sure we have some tea that will strike your fancy. Make sure you're not moping next time we meet, yeah?”

Not for the first time, he seems taken aback. But his gaze softens once more, his expression molding into something pleased. “Very well.”

And so, he leaves with a small umbrella in his hand, a smile on his lips, and the clear skies over his head.

The next time you see Neuvillette, the sun is high in the sky. Compared to that night, you can see him a little better now.

That's how you notice he looks unusually shy with a bouquet of flowers in his arms and a pink blush high on his cheeks. “...Good afternoon,” he starts, his lips curving to a beginning of a smile. “The weather is great today, isn't it?”

You stare. You stare some more. And when the sight finally processes in your mind, your twinkling laughter rings in the air, as sweet as the aroma of freshly baked muffins. “And who stooped so low to talk about the weather this time, huh?”

Neuvillette can't even pretend to feel bad about it, not when you're jumping off the seat in the counter to show him a table for two. “Your silliness is infectious, it seems.”

“Hey!”

(You've never taken Monsieur Neuvillette as the type to be smart-mouthed, the type to be indulgent to your whims, the type to be romantic towards the person he's interested in—

But now you have all the time in the world to get to know him better.)

#neuvillette x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin x reader #genshin impact scenarios #neuvillette #neuvillette fluff #neuvillette x you #genshin impact x you

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inkbybambi · 3 months ago

Note

brain is mostly empty thinking about ghoap x reader 👅 soap is home with reader but ghost isnt. soap wants to put on a show and facetimes simon. simon is met with the sight of soap fully dressed and reader with no clothes on. r's legs are spread and theres a hum in the room. soap is using a vibrator on readers clit just abusing those nerves and her legs are shaking but he doesnt stop and simon gets to see it all. what a show

anon your brain !!!!

soap absolutely taking advantage of the time he gets alone with you, not letting you out of his sight for even a second after simon leaves. pawing at you, fingers trailing up your legs, panties pushed to the side so he can stuff his fingers in your cunt, still wet and warm and filled with simon's cum from just before he left. he wants to show simon their best girl, even if he wants to be selfish with you for just a little bit.

so he manhandles you to the bed, panties torn and tucked into his pocket for later, legs spread so pretty to show the mess of slick and cum coating them, using simon's good ties to keep you anchored properly to the bed so you can't move.

you hear the telltale ringing of the phone as he fishes your favorite vibe from the bedside table, simon biting out a busy, mactavish and the sound of shuffling papers.

aye, just watch, lt comes soap's cheeky reply as he steps back in between your legs, the vibe coming to life as he presses it to your clit, soft and puffy and oversensitive because he spent half an hour lapping at it.

your legs jerk, oversensitive and on edge because he didn't let you cum and you hear simon's intake of breath even over the line through the haze of your lust and the static filling your head as you desperately grind up against the toy, so close to your release and soap, the bastard, not letting you have it.

"think i should let 'er cum, sir?" soap asks, voice low and breathy as he watches you through the screen, hole clenching around nothing, making a mess on the bed that he'll happily lick away later.

"not just yet," comes the murmured reply, the squeak of the chair as he leans back and the zip of his jeans, the groan you could recognize in your sleep as simon takes his cock in hand.

you bastard, comes your sobbed moan, toes curling as soap denies you another orgasm, soap hissing as he sees simon's eyes narrow through the mask.

you're gonna pay for that one, bonnie, and you hate him too, but you can't do anything more than lay there and writhe as you toe the line of pleasurepain, desperate and exhausted and missing simon even more because you can hear his voice but you can't have him.

it takes soap an hour to tease you to orgasm, when simon's finally done playing and has to get back to work.

soap leaves you tied to the bed, pussy drooling with his own cum as a present to simon when he finally makes it home.

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zoologica42 · 11 months ago

Text

temperate stream dashboard simulator

🌊Smexy_eel_lady Follow selfie from my new apartment! I found a lovely rock somehow in my budget and I'm f(eel)ing so lucky!

#finally made it ♻️ 🪱detritus_luvr Follow Enough with that, TELL US HOW YOU FUCK

🐸 flychomper Follow I can't believe how many of my logmates haven't heard of/seen BROOKlyn 99, do they all live under a rock?

♻️ 🦞benTHICCC-biome Follow I can't stand this, it's 2024 and people on this wetsite still use "live under a rock" as an insult. I can't fucking even, do you know how disenfranchising it is to hear people talk with scorn about the way you and your family have lived for generations? go dry out, sir. ♻️ 🪷lowflowvegetation Follow reblogging bcs important, but also please don't tell people to dry themselves out!

🐟deepchannelfan Follow callout post for @smoothturtleleech I have no issue with parasitism, but have any of you noticed how turtleleech \only\ parasitizes turtles? kinda problematic imo. #calloutpost ♻️ 🐢smoothturtleleech Follow I also parasitized your mom last night lol

🐠riverartist Follow Art and artist! Really happy with how this one came out! took me about 10 hrs to get the pebbles together and assemble them.

#artistsontumblr #sculpture #pebblework

♻️🐍nerodiaaa Follow wtf that's so cool! lmk if you take commissions ♻️🦎sal-the-mander Follow going to make this my streamsaver #the highest quality content on this horrible wetsite

🐟salmonidayyyy Follow I love you catadromous fishes I love you anadromous fishes I love you migrants. Never let anyone tell you that you aren't stream fauna bcs you haven't spent your whole life in the stream or weren't born here {flaps you with my fins]

♻️🛶virgeon-sturgeon Follow Thanks bro, I really needed to hear that, {flaps you with my fins].

🐚riffleranger Follow MMMMMM I WANNA LAY ALL MY EGGS IN THESE PEBBLES, SUCH GOOD PEBBLES I LOVE THESE PEBBLES.

♻️🐌algaegrazer Follow @riffleranger this U?

♻️🐚riffleranger OP Follow I should be offended, but yes, I am her, she is me

♻️🐚riffleranger OP Follow OH WAIT, OH SHIT THAT IS ME WHERE DID YOU GET THAT PHOTO????

#dashboard simulator #fishblr #fishposting #ecology #fake post

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all-purpose-dish-soap · 6 months ago

Text

41 / 3k / soap soulmate au, part 10

...

Gaz's bullet slides neatly into the target's head, folding into his frontal cortex, his hypothalamus, and lodging to a satisfying stop in his brain stem.

Your job is done.

Ignoring the radio chatter between Gaz and Price, you slip away from the dead man. Your boots grind blood and broken glass into the carpet as you go. You should vanish before Soap's team can catch up to you. You head for the opposite corner of the mansion. They don’t have eyes there.

You slide the ground floor window open and pull Soap's radio collar from your neck. You’re about to remove the earpiece when it crackles in your ear. It's Ghost's voice.

"They got Johnny."

You pause. Your teammates are rough, but they won’t kill Johnny. Right? They won’t kill a soldier.

"Where is he?" Price's voice crackles back.

"Basement lounge," Ghost mutters. The radio catches shouting voices in the background.

"Can you get to him?" Price asks.

Gunshots crackle through the earpiece. Ghost curses. "Negative, sir. Too many mercs and he's agitatin' 'em as it is. Might be able to fish him out, but I'd need a better vantage point.”

“Is he in immediate danger?”

“Don’t think so.”

"Then keep yourself hidden, Lieutenant. Kyle and I are en route."

Your stomach twists. Price doesn't sound like he plans to negotiate. You switch the radio's to KorTac's frequency. "Horangi, what's going on?"

There's a long pause before he replies, and several other voices echo underneath his. "Where the hell are you? SAS is fucking up our whole job. The cargo is gone."

You force yourself to get a grip on your own cover story even as you slip through the window and drop silently to the ground. Snow squeaks under your boots. "How did he know about the cargo?" you ask, your voice careful and even.

"I don't know. Shit, maybe someone fed him information. Military dogs love their rats." There's a pause. Horangi's voice sounds more distant as he speaks away from the mic. "Oy, shitbag. Who gave you the intel?”

You let out a breath of relief. Johnny will have no choice but to give them your name in exchange for his freedom. You'll be far, far away before your teammates know you're gone. KorTac won't bother with trying to track you down. It'd be a waste of money. Even if they did, you've disappeared before. You know how not to be found.

It’ll be a clean break for you both.

Then Johnny's voice crackles into your ear through Horangi's mic.

"No rat," he says. You hear him smirking, but a snarl edges the bravado in his voice. "Your security's piss-poor."

What? No. Bad, that's bad. Johnny’s playing at taking the blame. Of course he is. He thinks he's protecting you. Stubborn idiot.

Horangi chuckles. “You want to die here? That can be arranged.”

Something under your sternum clenches. This is your fault. You stare down at the fresh snow in front of you. You can still leave. Your plan never involved seeing him again, and it certainly didn't involve helping him if he got his ass in trouble. But you're the one who told him where the hostages were. He's only in the basement lounge because of you.

With Price and Gaz in the way, and with Ghost seeking a higher vantage point, sniper in hand, your teammates don’t know how much trouble they’re in, either.

Goddamn him. Why can’t he just rat you out? Why can’t he just be as heartless as you are?

You turn and retrace your trek back to the mansion. You don't know what you're going to do to avoid the confrontation at hand and make a clean escape, but maybe you'll come up with something on the way.

...

You slip into the lounge behind your teammates. Soap is on his knees, hands ziptied behind his back with the barrel of Horangi's rifle to his head.

Every last one of your squadmates is here. With you, that's a dozen mercenaries. You check the upper corners, the catwalks—Ghost is nowhere to be found. Of course. There'd be no way for Ghost alone to snipe enough of your teammates in one go to pull Johnny out of this mess. Nor is there any alarm you can pull, no authority you can leverage to get your soulmate out of the position you put him in.

You switch your radio frequency back to 141's secure channel. "Ghost, don't shoot. I can talk them down."

But it's Price's voice that echoes back. "Stay put, love. We'll get it sorted."

"Listen to me--"

"You in position, Ghost?" Price asks calmly.

"Affirmative, sir."

"Good. Gaz and I will be there shortly. When I signal, you take out as many as you can. We'll clean up the rest. Until then, stay hidden. We don't need a body count of our own."

You ease your finger off the comm, hands shaking. A fucking bloodbath? That's Price's plan? You think back to how he stared across the interrogation table at you, his eyes crinkling in amusement at the barbs you threw back at him. He'd have killed anyone else.

No, focus. You pull the earpiece out and rip the radio unit, cords and all, away from you. It clatters to the ground. A few of your squadmates glance over. You push your way through them until Horangi's eyes fall on you. Johnny’s do, too, but you refuse to look at him.

"He's obviously military,” you say, pinning Horangi with as severe a look as you can summon. “You can't just kill him. You know what would happen."

Horangi scoffs and looks back down at Soap. "He could be impersonating a soldier for all I know. Besides, military mutts bark." He presses the muzzle of his rifle harder into Soap's skull. "So bark, or I shoot."

"If you let me up right now," Soap growls, "I won't rip your goddamn hands off. How about that?"

Horangi tuts. "You're in no position to be making threats, mutt. Answer me or I'll shut you up permanently. Who gave you the intel?”

"He's not the only one," you interrupt again, talking fast. "He's... His team. They're looking for him."

Horangi’s gaze rises to you again, a strange look in his eye. You've said too much. "Where have you been?" he asks you with a hard stare.

"With the protectee."

"And where is he now?"

Silence swells between you and him. You feel your teammates' eyes on you now. This is your last chance to walk away. If you do, the path ahead of you will be free and clear. And whatever blood is spilled here in service of this stupid mission will be on your hands.

Soap sees the look on your face. "No, hen, don't--"

"I'm the rat," you say. "I fed him the information. The protectee is dead."

Soap curses and tries to lunge to his feet. Horangi pushes him down with the heel of his boot between his shoulder blades. Soap grunts in pain.

"How interesting," Horangi says. "And why would you do that?"

"Don't listen to her," Soap growls. "She's lyin'."

He's still fighting the cuffs around his wrists. His shoulders jerk with every tug, trying in vain to break the plastic tie. A horrible feeling clutches at his chest. He knows what you're doing, and everything in him rebels against the idea. He's so close to finally having you, so close to saving you from yourself.

He never wanted you to come here. He wanted you safe, far away. The thought of something happening to you is far worse than any of the pain he might have endured if you hadn’t come back for him.

You risk a glance at Soap. He looks stricken. You almost wish you could explain, but it wouldn't make a difference. He should know better. You do your job. That's who you are. Even if it means there’ll be hell to pay.

You force your eyes back to Horangi's. "The bastard deserved it," you say simply.

Horangi scoffs. "Obviously. And we deserve our paychecks.” He watches Soap struggle under his boot. "You know him?"

You glance down at Soap, taken off guard. "He's..."

Soap meets your gaze, his eyes still burning with fire despite the situation. “Hen,” he says. “You are makin’ a mistake.”

Horangi leans onto Soap’s shoulder, pinning him flatter. Soap grunts.

Horangi smirks. “He seems to know you. You know, if it were me, I'd just keep my mouth shut and let him take the blame. That's what he wants, isn't it?” He jabs the barrel of his rifle against Soap’s spine.

Soap’s jaw clenches. He doesn’t take his eyes off you.

"In fact," Horangi muses, "I might be more inclined to believe him than you. Not to mention our employer would be very disappointed to know someone on payroll sabotaged a very well-paying job. I don’t think you’d do that unless you had a good reason.”

You hear your teammates murmur behind you. Horangi is giving you an out. Your teammates will know what you did, but KorTac won't. Plausible deniability brings back the possibility of escape. You're shocked Horangi would offer at all, knowing now what you did.

But you steel yourself. You know what you have to do. "Check his left arm," you tell him.

Horangi examines you, but there's no skepticism in his eyes—only intrigue. He gestures to a few of the mercs behind you. Two push past you. They hold Soap down, and Horangi grabs Soap's cuffed wrists and pushes his sleeve up his arm. It's there plain as day—the soulmark bearing your name.

Soap grits his teeth. You're giving yourself up for him. You're going to take the fall in exchange for his freedom. Why can't you just do one goddamn thing he wants you to do? It should be him protecting you.

He tries to catch your eye again, but you look away from his furious glare. Deep down, a part of him understands you. That infuriates him even more. You're doing this out of some sick sense of duty. Just like everything else.

Horangi is impassive. "Ah. Guess that explains it."

A hand comes down hard on your shoulder, and you're pulled back hard as two of your teammates take you by the arms and ziptie you. You don't struggle. One of them kicks out the back of your knee and forces you to kneel.

Soap snarls as he tries to shake the mercenaries pinning him down. "Get your hands off her!"

Horangi smirks down at Soap. "You really do like each other, eh? Cute."

Soap's blood burns through him. All his systems are haywire. He's angry at you, but he's more furious than he's ever been in his life at the men holding him down. He jerks again, taking one of the mercs by surprise. He manages to get to one knee before they're on him again, joined by two more of your comrades who stream in to help.

They force him to the ground once more. Horangi digs his knee into Soap's back and jabs him with the butt of his rifle. Another merc kicks a boot into his gut. But Soap doesn't stop. He's not going down without a fight. He won't sit there quietly and let anyone walk away with his woman.

Horangi looks down his rifle at Soap and rests his hand on the trigger, his smirk gone. "Careful," he says, voice low. "I still might just shoot you."

"Then you'd better kill me in one shot, because when I get my hands around your fuckin' neck--"

"Johnny, stop," you interject.

"Why?" he growls. "You think I'm just gonna sit here and watch you give yourself up?"

"You don't have a choice."

"The hell I don't."

Horangi pushes his rifle harder against Soap's skull. "Listen to her, mutt."

"Hey," you snap at him. One of your comrades behind you pulls your arms back, and you realize you're unconsciously fighting to get close. "Let him go."

When Soap sees you straining against your binds, trying to reach him, his heart clenches. He lets out a stream of expletives and throws his body weight against the mercs trying to hold him down.

"You care for him that much? Then again, I guess you don't have a choice."

"Horangi—"

“Yes, yes. Relax,” Horangi says to you, keeping his rifle trained on Soap. “I don’t plan to kill him. But we're not uncuffing him. Because we're not fucking idiots," he mutters. He steps off Soap and nods toward the back of the lounge where the bar and kitchen are. "Put him in the walk-in."

The mercs pull him roughly to his feet, jerking his arms behind his back. His gaze flicks to you, and he opens his mouth to say something, but you won't meet his eyes. It's like you're trying to shut him out completely, closing yourself into some emotional void. Just like in that interrogation room. He can’t fucking stand it.

Soap growls in frustration as he's hauled backward. He's torn between anger and desperation, wanting to make you understand how much he needs you. But you're so stubbornly set on building your stupid walls and keeping him out.

"This never would've happened if you'd just let me handle it," he snaps at you. "But you had to go runnin' off by yourself instead of listenin’ to me."

You stare at him in disbelief. He's still arguing this? How headstrong is he? "You're the one who refused to rat me out!” you retort, unable to stop yourself. “I was out the fucking window when you went all heroic and forced me to come back and save your ass!"

Soap's temper flares hotter. "Oh, I'm the one who went all heroic?" He yanks his arm against his captors' grip, but it hardly slows them down. “You’re the bloody martyr, aren’t you? Couldn't just let me handle it. Had to go sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong."

"You with a fucking gun to your head? That was you handling it?"

"I've been in worse situations," Soap shoots back, bristling. "I didn't need your help. And I damn sure don’t want you throwin’ yourself into danger like you've got a death wish."

You swallow. You were right to step in and take the fall for what you did, you realize. As rough-tempered as your soulmate is, he's just trying to protect you. He deserves better than you.

"This is... it's what I deserve," you say finally.

Soap's eyes widen in disbelief, his expression going from anger to shock to cold fury. "What you deserve?" he hisses, his voice low and enraged. "What you deserve is a good smack upside the head. You think you deserved to throw your life away for my sake? That's how little you think of yourself?"

"I betrayed my teammates and ruined our contract. I have to pay for that."

He's so fucking over it. You’re letting yourself be ripped away from him because of—what, a mistake you made? Loyalty to your team? Some misguided sense of penance and responsibility? Empty excuses. None of that should matter. You’re meant to be his.

"I don't give a damn what you think you deserve,” he says. “You're not the one who gets to decide that."

"And you are?"

You're looking at him like you don't believe him. It makes something in him snap loose.

"You still think you're expendable," he says, his voice hard. "As long as everyone else is safe. As long as you've done your bloody duty." He jerks his shoulders, angry and desperate to have you in his sight for a few more seconds. "Whatever you tell yourself, you’d best remember you made your goddamn choice to take what Iwanted most away from me. I swear to you, darlin’, when I get out of these cuffs, I will find you and make sure you never leave my sight again. That’s what I deserve.”

You say nothing. Your heart is in your feet as they wrestle him away.

You’re not worth this. You can't be. You've shown him—all but told him you were ready to abandon him mere minutes ago. He just doesn't care. Regardless of what you think, he keeps deciding you're worth the fucking trouble.

You're just trying to do one thing right by him. One thing. But he has to go and tear your heart in two about it anyway. Bastard.

"Let go of me!" Soap barks, voice echoing behind you as they drag him out of sight.

The sound of the large, industrial steel walk-in freezer banging open echoes through the basement, followed by clattering and Horangi barking orders. Then it slams closed.

That's it, then. The last time you'll see him.

You believe him when he says he'll never stop looking for you. You might be stubborn and set in your ways—he happens to be worse. But you know your employer, and you know what happens to traitors who kill the charges they're paid to protect. Regardless of what seemed right at the time.

You know there are prisons with which the CIA won’t interfere.

You're going to live the rest of your life in a cell. Because of your own damn sense of responsibility for some twisted form of penance for your past.

The moment you hear the lock on the walk-in click, whatever solemn self-assurance you felt turns to ash in your mouth. Penance bears a strong resemblance to empty self-righteousness and self-hatred. Worse—it feels a hell of a lot like you're condemning your stubborn bull of a soulmate to a lifetime of searching for a woman who refuses out of spite to be found.

Horangi and the others return, and the two mercenaries at your sides haul you away. You stumble along with them, numb. They drag you out of the building and push you toward the back of a bulletproof KorTac panel van.

What have you done?

...

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / [part 10] / part 11 / part 12

more Soap / masterlist

763 notes · View notes

fanaticsnail · 11 months ago

Text

My Favorite

(Image Source: Artist: Inpolariis)

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 5,114

Summary: Sir Crocodile has founded a league of highly trained assassins named "The Choirs" - all coded after the nine choirs of angelic influences. You are his favorite: his prized "Seraphim" who's ferocious brutality is only outmatched by your incredible beauty. Not truly knowing if your affection is all an act to continue being paid a wage in berry, he has not made a move of his own aside from calling upon you to sit on his knee of an evening, and have you utter praises into his ear. It is only when the two other members of the Cross-Guild begin flirting does he find his limit being tested. Will he bend, or will he break?

Themes: Boss!Crocodile x Assassin!Reader, lap princess, Croc is in love with you, begrudgingly in love, mutual pining, “I don’t want to fix him, I want to make him worse”, wealth, Cross-Guild dynamics, partial Buggy x Reader, partial Mihawk x Reader, sign language, afab!reader.

Notes: This fic is dedicated to the wonderful @discordantwritings who wrote a beautiful Benn Beckman fic recently. I had to return the favor with some Cross-Guild content, although it became quickly a Sir Crocodile fic. Based on this prompt, because it has a hold over my very soul.

Tag List: @sordidmusings @feral-artistry @carrotsunshine @cinnbar-bun @writingmysanity @gingernut1314

The broad right hand of the brutish Sir Crocodile massaged his temples beneath his thumb and index finger. He began rotating them in an attempt to rid the swelling migraine caused by the crackled whines pouring from the lips of his clown companion. Barely paying attention to the whinging words strung into messy sentences, his ears pricked and spine tingled at the knowledge there was another presence within the hollow chambers of the Cross-Guild meeting space.

Bringing his hand away from his temple, his smirk broke the displeased position of his lips, as his eyes rose to meet with the yellow hue of the gaze of the swordsman. Mihawk narrowed his eyes, no longer processing Buggy’s words as he attempted to locate the source responsible for the expression change of the larger gentleman in front of him.

“-And I wasn’t the one responsible for that screw up, so I shouldn’t be the one paying for it. Really it should go to the one with the most berry. Who was it again? Between the reptile and the hawk, who has the most-.” Buggy’s voice halted as the shadows split to reveal your presence, stalking closer to the largest man in the room with an aura of silent danger.

Mihawk reached for the hilt of Yoru, ready to strike your approaching silhouette: armored and cloaked in the darkest black to blend within smoke and shadow. Your hood concealed your face, your facial mask shieling all but the intensity of your eyes smeared in darkened war paint. You made no sound; no tap, no whisper as you wordlessly approached Sir Crocodile.

“Returned so soon, my Seraphim,” his voice purred, leaning back in his chair while placing a thick cigar between his teeth, “Did all go according to plan?” You wordlessly bent your knee, bowing your head to the large gentleman to whom you entrusted your implicit loyalty. His smile drew further up his scarred face, the purple hue of his eyes dancing with a dangerous twinkle at your wordless confirmation.

“Good,” his voice praised you, reaching for his lighter lying atop the table. You rose to your feet, quickly reaching for the golden object, flicking open the lid and igniting the flint to spark its flame. Sir Crocodile leant forward, holding his eyes firmly on yours as your concentration was fixed on the task of lighting the tip of his cigar.

He narrowed his eyes, noticing a small smear of red atop the darkened warpaint and streaking down your face mask and onto your leather breastplate. He sighed, reaching into his left hand breast pocket and fishing out a silver handkerchief and passed it to you within his index and middle fingers.

“Is it yours?” he asked, gesturing to the blood congealed and spattered against your uniform.

“No, sir,” you whispered with no vocal tone depicted within your silence. He hummed in response, narrowing his eyes as he scanned your body further.

“Are you unharmed and unmarked?” he asked, his left brow raising in question. You stiffened your shoulders, arching your chin within the air and confirmed with a simple utterance of: “Yes, sir.”

“Very good, my Seraphim,” he complimented further, inhaling a deep lungful of the nicotine laden cigar smoke, exhaling through his nose. Buggy did not know what to make of this interaction, feeling completely and utterly ignored as Mihawk and Sir Crocodile’s eyes and attention remained fixed on your statuesque figure clad in cloak, leather and dark plated armor.

Leaning forward, Sir Crocodile ushered you to stoop forward to receive the next whisper of a command parting from his lips for your ears alone.

“I have laid out a new uniform for you to wear,” he uttered intimately, reaching up his left hand with his golden hook threatening to touch your shoulder. “See to it you are bathed, perfumed and clad in the ensemble within the hour,” the tip of his hook brushed with the rivets of your shoulder plate, dragging down your bicep to the inner crevice of your elbow, “And I will have you sat as my trophy upon my knee for the evening, my Seraphim.”

At that final utterance, he withdrew his hook from your arm and focussed once more on your eyes now depicting a darkness within usually withheld for victims beneath your concealed daggers.

Bowing to your boss, eyes now closed, you rose from your deep and respectful stoop and paid no mind to glance at the other two members of the meeting space. If Sir Crocodile found no reason to introduce you to these men, you did not deem them important enough to care who they were. Silence followed you as you trailed outside of the room, resubmerging yourself within the shadows and hastily making your way to the suite gifted to you by your boss.

“Baroque Works employee, Crocodile?” Mihawk uttered, his eyes fixed on the exit you withdrew from.

“A thing of the past, Hawk,” His smirk not leaving his face for each deep inhale of his cigar, “I no longer put my faith in an amassment of bounty hunters to get their hands dirty for my berry.” He took the butt of his cigar from his teeth and pushed the ignited end against the glass tray with his thumb. “No, my faith is no longer spread to the many, but to the few.”

“How many o’ them you got?” Buggy’s nasally voice chimed in, his brow furrowing and lips curling back in an uneasy smile, “Like twenty or thirty?”

“I have nine,” he confessed, eyes now bored with the conversation and lip curling down into an arrogant snarl, “And that one,” he gestured to the door with his chin, “Is my favorite.”

“Why?” Buggy asked, his voice cracking in a small apprehensive whine at the end of his question, “What does that one do that the others don’t?” Sir Crocodile’s lips curled into a darkened grin, his teeth revealed in the light.

“You will see.”

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

After bathing and cleaning yourself of the debris and carnage of the last assignment, you glanced at yourself in your large, ornate mirror. Looking over the new uniform set aside by your boss as it clung to your body, you couldn’t help the pull of a shy smile at the corner of your lips.

Of all of “The Choirs” founded and financed by Sir Crocodile, it was no illusion that you were absolutely and without a doubt his favorite. Your titles held your specialist skills as covert assassins within your roles; each skilled with a unique ability to complete your tasks to the utmost quality.

Principalitie, Archangel, and Angel were charged with gathering information and relaying it from a great distance. They were to look like civilians; innocent and coy with the ability to blend into a crowd seamlessly.

The Devil-Fruit users; Dominion, Virtue, and Power, were charged with carrying out tyrannical punishment and wrath without care for the casualties they caused under the utterance of a single command from your hook-handed leader.

Cherubim and Ophanim, the two of the higher in the chain of command, followed your explicit instruction in covert operations taken either together or separately. They were your trusted confidants, you could even call them your friends if it were not too bold to say so.

You, his ‘Seraphim’, were silent and embraced by shadows with such flawless success that it was rumored you were born in them. You were lethal with your daggers, your skill with a blade a sight to behold before life was drained from your intended target. The last thing they saw as their breath was claimed by your hand, was the ferocity in your blown pupils and lengthy eyelashes beneath the dark warpaint smeared atop your eyelids.

Glancing over your features once more, the pale white of the dress held stark contrast to the dark armor you adorned almost an hour prior. While your armor kept all of your features hidden to the world around you, the anonymity shielding you from emphasis on your features; this dress left little to the imagination.

The deep hook of the backless dress clung low to your hips in an ovular shape, bodice dipping down to above your navel with a thin band of fabric dancing above your cleavage to suture the bust shut with barely any support. The length of the dress halted little below your hip bone on the left-hand side, the right hand side down to the ball of your ankle to allow for the straps of your gold heels to be revealed with each step you took against the floor.

Your mind begins to wander the longer you stare at yourself in the mirror. This was the most provocative and scandalous item your boss had ever asked you to don. You almost allowed yourself to rush to the conclusion that your boss harbored more than simple favoritism for you, you assumed you were wearing this ensemble to impress a guest with your presence on his lap.

Silence was nearly impossible with the gold-dipped base of your heeled shoes. Each step you took after exiting your suite echoed in a foreign clack that you were unaccustomed to creating with your foot-falls.

Immediately upon entering the large celebratory area of Sir Crocodiles casino, you scanned the perimeter of the room for your boss to begin your new role for the night: the princess sitting upon his knee and doting on him with small caresses and whispers of praise within his ear. This was not a role you were exposed to often, but one you did well enough for him to continue asking for you after the first night you played it.

You would be lying to yourself if you said you did not harbor affection for your boss. Nothing ever transpired between you after you had finished this role for the nights he asked you to fulfill. No brush of lips meeting yours, no writhing while sprawled out beneath him against the green fuzz of the gamblers table. He would bow his head in gratitude to you, his eyes blinking shut out of respect, and dismissing you without a further word.

Adoration, respect, loyalty, and your wage is what bound you to that man. At each moment he spent with you on his lap, or performing a deadly task for him, your desire grew. You knew, without a semblance of a doubt, that you would cast aside your wage with an instant for the luxury of remaining by his side. You loved him, and it was the only thing that truly frightened you.

After concluding your brief scan of the room, you noticed Sir Crocodile was yet to make an appearance to darken the tables with his brutish figure. However, you smiled upon meeting the eyes of ‘Ophanim’ dressed in a simple waiter's uniform, with her sleeves rolled to her elbows and shaking a steel container filled with ice, syrups and hard liquor. She shot you a wink, gesturing with her chin to wait with her at the bar.

An honest smile sprung to your lips as you grasped the barstool within your hands, taking a seat atop it and hooking your left knee over your right; the slit of your dress revealing the entirety of your left leg to your thigh.

Immediately as you began to open your mouth to converse with your fellow “Choir” about her latest mission, your eyes were thrust into an amassment of lengthy cerulean hair. The person seemed to ignore you as their voice informed your friend of his order of a fruit-forward and harsh liquor cocktail with an insane amount of complex ingredients. The products he asked for sounded as if it would split and separate, with the immediate souring of creamy liquid with the acidic elements.

Grimacing with your lips curled in disgust, the individual turned to meet your disapproving gaze: his eyes widening and breath hitching in his throat. A large, rotund red nose lay central to his features, his dark vest cinching his waist beneath a white shirt and dark trousers. He looked as if he was not comfortable wearing the assortment, as if it was a mask he was given to wear akin to your arrangement set aside by your boss.

“You are fucking gorgeous,” he stumbled over his words, the syllables falling from his lips quicker than he could silence them within. Immediately your grimace upturned into a smile, forcing a laugh to flee from you at his unbridled compliment. You arched your left brow up, leaning in close to the individual in front of you and tightening his dark tie with your right hand.

“You are very easy to look at, yourself,” you purred in return, assuming your flirtatious role with ease. You darted your gaze between his two teal eyes, a coy smile now pursing your lips together innocently, “And who might you be, bright eyes?” Your question had his heart swelling, his cheeks filling with a boyish fluster.

“B-Buggy,” he wheezed, gulping back his words and grunting out a small cough to mask his uneasiness. “Captain Buggy D Clown,” he attempted to meet his elbow atop the bar, missing the polished wood entirely and instead stumbling under the uneven distribution of his weight. As air met his elbow with the heel of his palm capturing his chin, he flew his head down and met it against the wood with a harsh thump.

Wincing in empathy, you immediately reached forward and claimed his cheeks within your palms and raised him back up to his former stature. You brushed his shoulders, readjusted his collar and checked over the rising swell atop his left temple.

“Honey, can we get some ice please?” you asked your colleague who attempted to halt her laugh behind her palm, nodding as she retrieved the frosty cubes and placed them within a checkered tea towel. She passed it to you and shook her head, you nodding your thanks at her for the object and immediately reaching for the blunt-force trauma the blue-haired clown brought upon himself.

“Are you alright Captain Buggy?” You asked him, holding your hand against the towel and pressing it firmly against the rising bruise. He clasped his left hand around your right, leaning into the touch you were providing him and closing his eyes.

“I like the way your tongue makes my name sound,” he confessed in a breathy gasp. You again found yourself laughing at his words, the melodic ring of your voice stirring something dangerous within the purple hues of Sir Crocodile’s eyes. He continued watching your interaction with Buggy from his place darkening the threshold of the entrance to his casino.

“What happened, Clown?” A voice called behind him, the curve of a pale shirt clinging to the back of a dark-haired individual you could barely see. Buggy apprehensively turned away from you and lulled his head towards the man with a snarling expression.

“It’s her fault,” he gestured to you with his thumb, “She was sittin’ on that chair all innocent-like, as if she doesn’t look like walking sex.”

“Hardly walking if she’s sitting,” the man called over in a bored and disinterested tone, without sparing so much as a glance in your direction. You found him intriguing, but you decided to match his energy and remain aloof to his comments yourself.

Turning away from the two men beside you, you began moving your hands in a flurry of wordless gestures to your coworker as discreetly as you could.

‘Where is he?” you asked her, watching her hands flicker in response as she continued to attempt to uphold her own persona as bartender.

“Approaching slowly,” she managed to signal to you, before she placed a glass of wine in front of the broody aloof gentleman beside the clown. The corner of his lips ticked at the corner, a whisper of gratitude depicted on his face as he turned to face you with the crystal glass rising upwards.

The small widening of his honey-coloured eyes told you all you needed to know within his gaze. Your head cocked to the side, your eyes wide and feigning innocence to the best of your abilities.

“My, my,” he commented, shamelessly raking his eyes over your body from your decorated toes to the follicles of your styled hair, “I do see why you would be the cause for such a stumble.” He expertly brushed the blue-haired man away from you, extending his right hand forward to seek out your own and collecting your four fingers within his grip.

He raised your hand to his lips, his mustache tickling the knobbed joints of your knuckles before his lips brushed against your flesh. Your eyes turned sultry, not once either of you breaking your eye contact against one another.

Unable to control the rapidity of the thump within his chest and the dry lump forming in his throat, Sir Crocodile began a stalking approach towards you. How dare they fawn over you. You: his favorite of his Choirs. His angelic muse and harbinger of brutality.

He knew you would make heads turn with the uniform he laid out for you, but he did not anticipate the primal urge swelling beneath him to pull you into himself and shield you away from their eyes. He wanted you all for himself, in any capacity you were willing to give it to him. He didn’t care that you were paid berry to serve him, it felt real enough for him.

“Dracule Mihawk,” he uttered against your flesh, withdrawing from his stoop and arching his back to puff his barely shielded chest to you, “And you are, my darling?” Before you could answer with your name, you felt a warm graze dancing up your spine. His breath tickled against your skin, tingling your spine beneath his lips as they pressed intent and longing to your flesh.

On any other occasion, you may have been alarmed by such attention from an individual without seeing their face. The cologne dancing with the whisper of his last cigar floated with each kiss against your skin, informing you exactly who was giving you such a touch.

He had never offered you this unbridled affection in the past, not allowing himself to give into his craving for you, and you not willing to test your place serving under him. This touch felt natural, his lips continuing to press into you, as you continued to hold your gaze on the eyes of the dark-haired man in front of you.

Sir Crocodile’s lips found your left shoulder, his purple eyes pulling the swordsman’s attention away from you to meet with your boss as he continued to map his lips up your neck to your jaw. His left forearm circled around your front, the golden hook firmly secured against his wrist collecting your chin beneath the smooth surface. He turned your attention away from Mihawk to look into his eyes through lowered eyelashes.

He leant forward, drawing your lips against his by the gentle tilt of his hook against your chin. Darting his tongue out to stroke yours, his nose brushed against your own as he circled his jaw to deepen the embrace. Your hands clutched the base of the stool you were sat atop to anchor yourself down for fear of floating to the roof. The hum of his lips in joy had a small moan pull from your lips the longer he was joined against you.

You felt his right hand brush against your bicep, curling his firm grip around it as he pushed his chest flush with your own with a gentle turn of your body. He pulled away from the kiss, his eyes immediately falling to your rapidly swelling and kiss-bruised lips, slightly smudged paint falling below the perimeter of your bottom lip. Tapping your chin with his hook, your eyes darted from your own gaze against his lips to meet with his purple eyes.

“My Seraphim,” the rumble of his voice and the small smirk of his lips had your attention hyper fixed and hanging on his every word. You held your gaze firmly affixed to his, watching as he turned away from you and greeted the men in front of you with the nod of his head and the small utterance of their names.

“Mihawk,” the rumble of his voice rubbing within his throat had your spine tingle with anticipation, “Buggy.” He turned back to meet your orbs that had not yet broken from his face, but raked your gaze over his face with half-lidded lashes. Your eyes continued to float in a daze against his lips and flittering back up to meet his gaze.

He extended his right hand in a gesture for you to take it, you reacting immediately by placing your hand within his larger palm to encircle his digits around it. You allowed him to pull you away from your former position atop the barstool, your heels clicking against the floor as he escorted you to the desired table for the night. Now in the shroud of seclusion, he leaned down and uttered a small apology in your ear.

“Forgive me,” he began, taking his seat within the plush armchair and patting his left knee with his right. Without hesitation, you gracefully placed yourself atop his thigh with the small flick of your hair, crossing your left knee over your right and arching your back.

“What sins am I forgiving, sir?” you asked him, feeling the dangerous caress of his hook brushing against your spine and collecting a small portion of your hair within its curvature. Your boss took in a deep breath through his nose, expanding his broad chest beneath his suit jacket. His exhale had a small quake to it, his eyes closing as he basked under your attention.

You reached your hands and began to dance your fingertips against the hem of his collar. Although this was a routine you had practiced with him over man a night on his lap, this touch felt almost forbidden as his brows furrowed.

“I should not have kissed you like that,” he uttered in a voice below a hushed whisper, “You deserve better than something so public. I desire you-... -for you to be treated as a seraphim I know you to be.” His vocal catch had your attention completely focussed on every word, your body leaning itself further as your hands halted their movement.

“I am not a seraphim, sir,” your lips were now almost brushing with the shell of his ear, your hypnotic perfume, intoxicating and mesmerizing the larger gentleman the longer your presence remained atop his lap. He angled his head away from you, exposing the side of his neck to reveal the rapidity of his heartbeat displayed against his pulse.

“And what are you, if not a seraphim,” he whispered darkly, allowing to be disarmed by your presence as he leant into your touch, yet away from the descent of your lips upon his ear.

“I am your seraphim,” you confessed as your lips grazed against the sensitive flesh of his cheek, his dark hair tickling against your eyes.

Sir Crocodile was glad he had withdrawn you to a secluded portion of his casino at this moment. He truly did not desire for the other two members of the Cross-Guild to notice how much of a grip you truly had around his heart, but refused to break away from your display of unrestrained physical affection. He knit his brows together, furthering their descent down his face as he processed your words.

“Because I pay you to be,” he uttered, leaning away from your touch and forcing the mask of his arrogance back onto his features. He dropped the hook from your hair, reaching his right hand into his left breast pocket to locate a thick cigar and his golden lighter. Placing the bitten end between his teeth and clamping down on it, he drew the flame up to his lips and attempted to ignite the end.

“I will return my wage to you,” you uttered quietly after swiping the golden lighter from his hand and reigniting the flame, “I have no need for it when you take care of me so well.” His eyes held an aloof boredom to his expression, refusing to meet with your face as you lit his cigar for him.

“And if my wealth was taken from me?” He questioned before inhaling the smoke from his cigar, exhaling it away from your face, “If I was to go to prison once more, what then?” Your eyes narrowed, your lip curling up to reveal your displeasure at the question.

“I would claw tooth and nail to free you from your confinement, sir,” you confessed, reaching your left hand forward and collecting his chin beneath your thumb and index finger, turning his jaw for his eyes to meet with yours once more, “And although living in luxury is a welcome experience, I would stand by you regardless.” His eyes depicted his craving for your words to be true, although not believing it yourself.

He began to open his mouth to speak, silenced by your words cutting through the air like your daggers meeting with the jugular of your foe.

“You have my loyalty, my blades, and my body at your disposal,” you leant forward further, darting your eyes between focusing on each of his. “Should you order me to jump, I will ask how high. Should you ask me to kneel, I will fall to my knees,” you continued, your grip holding more firmly against his chin, “Should you wordlessly aim your finger at an enemy, I would be a channel of your wrath as I claim their lives for you.”

Allowing a few moments of thick silence to swell between you, you felt the scrape of his hook trailing itself against your spine, hovering over the soft point of your rib and pressing his point firmly into your flesh.

“While your words are as beautiful as you are,” he whispered, looking down at the plunging neck of your dress and back up into your eyes, “They are as decorated by the impact of my wealth as your body is in that dress.” You narrowed your eyes at his comment, taking the expression as a challenge.

Shrugging away from the point of his hook, you rose to your feet between his legs and slowly drew your hands up to the thin straps on your shoulders. You hooked your thumbs beneath the material and began to slowly slip the material over your shoulders and down your biceps. Sir Crocodile’s eyes widened, immediately reaching his right hand and left forearm to halt your hands from revealing more of your flesh to him.

“What are you doing?” His growl should’ve had your actions stuttering in any other setting, but his rasp had your heart beating in desire in place of fear.

“I have already informed you that I will be returning my wage to you,” you cocked your head to the side, arching your back towards him and looking down at him under your lustful expression, “Why not start with the dress you claim to despise so much.” The rise of his fluster depicted in his eyes at your words had a smirk drawing up to decorate your lips.

“What has someone like me done to deserve such devotion from you, my seraphim?” he whispered, his right hand elevating the strap of your left shoulder and securing it firmly in its prior place. You followed suit with your right strap, securing it firmly against your shoulder and leaning further into his welcome embrace.

He leant his torso closer to you, his broad forearms circling over your own with his fingertips brushing against your skin. You began to open your mouth, confessing your adoration for your boss further upon the tip of your tongue before crudely interrupted by the presence of the blue-haired clown followed behind by the broody gentleman from earlier.

“Are we playin’ cards yet, Croco?” Buggy’s voice hitched as he met with an intimate moment shared between you and Sir Crocodile. Your boss’ hands caressed your skin, pulling you against his torso as he aimed his disapproving gaze over your right shoulder.

He growled at the interruption, his voice holding more feral animosity than he felt he should. You drew your hand up to claim his cheek in the palm of your right hand, looking down at him with your eyes holding your unspoken answer of lustful adoration at him. His breath hitched as his gaze met with yours, prompting his right hand to grasp the flesh of your back firmer within his spread fingertips.

“I recall you having barely enough berry to survive the last time we played, Clown,” Mihawk’s aloof tone called from beside him. Neither you nor Sir Crocodile paid either man any mind, too wrapped up in the intimate moment you were sharing holding one another.

You removed the cigar from Crocodile’s teeth in your left hand, stooping forward and claiming his lips beneath your own. Your nose brushed against his, the kiss as hastily departing in severance of the connection as it did in its descent. He arched his chin up, chasing your retreat with his eyes closed.

“Shall I get the table ready, sir?” You asked him in a subtle whisper, relishing in the small hum of pleasure falling from the lips of your boss. His eyes split slowly open, remaining half-lidded as he lulled his head on his neck to glance at you. The silver mark splitting his face danced in the illuminance of the soft bar light, his striking features appearing more chiseled under its glow.

“Please,” he spoke slowly, his tongue darting out and danced as the ‘L’ passed his lips. You raked his hair back over his scalp, replacing the fallen strands in their rightful place, while leaning down once more with a smirk.

“Right away, sir,” you purred at him while returning his cigar to his teeth, watching as he bit the tip with a small snarl. Turning and walking away to collect several items to place atop the green felt for your boss to engage in a game of cards with his two unlikely colleagues, eyes fixed on your back as you exited the secluded area.

“Who is she?” Buggy’s shocked voice cracked out the stuttered question also plaguing Mihawk’s mind. Sir Crocodile relaxed in his chair, inhaling the cigar smoke deeply into his lungs and holding it. Upon it exiting from his lungs, he confessed the place you held within his heart with the utterance of two words.

“My favorite.”

#one piece #x reader #opla fic #opla #one piece live action #buggy #mihawk #captain buggy #dracule mihawk #sir crocodile #op sir crocodile x reader #op sir crocodile #sir crocodile x reader #cross guild #cross guild x reader #sir crocodile wins #boss x employee

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bridgetotheskyyy · 9 months ago

Text

Filthy Clean

cw: You and Levi have a clean rivalry lmaoo. levi x f! reader, smut, 18+, shower sex, fingering, face slapping, slight cum play, mild dubcon, praise kink, cum swallowing, creampie. I HATE posting fics on tumblr with a passionnnn but I thought you guys would enjoy this one. I posted this to ao3 a while ago but I'm still in my levi era lmaoo. wc 6.9k.

Men were disgusting.

The dirt the younger cadets trudged into the barracks and lounging areas did not discriminate, but the filth the male cadets managed to accumulate was truly unmatched. Beds unmade, toilets unflushed, and had none of them heard of a fucking coaster?

Or a napkin?

You leaned farther so your swiping hand might reach the table’s full breadth. You wiped in wide, angry circles. You’d be here for ages trying to get the grime off the table, gathering the courage needed to tackle the bathrooms.

“Ugh.” Your washcloth came across something unidentifiably sticky. “Fucking gross …”

So consumed were you with your task you did not see the hand come to meet yours until it was too late, and your pinkies met.

You blinked.

“Oi.”

You looked up to see a dark-haired man fixing you with a glare, the majority of his face obscured by a handkerchief.

“What are you doing?”

You frowned. “Cleaning this table.”

The man straightened. “Well” — he snatched your washcloth from your grasp — “you’re doing a shitty job.”

“Hey!”

“Just let me do it.”

“It’s my job.”

“Hah?” A brow raised in question your way. “Someone’s paying you to do such a shitty job?”

“I’m not!” You were truly flustered now. “I’m doing as good of a job as I can with how filthy people are here!”

“Tch.” The man’s sharp eyes cast down to the table. “That we can agree on.”

“And” — you grabbed your cloth — “you shouldn’t take what isn’t yours.”

You ignored the heat of the man’s appraisal. He can stare at my ass all he likes. You hummed. “Who are you anyway?” You asked, layering the wooden table with more solution.

His eyes widened. “How do you not …?”

“I don’t keep tabs on everybody in this infernal regiment.” You scrubbed angrily at the sticky table — was it fucking gum or something? “So, I wouldn’t know if you were famous.”

You looked up in time to see the man undo his handkerchief to reveal —

You froze.

Levi. Ackerman.

The Levi Ackerman.

Captain Levi Ackerman.

… Fuck.

“Oh my god …” You straightened, suddenly feeling foolish with the supplies in your hands. “Captain …”

“How the hell do you not know who I am?”

“You —“ You stammered. What should you do? Should you put down the cloth? Should you leave? Fuckfuckfuck. “I — You had that …” You gestured to the handkerchief. “That thing on your face!”

“The handkerchief doesn’t cover up my voice.”

You gobbed like a fish, face flushed from embarrassment. “I —“

“Tch, it’s fine,” he waved you off. “Just let me tackle this room — or stay; you might learn something.”

The humiliation was almost too much. Almost.

“Sir.” You cleared your throat, arm akimbo. “I’m very sure I know what I’m doing.”

Another inquisitive eyebrow. “That so?”

You recognized the challenge in his voice and stretched the cloth — flack — with a tilt of your head. “Yeah,” You said, the edge of your mouth twitching to add, “sir.”

Levi straightened himself again to his full height (which wasn’t much) and took three intimidating steps toward you. You stood your ground as he reared on you, looking you dead in the eye:

“We’ll see about that.”

After that, you were sure you’d be fired.

You’d been fired by (figuratively) smaller men for far less. The others cleaning girls were in a tizzy that, somehow, you had squared off with Humanity’s Strongest and were ravenous for developments as soon as you had something to tell. You weren’t sure you’d last that long. Surely you’d be getting canned any moment now.

But instead something far more bizarre was happening: it seemed you were now in a cleaning war with the squad captain of the Special Operations Squad.

Everywhere you went, the work was already done. Walls scrubbed. Floorboards wiped. Curtains dusted. Limestone’s ass kicked. Even the heinous bathrooms had been tackled by a brave, meticulous set of hands — and you had an inkling those hands were calloused and attached to a pipsqueak.

Your suspicions were only confirmed when a tale of the captain scrubbing one of the barracks had reached you. Apparently, Levi’d done a stunning job — until he noticed a fucking boot print on his flawless floor. All the trembling cadets were rounded up to find a boot match like a scene from some fairy tale, and eventually the print was proven to belong to none other than Eren Jaeger.

Why was it always fucking Eren Jeager.

By the end of the second week of this cleanathon, you were sprinting to the currently unused dining hall, slamming the doors opened:

Tables glistened, floors polished … You turned your head to the windows … windows you could use as fucking mirrors —

“Son of a bitch!” You shot arms to your sides before storming out, two cadets making way for you.

Sunday evening, the horse stables were all you had left; you shuffled hay and tended to the equine beauties as best you could, spurred on now by a newfound enthusiasm for your job. By sundown, the hay was stacked, the floors were wiped, the cedar like brand new.

“Ha! Could be someone’s living quarters.” You turned, satisfied, to the horses with hands at your hips. “Not too shabby, huh?”

One of them huffed at you, blowing hair from your face.

“You must be his,” You scoffed before exiting the stables.

You were proud, but you were tired. The showers were empty by the time you stepped into one to use, pleasantly ignoring the suspicious sheen with which everything glistened as you wheeled the knob to hot. You sighed as water fit to rival hellfire rained down on your aching muscles. You lathered and rinsed, fit to remove the day’s grime.

Another labored sigh. Finally, some time to —

The door burst open. You shrieked, spun, covering yourself.

“Get out —!”

“Relax.” Levi, of all people, stepped into view. “It’s just me.”

“My order still stands! Get outwhatthehellareyoudoing —“

“I give the orders.”

Realizing he wouldn’t leave, you scoffed, spinning back toward the shower head. “Can’t believe this,” you murmured. “I can’t wait to report this and let everyone know the captain is a perv —“

“I said relax,” Levi said, not a step out of place (beyond the obvious). “I won’t do anything.”

“Oh, what a comfort …”

“… You did a good job today.”

You blinked, forearms still crisscrossed over your chest. Was that a compliment? You tilted your head, as disturbed as you were intrigued. “Come again?”

“You do have some skills when it comes to cleaning, I’ll give you that,” Levi droned from behind. “Peroxide with a hint of lemon? Definitely more than a rookie.”

Fuck. Even his compliments were nestled in insults. “And this couldn’t wait until after I took a shower?”

Soft rustling; you could only imagine him crossing his arms, staring at your naked back. “I wanna to see if you keep it up.”

What did that mean? You looked down at the nest of suds cradled in your cleavage. And you understood: he wanted to watch you clean yourself.

“You’re a weirdo.” You shook your head. But, understanding he wouldn’t leave, hardened yourself to this new challenge. You wouldn’t be intimidated. You carried on as though no one were watching, finishing what you had started.

“You’re doing it wrong,” he spoke up as you bent down to lather a leg.

“Shut —“ You froze, sucking your lips into your mouth. “Sir …” You couldn’t abuse him … he was still a captain … Why did that matter he was fucking watching you take a shower —

“Tch.” There was that odd sound from him again, but was it just you or was it now tinged with amusement. “Think we’re beyond formalities now, don’t you think?”

You didn’t answer. Your face grew hot as you rose to full height, allowing the shower water to wash the accumulated suds away. You didn’t know what you thought; you were mildly dizzy, the heat and situation doing something to you. Why were you letting this happen, letting a man watch you shower?

… Why were you liking it?

You were about to turn and face Levi to get out when he clicked his teeth:

“Fine, I’ll do it myself.”

You saw Levi grasp your shoulder. You gasped, nearly slipping as you turned, at last, to face him.

“Wait,” You said as your back hit the wall.

But he was there, fully clothed, the shower water getting his hair and uniform wet.

“You’re …” You watched him get drenched. “You’re all wet now.”

Levi’s eyes flickered to yours. “So are you.”

Your lips parted but no words came. Dark strands clung to his face now, and you refused to admit how good he looked. His hands were on you — hands much softer than they should’ve been. He swiped the washcloth from you, threw it away. Levi took the soap from you and treated your skin to a thorough lathering with his bare hands. Calloused hands that should’ve been rough and harsh caressed your neck.

“People always forget their neck,” Levi murmured.

Lines of foam ran down the valley of your breasts, to your stomach. Suds nestled in your belly button as Levi’s hands came to your sides and tugged, motioning for you to turn over.

You made to protest — didn’t. Wordlessly, you turned around for him. His hands cleansed you of the sweat accumulated in your crevices. He massaged into your back, caressed the tension from your shoulders. Levi’s thumb dipped in the small of your back and you suppressed a sound, whatever it had turned into unknown to you and him both. Your trembling hands pressed to the wall when you sensed him bend forward to knead into the skin of your thigh. You squirmed, biting your lip at the moan his meticulous hands fought to elicit. Levi’s hand reached forward and grazed the pert skin of your nipple. At an honest to god moan you couldn’t repress, Levi paused.

“I …” You kept still under his gaze.

It was a relief when seconds later Levi resumed his ministrations.

“Want you fucking spotless,” he said, and you believed him. His hands worked in tandem with the hot water to cleanse you. Levi worked your breasts, cupping them from behind, offering them to the water to be dowsed of suds. Fingers you knew were purposeful grazed at your excited nubs in the process. A hand, once gripped firm at your waist, breached the gap of your legs, a finger sliding over the slit of your vulva.

You gasped through the moan. “I — I thought you said you wouldn’t do anything.”

“That was before I saw how lackluster your methods were.”

“My meth —“ You bit your lip as Levi’s finger grazed your clit. “I — I hardly see how this is supposed to help me get clean, captain.”

At the title, Levi groaned in your ear, lips brushing against your shoulder.

You ignored the thrum of pleasure in your cunt. “Why would I need to be — ah — clean from the inside?”

“Quiet.” His finger threatened to slip into your moist entrance, your natural slick assisting in this endeavor. “If you knew what you were doing, you wouldn’t be asking that.”

“I don’t think —“

“If you had a problem, you wouldn’t be fucking drenched, either.”

“Ah …” Your forehead thudded against the wall, your skin hot. Everything hot. You couldn’t argue; even the shower water couldn’t wash away evidence of your want.

“And now you’re gonna make an even bigger fucking mess, aren’t you?”

Despite the haranguing, Levi only pressed closer, the fabric of his jacket adding friction to your damp skin. His finger teased the ring of your entrance, teasing, daring.

You moaned when Levi abandoned your hole to concentrate on teasing your clit. He tended to it with the slightest touch, so removed you began to think his touch only imagined.

“I — I’m too achy to —“

“Do you ever shut up?” Levi snapped. “I’ve already told you.” His lips were at your ear now, his chin sitting in the crook of your neck. “Not asking for you to reciprocate. Just let me do it …”

You gripped Levi’s forearms as his finger slipped past the ring of your entrance with shameful ease. You bent forward, squeezing your legs around his hand. Your lips parted with a shuddering moan when his fingertips brushed the roof of your g-spot growing ever jagged.

“Didn’t think it would be this easy,” he spoke into your ear. “Just letting me in, hm? Fucking freak …”

You looked over your shoulder to Levi already staring at you. You did not need this. You did not need Levi, wet and close and hair dangling in his gorgeous face, mocking you.

Another finger slid in to meet the first. You clawed at the shower wall, growing feral.

Levi withdrew them.

“Wait,” You murmured. “What?”

His brows furrowed. “Do you want this?”

You scoffed. “Really?”

He studied your face. “Wanted to be sure,” he murmured, his arms caging you in.

You turned to face him. You pressed into him, your forehead meeting his. After all this, now he asked? But a part of you was endeared by his asking. Despite his foul mouth and gruff disposition, you didn’t fear him.

You found his hand and guided it back to your wanting cunt. “Yes.”

Not needing to be told twice, Levi hand roped to your neck and pulled you in for a kiss. You weren’t caught by surprise; you opened your mouth for him to explore while his two fingers returned to their mission of exploring you. His groan caught in your mouth and went straight to your cunt, inciting a new layer of slick to coat Levi’s fingers.

“Thought so,” he muttered into your mouth. He abandoned your mouth just as he invited a third finger into your weeping hole, his lips traversing the length of your jaw.

You were a moaning, sobbing mess, grinding against his fingers. You couldn’t take all this stroking, probing, stretching. The shower water pebbled your skin, the incessant dribble sensitizing your heated skin. Levi was driving his fingers into you now, assaulting the tender spot within to drive you feral. You entwined a leg around his with a whimper, your head falling against the wall to widen the expanse of skin Levi’s lips could torment. His thumb tweaked randomly at your clit, the uncertainty of when he would reward the nub with attention only driving you further toward the edge of the cliff. He nibbled, bit into your neck and you all but jumped into his arms, all dignity forgotten.

“Go ahead,” he said when you squeezed his digits, your breathing heavy on his shoulder, “bet you look pretty when you come.”

His voice, as though your climax was the most predictable thing in the world, sent you over the edge. With an onset of broken moans you came, nearly ripping the arms from Levi’s jacket as he finger-fucked you through your orgasm. You drenched his fingers, saw through vision bleared by water and steam and drowse, how they had turned pruney playing in your snatch once Levi at last pulled them out of you. He held you up with a hand, your legs turned boneless and useless under your lasting throes.

Levi inspected his fingers as you caught your breath. He bent down to retrieve your abandoned washcloth and wiped his fingers clean.

“Levi …” You murmured as he did it, your senses returning slowly but surely. “What …?”

He turned back to you, fixing your back against the wall again as he captured your mouth in another kiss, not as rough as the first, but affirmative. A statement. He withdrew and you, eyes closed, followed him until you realized he was truly through with the kiss and opened your eyes.

He wiggled his fingers, almost to taunt you. “I was right,” he said, a flicker of a smirk there. “Fucking pretty.”

You’d lost all control over your life.

Afterwards, you often found yourself frequenting the same spaces with Levi, places you were meant to be cleaning but would end up as sanctuaries so Levi might fuck you into oblivion inside them.

More than once you’d cried out as he crashed you into the wall, arms wrapped around each other, passion overcoming dull reason always.

“Levi!”

“Keep it down!” he would hiss in your ear before nibbling the lobe attached. “Want the whole headquarters to hear us fucking?”

And then you would clean. Thoroughly. Meticulously. There were never any traces of your sudden trysts, you both made sure of that.

What was happening? You weren’t sure. It wasn’t as if you were suddenly the captain’s girlfriend or something. Right?

Right?

… Right?

“Are you the captain’s girlfriend?”

You startled away from Potato Girl, who had somehow materialized by your side, nearly falling off the step you sat on in the process.

“Sasha!” Jean Kirstein reprimanded. He graced you with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry about her.” To Sasha: “You can’t just sneak up on people you don’t know and ask them —“

“But it’s clear something’s going on, isn’t it?” Sasha said. “I heard Mike say the other day that —!”

“No!” You cried. Do these fuckers do anything but gossip? You were reminded of your grandmother, who had once said the military was nothing but death and gossip. “No, you — you don’t understand. The captain and I — we’re just friends. We like cleaning, that’s all.”

Jean’s blush belied his nod toward you. “You don’t have to explain anything.”

“Aw, c’mon!” Sasha said. “Captain Levi would fall head over heels for a girl who can clean as well as you!”

Jean ran a hand over his face. “Sasha …” Exasperation made his voice heavy.

“It’s okay,” You assured him before turning to Sasha with a smile, your voice fit for addressing a child when you said, “The truth is, I don’t know why Captain Levi’s taken such a liking to me. I’m just happy to make him proud. But I promise: nothing untoward has ever occurred between the captain and myself.”

How well you could lie through your teeth. Should you be proud or ashamed? Untoward … Levi’s fingers sank into your cunt; his cockhead twitching on your cervix; a mouth full of —

Boy, could you lie.

Sasha scrutinized your face. Seemingly satisfied, she said, with a disappointed dip in her voice, “All right. But tell us if that changes! We want the best for the captain and only want him to be happy!”

Strangely heartwarmed by her comment, you nodded to the both of them. “You got it!”

And you’d thought that would be the end of it, but it wasn’t; you were doomed to have a couple more run-ins with members of the Special Operations: a few cadets once eyed you surreptitiously in the hallway. And on the last day of the week while on your way to dust the shelves of the library, a little blonde boy caught sight of you and promptly scurried away, a book tucked in his armpit, leaving the library hilariously bare.

“Oh, come on!” You said, the lack of people affording you moxy. “If I was really fucking a captain, don’t you think I’d have gotten a raise by now? Hello?!”

“You wanted to see me, Commander?”

Levi shut the door. The moment Levi walked into the Commander’s office, he knew what he was in for. Erwin wasn’t alone; Hange was ready to bounce off the walls. Mike looked like he was suppressing some laughs. Levi let himself in; eyes made of ice appraised his every step.

“Have a seat, Levi,” was all Erwin said, and once he did the man knitted his fingers together. “I’ve heard rumors.”

“Tch, didn’t think you were the type to listen to shitty gossip.”

“More than rumors, I would say.”

Levi raised his brows to encourage elaboration.

“There have been complaints.”

“Of?”

“You and some cleaning girl hooking up!” Hange cried out — happily.

Without a beat, Levi tilted his head: “What?”

“There has been a shortage in cleaning supplies,” Erwin said. “Some cadets have complained about headaches. Some have reported breathing issues. Some have fainted.”

Levi glared. “They’re allergic to everything except filth, then?”

“I’m told chemicals from the cleaning solutions are the cause,” Erwin continued, leafing through what could only be reports from this very issue.

“The morons can always open a fucking window.”

“Still, there’s such a thing as too clean, Levi,” Erwin said. “Some have begun to speculate why there’s been such an uptick in cleanliness. It seems … suspicious.”

“Tch.”

Erwin’s eyes flicked upward expectantly. “I’ve not heard you deny anything.”

“There’s nothing to deny.” Levi crossed his legs. “I help her clean when I have the time, that’s it.”

Hange squealed. “Oh, this is fascinating —!”

“ — You’d think so,” Levi shifted his glare toward her.

“A friendship forged from alcohol!” Hange chirped. “I’m such a fool; I should’ve predicted something like this would happen!”

“Nothing’s happened, you fucking weirdo,” Levi said.

Mike had failed to comment thus far, sticking to his corner of the room, but his shoulders rumbled with hushed laughs. Fucking prick.

“Hm?” Hange stood. “Oh really? Tell me, then: If you’re just cleaning, why are there reports of moving furniture?”

“We have to move furniture to get to spots people forget to clean, moron,” Levi said pointedly, crossing arms now. “If these idiots spent as much time training as they did gossiping, fewer of them would be eaten every expedition.”

“Nevertheless, we can’t have you and this girl making hazardous gases in your attempts to clean headquarters,” Erwin said. “Be more discriminate with how you use your supplies. I don’t want to hear any more complaints about this, am I understood?”

A curt nod from Levi.

A snort from Mike. “I bet she’s cute.”

“I bet you’d look better without a nose, Mike,” Levi said, standing. “And, Commander, I think you should address some of the rumors concerning yourself.”

It was Erwin’s turn to raise his fatass eyebrows. “Pardon?”

“I don’t know.” Levi was already striding toward the door. “Something about you and some nurse.” He turned back to Erwin, hand on the knob. “Can’t be true, can it?”

Hange gasped. Mike choked. Erwin himself, surprising no one, moved not an inch, only dug knives into Levi’s disappearing back as he considered himself excused and shut the door behind him.

He wouldn’t give in. He couldn’t lose his cleaning fuck buddy. Not now. Not ever. No one had understood his desire to eradicate filth as well as you.

He would just have to have a little conversation with you.

“You make too much noise.”

Hardly the statement you were looking forward to. Where was you feel so good? Your precious good girl?

You broke the kiss, subtracting your tongue from inside Levi’s mouth, to stare at him crookedly.

“Come again?”

“S’you,” Levi said, the flush coloring his face as conspicuous as day. “People are talking around these shitty barracks. We’ll have to cool it if you can’t keep your fucking mouth shut.”

You snorted while resuming your task: unbuttoning Levi’s shirt. You dipped forward to snatch one button between your teeth where it waited to be chewed off. You broke away to nibble at the skin beyond it once it snapped open. “Shut me up then.”

“Fuck …” Levi said in response to your slutty hips swinging into his, your teeth leaving love bites over his protruding collar. “Do you have to make everything so difficult?”

“This is your fault, you know?” You ground your hips into Levi’s obvious erection and was promptly rewarded with a delicious groan. His hand came around to grip the fat of your ass. You licked a wet strip onto his neck before nibbling the skin there. “If you didn’t” — another swing of your hips, another groan from Levi — “fuck me so good, my volume wouldn’t be such a problem.”

“Not apologizing.”

You leveled your face with his. “Then we’re at an impasse.” And you kissed him, slotting your tongue back into place above his.

Levi stole air from your mouth when your hand slotted between the two of you, found the heavy imprint of his cock and gave it a firm squeeze. Levi pressed you closer to him, a firm grip on your ass. He swiped up at your tongue before nibbling on your lower lip and repeating the action with its twin.

“You really want your slutty mouth exposing us to the world?” Levi grumbled, no doubt begrudgingly aware of how his cock twitched in your hold.

“I really don’t care,” You said. “But I guess I don’t have as much to lose, right, Captain?”

He jerked you away by the back of your head, hand fisted in your hair. “You’re out of line.”

A grumble in his throat at the sight of your tongue running over your lip.

“Says the man who walked in on me showering.”

Levi’s eyes narrowed, as if to say touche.

“Maybe you’re right.” He met your eye, fixing his face neutral. “Maybe I need to shut you up.”

“Oh.” You wiggled your brows. “Levi.”

“On your knees.”

You giggled — stifled it when Levi tapped your cheek with barely any force but enough to threaten a harder hand in the future.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, brat.”

And so you sank, remaining eye contact as you sat on your knees and fiddled with the buckle of Levi’s pants. You freed his cock, was rewarded with a soft grunt from him — and one slightly louder when you fed his cock into your mouth, wiggling your eyebrows at him again.

“Even with your mouth stuffed with my cock, you’re still giving me attitude?” Levi huffed, but there was no bite to it.

The edge of your mouth quirked before focusing on your task. You gave Levi a hard, fruitful suck before releasing him with a loud, wet pop! to run the flat of your tongue down the underside of his cock. From base to tip. Base to tip. You swallowed him again, hollowing your cheeks to work his cock. Excitement flushed your cunt as Levi’s grunts filled the air, and your fingers itched to sneak down and play with your juicing folds.

A groan from Levi. An encouraging hand met the back of your head. “Fuck, good, little brat …” His hanging his head back sent your cunt clenching at nothing.

You released him, curled stroking fingers around his shaft. “Who’s the loud one now?” You teased with a smirk —

You gasped when Levi’s hand swatted your cheek. Harder than before. A tepid warning.

“Finish what you started.”

You opened your mouth to get smart with him, only for the hand straddling the back of your head to pull you forward; Levi’s cock tumbled back into your mouth.

Your eyes fluttered closed. Your hands stroked the end of his shaft, pubic hair tickling your pinkie, as your mouth lay preoccupied with the rest. Levi’s sounds impelled you to move faster. You didn’t care about the aching pain in your jaw or your screaming knees on the wooden floor. You sucked for those sounds, for the power you held over him in that moment.

“This is a better look for you anyway,” Levi said — hissed as one hand came to cling to his naked thighs, the other thumbing at his ball sack. “Fuck, clean my cock, brat.”

You weren’t his brat. Nor were you one of his cadets he ordered around, but your cunt fluttered around the words all the same. The way he was so determined to playfully shame you, when he was the one to jump you and sink his fingers into your cunt?

Levi assisted in your head bobbing, his fingers nestled in your hair. “Give it a spit shine, show me how fucking good you are at your job, cumdump.”

You parted with his cock to obey, to spit on the veiny shaft. You thinned out the spit with your palm before introducing him back into your mouth. You moaned around Levi’s cock, the vibrations around his member causing him to do the same.

Fuck. You couldn’t take it; you led a hand between your thighs, startled at how sensitive you were to your own touch when your fingers circled against the damp clutch of your panties.

“Playing with yourself while you suck me off …” He hissed when you sank forward, his cockhead tickling, threatening the sanctity of your uvula. “Depraved little slut.”

Levi clutched your head firmer to steady you and started thoroughly fucking your mouth. You gasped, choked, the rapid tousling of your head clouding your senses. Your eyes pebbled with tears. You ran a fingertip down your clothed slit, the seam of your panties wet from your want. You moaned as Levi did. Your lips tightened around the span of him. You raised to the challenge, sucking harshly as he bucked into your willing mouth.

“Ah, fuck,” he hissed. You cracked an eye open to see Levi’s hips stutter, his other hand bracing against the table.

“Mmm!” You were so hot. You worked your clit harder before realizing you didn’t have to cheat yourself slid a hand past the elastic of your panties, slipping fingers through your folds.

“Don’t you dare flake on me,” Levi said. “We just cleaned these floors; take every last drop.”

You didn’t need him to tell you what to do; you knew your role now. Levi slowed his pace to allow you to take over. You rose on your knees, gripped one of his ass cheeks to hold him close. A soft gasp from Levi as you ran your tongue over the vein on the underside of his cock, coaxing him to coming. You felt it twitch, excited and abused in your hot, wet mouth.

“Fuck, fuck —“ Levi growled, gripped the side of the table. “Every drop, you little cumcatcher —!”

Levi fisted your hand as he spilled into your mouth. You closed your eyes to it, clinging to his shaft to pull him back and allow your mouth much needed space. Levi fed you his pants, his hurried breaths quickening your heart. His cockhead sat on the flat of your tongue while ropes of cum ran down the length of it. You obeyed his command, swallowing every drop, letting him use you as the little cum dispenser he wanted you to be. You wanted to be for him.

Your jaw screamed with relief when Levi left your mouth. A bridge of saliva connected you to his spent member and you promptly wiped it away before it could threaten the sanctity of Levi’s perfectly polished floors.

He looked down at you, his stoicism softened by fondness. He stroked the cheek he’d previously abused. “Good girl.”

You purred. “Only for you.”

“Hm.”

You stood and pecked him inches above his ever-scowling eyebrow. “That’s all you have to say? After all that huffing and puffing you —?”

Levi’s hand met the back of your neck and pulled you close, glaring right into your eyes. “You’re running your shitty fucking mouth before I can even reward you.”

Your brow raised in interest. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Levi jerked his head toward his bedroom. “Let’s finish this.”

You gaped in surprise. “But we just cleaned the sheets!”

“And you’re not about to get them dirty again. Right?” Levi stared pointedly at you before leaning into your throat, giving it a soft but prompt nibble. He pulled away as you hummed. “Right?”

You ran your tongue over your lip, batting intrigued eyes at him for a second. He really was an eccentric weirdo. You wordlessly complied, strolling into the bedroom to get into place for him. Levi followed, pulling you toward him. One hand yanked you to him by your shirt, dragging you into a kiss. You gasped at the sudden action. His force pressed the bed into the back of your knees and you clumsily sat. Levi worked your shirt away before hooking a hand down the elastic of both your trousers and panties.

He peered down at your lower half, mildly amused. “Bet you’re already dripping after playing with yourself while sucking me off, fucking freak …”

You giggled, your rebuttal your raised, pruney fingers.

Levi gripped your wrist. “Filthy …” He brought your fingers to his mouth — jerked the two articles of clothing fisted in his grip to hook at the back of your knees. The tiniest smirk tugged at the corner of his lips at your widened eyes, your tiny gasp.

Levi tossed away your clothes. He slotted into the new space between your legs. You ran your fingers over his plump lower lip as he fished for his cock, and pride flared in you to feel he was already hard again, your teasing sufficient enough to make him stand at attention.

“We — ahh …” You furrowed your brows at the feel of Levi’s cock sheathing inside you. You sighed. Tried again. “We’re going to make a mess for sure.”

“We’re not going to make a mess,” Levi corrected before inserting himself fully, thrusting to the hilt and, over your moan, “You’re going to take it.”

You didn’t wonder because you didn’t need to; his tacit answer, coming in the form of another pointed look up at you, had been enough for understanding to flourish like moss on stone. He was going to fill you up, leave you so full of his cum he would surely pull out of you squeaky clean, every precaution you might’ve taken against pregnancy be damned. The insinuation sent flutters to your cunt you were sure Levi could feel around his cock, were sure he could feel the effect he had on you. Your final confirmation being that he was still fully clothed, as though confident you would not sully him even as he ruined you.

Levi quickened his pace in such a way you were forced to grab ahold to his shoulders. “Fu — Is that so? Mm!”

“Yeah — fuck,” Levi muttered in your ear. “As you said, we just fucking cleaned these sheets, and there’s no way they’re getting dirty again just because you can’t control your disgusting sobbing snatch.”

You wanted to slap him — wanted to throw his insults and his eager cock in his face — and your hand itched to do so, but as he found his rhythm you couldn’t; he fucked you hard into the mattress, barely breaking a sweat as he barreled into you. A hand flew to constrict your throat, sinking you down further and thus making it easier for him to bully into you. Levi brought his face close to yours as his hips went wild, giving you a taste of that Ackerman strength you had heard so much about.

“Ah — uh —!” You moaned, your eyes falling closed as your mouth slacked wide. “Levi — Levi!”

You cracked eyes open to see Levi’s face strained from his efforts above you. Another flutter down below struck to see how much of an effect you were having on him. You loved him like this; the sarcastic, stoic know-it-all you’d come to know melting away until he was just a man enthralled with your pussy. You looped arms around his, bracing your hands at his back. A hand grazed your mons pubic and three fingers at your clit had you choking a moan.

“Come on,” You urged. “Oh.” You shuddered when Levi flicked at your clit every which way in response. “I’ll be such a good girl for you and take it, mm …”

“Fucking noisy brat, nrgh!” The hand Levi had roped over your throat tightened. “Using my own words against me …”

First your arms then your legs wrapped around him — only to aid in flipping him on his back. The world whirled around you as you came out on top. Levi choked back a sound of surprise as you mounted him. You looked down at him with a smirk.

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” He said, an aimless hand groping at your tit.

“Being a good girl.” You let yourself down on him, basked in the triumph coming in the form of Levi’s relieved groan beneath you. “I wanna show you how good I can take it.”

Levi’s face contorted in an almost-glare he soon realized he had not the energy for when you planted hands on his chest, rebellious fingers discreetly tweaking his nipples through his uniform as you found purchase, and began to bounce on him. His eyes shut, brows furrowed as the round of your ass routinely slapped against his thighs.

“Fuuuck.” Nails left crescent moons of your thighs. “Feels good, ugh …!”

“Anything for you, Captain —“

“Don’t call me that.” Levi grasped harder at the junction between your thigh and ass.

“Why?” You paused, sitting on him, opting to squeeze around him as you did so. Levi grunted, bucked up in response. “It doesn’t have an effect, does it?”

“Fuck, read the room —“ Levi’s eyes trained on where you two met in the middle, your sopping snatch routinely coming to devour him. “Clearly, I’m not your captain, otherwise — urgh!”

You kept fucking against him, surprised by both the agility and stamina you seemed to have in this moment. Levi’s cock split you open so good, so completely. It was growing increasingly hard to tease him as you felt yourself getting close. So close. Levi slapped your ass before taking a handful and tugging you forward. You fell onto him.

“Otherwise — oh — what?” You asked, your faces now so close as to have your noses rubbing. “You won’t let me drain your cock of every last drop?”

Levi’s knuckles had to be white from how tight his hold now was on you. He groaned, biting down on his lip as his forehead met yours.

“I don’t care about the rules,” You said, voice sounding more desperate than was your intent due to your cresting release. “You’re my captain, so I’m gonna — oh! — be a good girl and fuck my captain until he’s fucked dry from my cunt —“

A sound of utter frustration from Levi and his hands were bruising your hips. Hard. He fucked up into you, slamming you down onto him, and every time he met you half way. Now you held onto his shoulders for fear of falling off, too hazed from lust and pleasure to register that as a foolish notion; like Levi would ever let you fall. Like he would ever let you go.

You fisted one hand into the sheets, meeting Levi’s upward thrusts however you could. Teasing words devolved into endless grunts and moans. You exchanged breaths before you remembered you could kiss him and did, kissing him hard as your last threads of sanity snapped and you clenched wildly down onto him.

You moaned into Levi’s mouth as you came. You gripped his cock with your cunt again, again, and felt Levi come undone underneath you only seconds later. Warm, thick ropes of cum spilled into you and you stilled on top of him, sitting flat, then grinding your hips, your clit rocking into his abdomen rug-burned by his pubic hair. The sensation added another shock of pleasure as you came undone.

Levi was determined to fuck you through it. With strength you didn’t think he still had, he flipped you over and proceeded to fuck his come into you, the length of his shaft coated white with your juices and his. Another thrust and he slammed into you without retreating, holding there.

“Levi …” You moaned out. You felt him move and whined; you weren’t ready for him to leave you, to be empty.

But the second Levi pulled out, he replaced what you’d lost with his fingers, ensuring his spent be left inside.

“Oh, fuck, Le …!” You shuddered, too overstimulated to submit to Levi’s fingers rubbing up against your spot.

“Quiet,” he murmured. “You’re a good girl, remember? Don’t wanna hear it …”

You bit your lip, nearly ripped the sheets from their corners as he stimulated you from inside. Finally, he withdrew his fingers, certain his spent had taken with you.

“Phew.” Eyes closed, you fell back into the pillow, too blissed out to articulate much more.

The mattress depressed at your side and you knew Levi was there, trailing kisses up your arm. Once in the crook of your neck, “Good girl.”

You hummed as Levi relaxed beside you. Despite his claims, you knew there was no way the sheets hadn’t been tainted — by sweat, by juice if not by his cum — and Levi would have you rip the sheets from their corners and wash them. He’d watch to see what kind of detergent you would choose, testing to see if your skills were up to par with his. And perhaps he would fuck you in the laundry room while the sheets dried. Maybe he would fuck into you from behind while you made the bed. Whatever it was, you were game. Always. When and if it was with him.

While your mind swam with sordid thoughts, Levi spoke up:

“What do you want?”

You propped up on an elbow, facing him. “Hm?”

“Us.” He turned to you, stoic expression having returned, but his eyes ever watchful. “What do you want out of this?”

You smiled. “I … want a partner. Someone to share things with.” You sought out his hand to entwine your fingers with his and, to your surprise, he reciprocated the gesture after a second or two. “But it doesn’t have to be serious. Or public.”

“Hm.” Levi nodded. You always got the sense he was testing you, somehow, both in and out of bed. The romantic in you wanted to believe it was because he feared hurting you, feared pushing you beyond your limits. “I think that would be best for now.”

Fuck buddies it is.

“We should work on these sheets,” Levi said. “It’s not too late. We could have them dried before midnight.” He eyed you with challenge. “If you’re not too tired?”

You thought of your previous fantasies. Perhaps you would be the one to initiate this time?

You smirked. “You’re on.”

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