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crash-cinematic-universe · 4 years ago

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a beautiful sight

pairing: peter maximoff/reader

summary: peter maximoff is good at getting himself into trouble. you’re good at getting him out of trouble. what happens when you get tired of the same old routine?

warnings: there is angst for a moment and then they just start fucking. language warning and also sexual content warning

notes: this took so long. this took me so long to write. this took me so long to write and i am so sorry about that. this is 4k words long i hope that eases the pain. also i tried to keep the pronouns gender neutral but since they are having sex the reader is written to have “female” genitalia

taglist: @stranger-names @gooseyhouse @parkersdarling @amourtentiaa @toodles-me-doodles @rottenstyx

Your hands gripped the leather steering wheel with a white-knuckled grip, your teeth clenching so hard you feared your jaw would snap. Fat raindrops smashed against the windshield before quickly being swept away by the automatic wipers. Street lamps and stop lights sparkle in the rain, making for a beautiful sight; if you were traveling under different circumstances, you’d probably enjoy the drive. Unfortunately, you were currently being crushed by your current situation, anger simmering within your stomach.

You pulled up in front of the police station, a withering sigh escaping your chest before the car locks popped open. Determined to keep your composure in front of a bunch of cops-- who, admittedly, you were not on the best terms with-- you kept your chin up and expression stoic as you walked through the rain into the main lobby of the station.

The police station was exactly like how someone would expect it to be: the floor was covered with dull white, the walls a similar shade of white. An unsuspecting visitor would be immediately greeted by the uncomfortable and unwelcoming lobby, decorated only with a dying fern in the corner. Four grey chairs sat against the wall, a small wooden side table between them. There were magazines on the table, each one more brain dead and empty than the last. One could only compare reading said magazines to eating only empty calories for their entire lives.

A shell of a receptionist sat behind a large desk across the room, and you walked directly over. This one is new-- you’d been here three times in the past three months, but you didn’t recognize her. She was typing away at a computer, her eyes tired and sunken in. There was a coffee cup sitting next to her, but it looked as if it remained untouched for hours. Sluggishly, she looked up at you.

“How can I help you?” Her voice matched her exterior, a deep fatigue dripping off her words, Obviously, she didn’t want to be there, but you couldn’t really blame her. Who would want to work in such a lifeless place?

“I’m here to pick up my boyfriend,” You sound tired, not as tired as the receptionist, but still tired. She shoots you a sympathetic look.

“Name?”

“Peter Maximoff.”

You catch a glimpse of the receptionist’s name tag, quickly learning that her name is Nicole. She types something into her computer, adjusting her glasses and leaning in slightly.

“Alright, miss, he’ll be out in a few minutes. You can take a seat over there,” Nicole gestured over to the makeshift waiting room and you nodded.

“Thank you,” Like clockwork, you spun on your heel and landed in the uncomfortable chair that had gotten used to your presence.

You hated police stations. They had a certain soul-sucking quality to them; whether or not that quality comes from the poor souls that get thrown behind bars or the pieces of shit that put them there is up for individual interpretation. Police stations reeked of stale coffee and sweat, the occasional police siren cutting through the air every hour or so. The sound alone was hair-raising, especially to someone who landed themselves on the “wrong” side of the law uncomfortably often.

The sound of footsteps approached the double doors to your left, and soon enough Peter walked through them, his hands still bound in handcuffs. The police officer that escorted him out unlocked his cuffs before disappearing back behind the doors, leaving the two of you in the lobby alone. Well, mostly alone. Nicole was still sitting behind the counter, looking as unenthused as ever. Peter rubbed his wrists, his pale skin an angry red where his cuffs constricted them.

He had a black eye, his silver hair messy and unkempt. The Nirvana t-shirt he was wearing was ripped, and dozens of small cuts and bruises littered his body. You already knew he got into a fight, you just didn’t realize how banged up he had gotten. A part of you pitied him. Upon seeing his injuries, you almost allowed yourself to let go of the anger that had been festering inside of you. Somehow, you restrained yourself. Silently, you turned and walked out the front doors of the police station.

“Y/n--” Peter calls after you, an incoming apology hanging on his lips. You got to the car before he could catch up to you, quickly entering the driver’s seat and waiting in silence. Soon enough, Peter clambers in.

“Y/n, I--”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” you cut him off, frustration evident in your voice. Wisely, Peter held his tongue. “You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep recklessly running through the city doing whatever the hell you want. I can’t keep bailing you out, I won’t keep bailing you out.”

“I’m really sorry, doll,” He sounds like he’s being genuine, but you were going to need a lot more than one measly ‘sorry’. “I just… I saw these guys beating up some teenager in an alley. I couldn’t let that slide, and god knows the cops aren’t going to do anything about it. I did what I thought was right,”

“I’m not mad at you for that, Peter. I would’ve done the exact same thing if I was in your position, I’m just… worried. I know you think you need to stand up for the little guys, but you can’t keep putting yourself at risk. I hate seeing you all beaten up like this,” You sighed, taking Peter’s hand in yours. His knuckles were bruised, the new purple splotches decorating his skin. The bruises from the last unfortunate encounter weren’t even fully healed you.

“I swear, this is the last time you’ll have to do this. I promise,” He smiled weakly at you, and somehow, you managed to swallow the fury that had built up inside of you.

“It better be.” You ran your thumb over his injured hand, watching as the dark purple patches disappeared. Thankfully, your mutation guarantees that all of the scrapes and scratches will heal quickly. “Now, let’s go home so I can bandage you up.”

“I’d like that,” Peter smiles softly. His hand remains in yours as he rests his head against the car window, watching other cars whiz by in the rain. The street lights illuminated the sharp angles and delicate curves that made up his face. Even with a busted lip, Peter was still one of the most beautiful people you’d ever seen.

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence, the sound of raindrops pattering against the windshield lulling you both. It was late, the sun had long plunged past the horizon and a dusting of stars had appeared in the night sky. You noticed a few constellations as you drove to your apartment, the three signature stars of Orion’s belt catching your eye. A few months prior, Peter had taken you to a large field in the middle of nowhere, the scenery free of the light pollution the cityscape provided. He talked for hours about the stars, going from constellations to the lore behind them to the planets themselves; he even spoke about the star signs. He spoke with such passion, you felt as if you could listen to him talk for hours.

You pulled up in front of your apartment, quickly switching off the car. The rain gradually grows harder as you and Peter scurry up the pathway to the apartment lobby. Peter practically dragged you inside; it was obvious that he was struggling to contain his speed. As it turns out, hiding superpowers is much harder than initially expected. With every mutation-suppressing day that passes, Peter grows more antsy and you grow more anxious.

“You alright, silver?”

“Yeah, I just wanna get home,” he replies, but it’s too quick. He’s too eager to ward off your concern. He’s hiding something.

“Peter, don’t lie to me,” Your words are obviously a warning, but they come out much softer than intended. Peter is visibly unwell-- you can’t believe you hadn’t noticed it sooner.

“Really, I’m fine, it’s no big deal,” It was obvious that he was trying to reassure you and quell your worries, but he was failing miserably. Finally, he surrendered. “Seriously, I’m totally okay. I’m just a little sore and, uh… bleeding,” It’s only then that he lifts up the part of his shirt that hadn’t been torn, revealing a poorly bandaged gash-- you can only assume he got stabbed.

“Oh my god,” You gasped, taking a sharp step forward. “Peter, you-- what-- how have-- oh my god,”

“It’s okay! Don’t freak out, it’s just--”

“It is not okay! Not in the slightest!” You pulled him into the nearest empty elevator, immediately slamming your hand on the button for the fourth floor. Peter looked pale and sickly, and upon closer inspection you realized that he was trembling. Still, Peter managed to smile softly.

“I’m okay, dollface, really,” The elevator dinged, and you practically yanked him out of the small compartment. “Once we get home, you can patch me up, good as new, just like always,”

“Peter, why didn’t you tell me?” You fumble with the keys to your apartment, a metallic jingling punctuating your words. After what felt like a billion years, you finally managed to shove the key into the handle and throw the door open.

Like clockwork, you fell into the routine you’d come to know so well. Peter sat on the kitchen counter, taking off his torn and tattered shirt and waiting patiently for you to come to his aid. You took a sharp left into the bathroom, your knees hitting the floor as you dig through the cabinet under the sink. The glimmering white gloss of the first aid kit caught your eye; within seconds you had yanked it out from between the extra toilet paper and the windex. Although you could heal the worst of the cut with your mutation, you still had to bandage it and disinfect the giant gash.

“Okay-- just try to hold still. You know the drill,” Peter nodded slightly, sharply inhaling as you pressed your fingertips to his pale skin. He leans back on his hands, his eyebrows furrowing as he hisses. The open wound on his abdomen begins to slowly recombine causing blood to gush out of the cut. You’re quick to wash it away with a wet cloth. As extraordinary as your healing abilities might be, they don’t take away the painfulness of any given laceration. For the next minute or so, your beautiful boyfriend is going to be in near agony. Peter’s head falls back as he tries his best to avoid looking at his injury-- he claims it “always makes it worse”.

“We’re almost done, Peter. You’re doing very well,” You soothe, trying your best to make the process as quick as possible. Peter whimpers as the cut closes and the blood flow stops. The skin where the cut closed was still very red and tender, and any sudden movement risks reopening the wound. This one was particularly bad, the severity and depth of the injury dangerous enough to warrant the consideration of double bandaging.

A deep sigh escaped your chest; you were tired of this routine. This awful, never-ending chain reaction that almost always ended with you trying to scrub blood out of your clothes. The police station, the arguments, the cuts and gashes and hushed apologies-- you were just so tired. And you loved Peter, you really did, but he didn’t love himself. He was willing to put his own survival on the backburner at the drop of a hat, and even though he usually came out fine, the thought of him getting hurt was weighing down on you.

“Y/n?” Peter chimes up, his voice pained and gravelly. You hum in response, too occupied with disinfecting the now healed cut to answer with a full sentence. Peter winced every time you pressed the washcloth to his skin. “I’m sorry,” he spoke softly, his voice wavering with each brush of the rag. Genuine remorse coated his every word, and beneath the gentle tremors and the sharp breathing, his voice is thick with building tears.

Peter sits up, a strangled grunt forcing its way out of his mouth. He moves slowly, trying desperately not to agitate the healing skin on his stomach. His shoulders slumped over and his head hung low, strands of silver hair falling over his eyes. It’s getting long. You’ll have to cut it later. Gently, you run your hand through his hair and pull his head up so your eyes meet. Some of the tears had spilled over, leaving glistening tracks in their wake.

“I’m so sorry,” He coughed, although it seemed as if he was trying to cover a sob. You pulled him off the counter before wrapping your arms around his waist, minding his injury. His skin is warm and littered with scars. He practically collapses on your, gripping at your shirt like it’s his lifeline. “You do so much for me, and I always end up asking for more. I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,”

“Peter, it’s okay--”

“No! It isn’t! You drove all the way across town at midnight to pick me up from the police station, only to immediately find out that I got stabbed and decided to hide it from you,” he stuttered, his grip on you tightening ever-so-slightly. “I’ve been a really shitty boyfriend lately,”

“Hey, look at me,” you softly cup his face with your hand, running your thumb over the fading bruises from past altercations with assholes in alleyways. Peter Maximoff is nothing if not a hero at heart. “Yes, lately you’ve been reckless and it freaks me out. Sure, I didn’t exactly think I’d be spending my Friday night sitting in a police station waiting room. And, yeah, I’d prefer if you didn’t hide stab wounds from me, but you are not a shitty boyfriend. You’re a wonderful boyfriend who happens to have an uncontrollable urge to help others, even at your own expense,” You press a kiss to his forehead, brushing the hair out of his eyes once again.

“I just don’t want you to get tired of me,” Peter’s voice is quiet and vulnerable, hesitancy hiding between the syllables.

“Me? Tired of you? Impossible,” you enthused, reveling in the slight smile that cracked on Peter’s porcelain face. “I just hope you don’t get sick of my constant worrying,”

“You know I could never,” A grin grew on his face, and suddenly the sadness and the tension in the air was replaced with content. Peter looked at you with admiration, and within seconds his lips were on yours.

Any remnants of the anger you once felt was snuffed out like a dying candle. Your head felt warm and fuzzy as Peter’s hands found their way to your hips. If someone were to tell you that Peter had a secret secondary mutation that granted him the power to subdue any person just by kissing them, you’d believe them wholeheartedly. There was something about the way he leaned against you, encapsulating you in a tight embrace as every aspect of personal space was thrown out the window. You’d call it intimacy, but it seemed like so much more than that. Sometimes words aren’t heavy enough to describe what you felt for Peter, and what he felt for you. That’s alright, though. You do what you can with the words you have.

Your silver-haired companion takes a tentative step forwards and you proceed to follow his lead, walking backwards until your back hits the wall. He huffs, pulling away from you for a split second so he can whirl you around; Peter always preferred to be the one against the wall, for lack of a better analogy. It didn’t take a genius or a prognosticator to see where this was heading, and judging by the eagerness behind his movements, Peter could see it too.

Hesitantly, you push him away from you for just a moment. His chest rises and falls in a brisk rhythm as he rests his forehead against yours. You’re still pressed against his chest, and he’s still clutching you like you’re some sort of flight risk. Almost instinctively, you run your hand through his shimmering silver hair.

“Peter, less than ten minutes ago you were lying on my counter with an open wound. Are you sure you’re feeling up for this?” A wide smile grew on Peter’s face, and with each passion second you could see his signature cocky stature returning. You knew it wouldn’t last much longer, but hey, might as well let him enjoy it while it’s there.

“You fixed me up pretty well, dollface,” Peter pecks you on the cheek and a momentary chuckle escapes you. “I feel better already,”

“Alright, if you say so,” You grab him by the collar and pull his lips to yours once again. The kiss was eager and needy-- Peter melted beneath your touches, just like always. You ran your hands over his bare skin, reveling in the shutters and shivers that ran up his spine. He pulled you closer, almost as if he thought you’d disappear if he let go. Gently, you raised your arm and began to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck, accidentally tugging on the silver strands.

This seemed to set something off in Peter, and in the blink of an eye you found yourself lying on your bed with him hovering over you. His lips were on your neck in an instant, leaving a trail of soft kisses that led all the way down to your collarbone. You could feel Peter’s warm hands snaking under your shirt, tentatively caressing your skin. Although you’ve done this a thousand times, he was still incredibly focused on making sure you were enjoying the interaction as much as he was.

You spurred him on in the most obvious way possible; by pulling him back up to your face and flipping him over, swinging your leg over his hips and resting your hands on his bare chest. This position oh-so-conveniently happened to result in your knee pressing directly against Peter’s crotch. You’re quick to replace your knee with your hand, gentle palming him through his impossibly tight jeans. He swallows back a groan, his teeth digging into his bottom lip hard enough to break his skin. You’re quick to reach up and wipe away the blood that formed on his lip, a smirk growing on your face.

“Careful, pretty boy. Wouldn’t wanna hurt yourself any more than you already have, now, would you?” The sudden use of his favorite pet name sent shivers down Peter’s spine, his heart rate steadily increasing with every second that passes. You quickly unbutton his jeans before pulling them off, dragging your nails down his thighs as you do so. Before you had the chance to slip your fingers under the waistband of his boxers, he managed to use his mutation to flip you onto your back. His hands pinned your wrists to the mattress, a smirk stuck on his face.

“Y’know, you really do take great care of me,” Slowly, Peter starts making his way down your body. There’s something about how the light hits his face, casting shadows over his sharp features that make him look like some sort of greek god. He hooks his thumbs in the belt loops along your waistband, his eyes not leaving yours for even a second. “I think it’s about time I take care of you,” With that, Peter fluidly tugs off your jeans, discarding the rest of your clothing before settling between your thighs. He rests your legs on his shoulders, his hot breath fanning over your cunt and sending shivers up your spine. The feeling of light kisses on your thighs catches your attention and frustration spreads throughout your chest. You reach down and tug on Peter’s hair, whining in reaction to his ceaseless teasing. He looks up at you through his eyelashes with a cocky smirk growing on his face. After one last sultry look, Peter lurches forward and buries his face in the apex of your thighs.

A low moan escapes you as a soft string of praises falls from your lips. The grip you held on his hair tightened as Peter’s tongue circled your clit, sending white-hot waves of pleasure through your body. He pulls his hand off your thigh and immediately buries two of his fingers inside of you. Your head was scrambled, any semblance of coherency that you once had flying out the window with each jerk of Peter’s hand.

“Fuck, Peter,” You moaned just a little too loud. Just when you were regaining some sense of composure, the earth-shattering feeling of rapid vibrations ignites every nerve in your body. The combination of Peter’s vibrating fingers buried inside of you and the feeling of his lips working at your clit was just too much, and within seconds you were spasming around his fingers and calling his name.

You can’t bring yourself to form words, instead opting to pull him back up to your lips. All either of you could do was grab at each other, desperately trying to pull the other closer than you already were. Peter practically tore off whatever clothing that got in his way, leaving the both of you completely bare. With one last glance up at your face, he waited for confirmation before pushing his cock inside of you.

It was as if everything fell into place, the feeling of fullness and passion sending electricity through your body. You hooked your leg around his side, pulling him deeper inside of you as his thrusts fell into a steady rhythm. His pounding was relentless, his chest heaving with every jerk. Peter’s name fell from your lips like a mantra as he punctuated your words with deep thrusts.

“S-So good, Peter,” Your words are slightly slurred as you look up at his face. His eyebrows are furrowed in concentration; long, low moans fell from his swollen lips, and for a moment, it felt like music to your ears. “Such a good boy for me,”

Peter whimpered and his movements faltered; in one final act of defiance, you used your leverage to flip in around once more. You anchor yourself on his chest before rolling your hips against his, watching Peter’s eyes roll back as you begin bouncing on his cock. A string of senseless noises and incoherent ramblings fall from his lips as he thrusts his hips upwards to meet your movement. His nails dig into your hips so hard that it hurts-- you can’t exactly blame him.

“Y-Y/n, please,” Peter begged helplessly, tears building in his eyes. He didn’t know exactly what he was begging for, but he begged regardless. The feeling was so much; it was everything at once, and it was so good he almost couldn’t take it. “P-please, please...” He trailed off.

One slight adjustment resulted in Peter slamming into your sweet spot, causing your moans to get damn near screams. Your nails left angry red trails on Peter’s chest, taking their place amongst the countless hickies you left behind before. Then, in a beautiful amalgamation of moans and whimpers and screams, you and Peter came in unison. He snapped his one last time before throwing his head back, emptying himself deep inside of you.

You watch Peter’s face intently, his eyes fluttering closed and his hair sticking out in every direction. He was practically glowing; completely blissed-out with a golden halo hanging over his head. A soft smile played about his lips as he began to finally catch his breath-- it’s only now that you see the dozens of little marks you left on his body. An odd sense of pride filled your body and for a moment you felt like an expert artist admiring your latest mural.

Slowly, you pulled yourself off of him, collapsing to his side and exhaling deeply. He immediately wrapped his arms around your torso, pulling you into his chest and pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. Peter is practically radiating warmth, a strong sense of comfort settling over you and you gently trace his collarbones.

“I love you, y’know that?” His voice is quiet and dripping with fatigue; it’s music to your ears.

“Oh, really? I couldn’t tell,” You joked. Peter chuckled and rolled his eyes before resting his head on top of your shoulder. “Seriously, though, I love you too. Nerd.” He seemed satisfied with that response, nuzzling his face further into your touch.

Rain softly drummed against the windows, light from the moon and from the city skyline reflecting off the droplets like a billion multi-colored stars. Peter had drifted off to sleep, the gentle glow from the outside world making him look like an angel that fell out of the sky and into your bedroom. Your eyelids grow heavy, and as you succumbed to the influence of a deep sleep, you kept your eyes trained on Peter’s face. He truly was a beautiful sight.

#Evan Peters #peter maximoff #peter maximoff x reader #quicksilver #quicksilver x reader #xmen #wandavision

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slutsofren · 5 years ago

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Churros & Dole Whip

Summary: It takes a lot to get your CEO husband, Kylo Ren, to leave his work and go on a date. Not to mention a date to Disneyland. He loves you very much and begrudgingly agrees since it'll make you happy. Just, don't forget to mention the matching shirt!

Alternatively, I commissioned a self insert art piece of Kylo & myself on a date at Disneyland and wanted a companion fic. Check my tag (Churros and Dole Whip) for the art!

Tags: car blowjobs / smut / fluffy Disneyland shit / sex in Cinderella’s castle

Read on AO3 here!

“Yes, Lord of Utmost Darkness, you will go to Disneyland with me today.”

“Dearest, I’ve already told you time and time again, you can go for the both of us. You know how much I hate the heat and being surrounded by,” he flung his hands around the air, “people!”

“Please, my love, just for one day can we both not be Kylo Ren and his strong and intelligent wife,” you pleaded. Since Kylo moved to Los Angeles to be closer to you for a third of the year, he listened to you whenever it came to the rules of the city. This was your territory as his was New York. You’d never deny his constant need to not just show you off around the bright city lights, but to also show you these places he’s held so dear. Now it’s your turn.

Kylo grumbled something under his breath and you saw his walls finally breaking. He could never resist you for long. Before you knew it, Kylo obliged to wearing the shirt you had already picked out for him. A black shirt sporting “I’m the Prince Charming” across it to match your “I’m the Princess”.

He picked the shirt off the bed where you laid it and looked at the shirt, looked at you, back to the shirt, and one more look at you and rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky I love you so fucking much.”

You gave him as big of a smile as you could muster and crossed the room to drape your arms around his big broad shoulders, “Not nearly as much as I love you.” You kissed his cheek and he turned to face you, circling his arms around your body. You both gave in to a short yet lovingly filled kiss.

He groaned, throwing his head back dramatically and you laughed so much your whole body shook. What an absolute baby, you thought. “Come on, get ready, love.”

Kylo, begrudgingly, got dressed. You had already gotten your shirt on and were on your cell to call a driver. It only took a half hour from your quaint home in the Arts District of Los Angeles, otherwise you’d be complaining like hell with the traffix. You both always grew irritated at the constant construction that seemed never ending on the 5 freeway.

“Dopheld, dear, will you bring the car around,” you asked sweetly, “Mr. Ren and I are ready for our outing.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Don’t call me ma’am, I’m not that old yet,” you whined and threw a pout as you hung up. Dopheld apologized quickly before ending the call, surely he knows you’re only half joking with him.

Kylo finally came around the bed, dressed all handsome in his Prince Charming shirt. When you faced your incredibly indulgent husband, he shrugged and twirled, letting you preview how the shirt fell on his body, kissing his broad shoulders and impeccable chest. You admit you drooled a little in your mind. Who could blame you?

“Come,” you say as you walk around him, giving him a small pat on his plump ass, “Disney awaits.”

Dopheld arrived in your security vehicle, with the kind of work you do, a girl could never be too safe, especially when your husband was who he was-- those were some precious jewels he had on him.

Both you and Kylo dressed down for your day ahead at the theme park, he even sported some black jeans that hugged his ass perfectly. It also helped that his cock looked delicious in them too. Today was going to be a great day with maybe a little bit of teasing. Maybe.

The time it took to get from your apartment in the Arts District to Anaheim took less than an hour, but oh, did his cock truly look appetizing in those jeans!

“Dopheld, dear, would you mind giving us some privacy?”

Your assistant obliged and Kylo lifted a brow towards you, questioning your motives already. Once the blackout separator was raised, you swiveled in your seat to face your dearest.

“Is there something you’d like to say, little one?”

You dramatically fluttered your eyes up at him, a playful grin kissing at the corners of your lips. You had less than an hour until you reached Anaheim but you wanted to make the most of this.

Kylo pushed a stray piece of your hair behind your ear as you unbuckled the seatbelt without saying what you were planning and settled yourself on your knees between his spread legs.

“Oh, it’s going to be one of those dates then,” Kylo said with a hint of humor in his voice. Ever since you both got married, his anger has drastically settled around you, a person who he could be free of his past and let loose around. That isn’t to say he didn’t let his anger get the best of him elsewhere.

You rubbed your greedy hands up and down his thighs, coaxing his raging hard-on. Not once did you feel the need to look anywhere but his eyes. The simultaneous lust and encouragement that he flashed in his expression gave you more of a confidence boost.

You began to kiss up his open thighs, doing your best to not let go from his body and start feeling yourself. Kylo took this as an open invitation to slide down the seat a little more, petting your hair out of your face. The jacket that he brought along was thrown somewhere to the left of you.

By the time your kissing had made it to his covered bulge, you could feel his cock straining against the denim, seeking your touch, your comfort. You looked up from kissing Kylo’s magnificent body and he cocked his eyebrow, “Well don’t stop there, little one, you should always finish what you started.”

“With pleasure,” you whispered as the zipping sound filled the back of your security car. You pulled down this jeans ever so slightly to release Kylo’s cock from it’s cloth cage. You grasped it within your hands and laid ever so gentle kisses up and down his shaft, letting miniscule touches of your tongue reach out to him the closer you got to the tip, that ever so delectable tip that shared the same colour as his lips.

The more you teased him the more he leaked, almost as if it was crying out to you like tears, wanting to be inside of you; that’s all Kylo ever wanted. To be close to you, to hardly ever leave your side.

His hands wrapped themselves around your hair, fingering those soft tendrils. You gave his jean covered thigh one small and gentle kiss as you wrapped your fingers around his length expertly. He always felt warm, sometimes too warm in your hands and mouth, but that was alright, it was like a sign for you. That he’s really here and he’s real.

You held his cock in your left hand as you laid chaste kisses up his thigh all the way up to the tip, the look in Kylo’s eyes growing dark with want. He sucked his bottom lip as you sucked the head of his leaking cock in turn. Kylo pressed his fingers harder against the back of your skull, encouraging you. Your hot tongue curved around him, taking him in, feeling those raised veins you’ve come to love.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he praises as you take him deeper and deeper in your mouth. Your hands working his shaft where your mouth can’t reach. Kylo let out a groan as you swallowed him whole, taking him deep, deep, deeper.

Kylo lets out yet more groans after groans as you moan around his cock, the vibrations of your throat sending his cock wild while being sucked in the confines of your mouth. Your head bobbing and weaving in his hands.

The tip of his fat cock hit you deep in your throat, you loved the feeling of being so full, of his scent, his touches, his hums of pleasure, of his cock burying itself so deep inside you that you could practically touch the stars that flurried in your vision. These were the moments you craved so badly.

With his fingers clutching the back of your skull so tightly, pulling and pushing your head deeper and deeper on his cock, you could feel the tightness of his balls underneath your hands, grasping at the moment before they’ll spill all you wanted to savor on your tongue, painting your throat.

Kylo let out a stifled shout as he released everything his body could offer. His taste far too familiar in your mouth, a whole goddamn buffet behind your lips.

“Fuck,” he breathed heavily as you pulled off him with a pop. You wiped your mouth and he raised you up by your chin to meet him for a kiss, “Good girl. Always pleasing me.” Your lips raised into a proud smirk

“I’m always here to serve-”

The blackout window lifted just an inch and you heard your beloved assistant clear his throat, “We are pulling up.”

As you adjusted yourself back into the companion seat next to your husband, he helped adjust your hair, pushing it away from your beautiful face, like you were the only star in the entire galaxy, the only star that belonged to him and him alone.

Kylo adjusted his cock back into his jeans and you fixed your lipstick in a small handheld mirror you carried with you, careful to reapply whatever parts were rubbed off from your adventures.

Dopheld was gracious enough to not acknowledge what went on in the backseat, he never did. You paid him well enough and it was because of your marriage that he was able to meet a husband of his own.

Outside of the car windows you watched with excitement as your assistant brought your car around to the executive drop off zone, an area explicit for higher profiled visitors. Afterall, between Kylo and your own empire, you were a multi-billion dollar couple. It was the least the Disney company could offer. You made idle chatter with Kylo as you approached a rather handsome Japanese man.

“Mr. and Mrs. Ren, welcome. My name is Tetsu and I will be your personal guide for the day.”

Kylo turned and looked at you, what the fuck written across his face, you grinned wide and offered a hand to Tetsu, the Cast Member met your gesture and you both shook hands. “Thank you so much Mr. Tetsu, we’re looking forward to today's plans.”

Kylo looked astonished and began to pick up on all the hints- the shirts, the private entrance, this tour guide. You had already set all of this up, knowing that you were going to drag his ass all the way out here. He grabbed your hand in his and you only gave him a mischievous giggle and walked ahead dragging your stoic husband to the happiest place on Earth.

Tetsu led your way through the private gate entrance into the theme park and announced the morning was to be filled with a variety of experiences but for now, to begin your day with the newly refurbished Pirates of the Carribean. You admired tastefully with the additions, wanting nothing more than to read more about women as pirates in history. When your boat came along to the scene of Redd threatening to shoot men at an auction, you elbowed Kylo, “That could be me!”

If it wasn’t inappropriate for him to just kiss you and dip you back, he would have been on it in a heartbeat. Alas, there were eyes watching, and plenty at that too. There were cameras everywhere in that particular ride giving warnings to guests with similar and more explicit ideas.

Next on the agenda was Haunted Mansion, feeling super ecstatic to sing along to the theme and do your best to follow along with the Ghost Host narrator. As your small group entered the foyer of the ride, you felt your body buzz with excitement.

Using your best impression, you held onto Kylo’s strong arm, "When hinges creak in doorless chambers, and strange and frightening sounds echo through the halls, whenever candle lights flicker where the air is deathly still, that is the time when ghosts are present, practicing their terror with ghoulish delight ..."

Kylo couldn’t help but laugh, genuinely laugh at the sight of you. You truly were something else and he was so happy to be your husband- that thought alone made him feel like a damned domesticated dog but it was worth it, to be here with you, sharing a laugh. Seeing you smile. He would never trade this lighthearted feeling, especially not after what you two suffered through to get here.

As the stretching portrait room went on, you encouraged Kylo to look to the ceiling as the Ghost Host came to one of your favorite parts, “And consider this dismaying observation: this chamber has no windows and no doors which offers you this chilling challenge: to find a way out!,” he laughs. “Of course, there’s always my way.” Thunder claps and there, a body is hanging from the rafters, as the room fills with sweet screams. Yours included.

Kylo jumped with your scream, “Babe, what the fuck?” You let out a hearty laugh as your Cast Member guide led you through the portrait hallway, even smiling to himself.

By the end of the ride, Kylo seemed a little more relaxed, just indulging you in these lighthearted pleasures as you recited line after line and sang along to the various songs that played in each “land” throughout the park.

The precious Cast Member you were with wholeheartedly agreed in each and every one of your whims and desires, it was only your dearest Kylo who was putting on a little bit of a rebellion.

“Please, just wear this,” you pleaded, “I already bought it, you have to wear it now!”

Kylo threw his head back and closed his eyes, “I don’t want to.” He put his hands over his face, trying to cover up the little hint of a smile kissing on the corners of his rosy lips.

In your hands was a helmet, modeled after one of the characters from Disney’s latest contracts. Not only did the black helmet look slightly like a dome but it was also adorned with Mickey Mouse ears.

“Well, if you insist…”

The voice you used was his absolute weakness with you. You used this soft spoken voice of pure innocence to get whatever your heart desired with him. Kylo was a strong man, just as you were a strong woman who would fight with every ounce of your being to get what was yours. Today though, today was different. You weren’t you and Kylo wasn’t him. Today you were both ordinary people and ordinary people at Disneyland… wore silly things on their heads.

“Give it here,” Kylo took the helmet out of your hands and put it on his head. “Happy?”

You put his face in your hands, “If I could marry you right now, I would,” then laid a gentle kiss on one of his freckled cheeks. Just saying that made his heart squeeze, that is the one thing he wants to give you more than anything in the world.

You reached into your bag and pulled out the iridescent Minnie Mouse ears you purchased for yourself and placed them on your head. Now, your fun filled day was really starting.

Mr. Tanaka, your Cast Member guide, led you two through your itinerary while simultaneously filling you both up with churros and dole whips, of sweet mint juleps, as well as a chimichanga… or three. Kylo didn’t have much of a sweet tooth often and never wants to admit it either but he enjoyed these treats with you. When it came to the chimichanga, he openly admitted they were probably one of the best trashiest things he had ever eaten and put in his body which was saying a lot.

Lastly on your day trip, your guide let you two finally experience a treat. Nighttime in one of the newest parts of the Disneyland park- Galaxy’s Edge. This latest edition was constantly packed day and night with tourists from all over the world. With it being one of the largest land expansions since the acquisition of Lucas Films’ Star Wars, it was quickly becoming a main attraction.

“Whoever this Darth Vader guy is, he gets it. I like him,” Kylo mumbled under his breath while browsing the wares in Dok-Ondar’s Den of Antiquities. The shop was filled with Dark Side memorabilia as well as intricate gifts for the fellow enthusiast.

You grasped his hand, “Of course you do, he’s kind of like you. Tall, brooding, dark,” your flirted with your eyes.

“Now, now, what did I say about finishing what you start.”

The two of you wandered Black Spire Outpost, spending a lot of time looking around the Sith side of the area until the fireworks began. The scenery was so beautiful with the most attractive man in the world’s arm around you.

Your time in the park concluding, Mr. Tanaka guided you through the dispersing crowds to your dinner reservation in Liberty Square, the dark and ever secluded Blue Bayou.

Your guide left the two of you as you settled into a secret area for priority guests and that would be the last you’d see Mr. Tanaka for the rest of the evening. There were just too many seductive looks at the other, you both had practically been eye fucking across your dinner table in the Blue Bayou.

Which isn’t to say that his hands didn’t wander under the table. He did more than just drag his long fingers up and down your inner thigh, he teased you and didn’t bother to finish what he started as you ate and left the restaurant.

“What is next on the agenda, Mrs. Ren,” he asked as he held your hand and looked down at you, hints of smiles kissing his dearest lips.

You grasped both of his hands as you continued to walk towards the next part of your evening. “Follow me, Mr. Ren, let’s make some fantasies come true.”

There was a small secret entrance underneath Cinderella’s Castle, the pinnacle of the theme park. Inside was a special room where select guests could spend the night in the castle itself.

Up the winding stairs and into the room, each little detail made to last in your memories forever. The canopy bed was the central part of the room, made to look like it came straight out of the medieval film. Kylo, still holding your hand, whispered, “Can we fuck in here?”

You let out a hearty laugh and pulled him a little forward, walking him towards an opened window for you both to watch the firework show. “We can desecrate this entire room with our blasphemy, Kylo.”

He bent to kiss you deeply, showing you how much love and adoration he has in his heart. Kylo made some shitty choices in his life but you? You were the best decision he could have ever made.

As his tongue slipped past your lips, loud booms went off in the sky. His large hands cupped your face as more and more fireworks went off. This entire moment reeling with love and excitement overwhelmed you.

As the kiss settled, his face lit up blue, white, gold as the fireworks shot off. “I love you, starlight.”

You replied with another chaste kiss to his lips, “As I love you.”

He held you close as the two of you watched the show in the sky but you couldn’t help but stare at him. Kylo truly was the love of your life and you both fought like hell to get to where you were today. It was all worth it. He was worth it.

“What is it, starlight, something on my face?”

Kylo looked down at you and began to brush invisible crumbs away. You said nothing as you rose onto the tips of your toes and gave him a sweet kiss on his lips.

“You’re perfect, Mr. Ren.”

Kylo grabbed your jaw as he kissed you tenderly, your fingers finding themselves in his long black locks. You felt his other hand find and tickle its way under your black shirt, leaving flaming hot traces on your skin.

Both of you separated for a brief moment as you took the other's shirt off, tossing your matching clothing away, softly landing somewhere else before coming back together in harsh clashings of teeth and bruising lips. His lips, gosh, his plush rosy lips. Perfect in every way but never looked better when they were pressed against your skin, leaving sweet succulent trails of lust and love behind.

He could taste the Californian sun on your skin as he kissed every bit he could reach on your cheeks, your forehead, wanting nothing more than to love on you and praise you for the goddess you are.

“Take me to bed,” you whispered.

You jumped as you felt Kylo’s large hands caress your bottom as you wrapped your lengthy legs around his waist. He let out a groan as you bit his lip, enticing him to be a little rougher with you. You felt him carry you to the bed and drop you, your body bouncing a little off the bed, eliciting a soft laugh from your plump lips, fresh full of your husband’s kisses.

With space between you now you looked at his face, still flashing with the multitude of colors from the sky. Tones of gold, red, each color you wanted to taste off his skin. “I love you,” you whispered. He responded with a sly smirk, hands slowly unbuckling his belt.

His silence was deafening.

You propped your body up on your elbows, an eyebrow cocked as his retrospective cock tastefully filled out his jeans.

His belt whipped around as he stripped it from his belt loops. For a brief moment you thought he would use it until he saw the expression on your face, a devilish mixture of fear and desire. He discarded the belt somewhere off to the side, removing his jeans after. “As much as I would love to give your plump little ass a nice spanking, I’m sure the children outside wouldn’t appreciate it.”

“Like that’s ever stopped you before, dear.”

Kylo stepped forward and grabbed the hem of your pants, pulling them off your legs in a swift motion. He tapped your thigh, “On your knees.”

You did as he asked, not commanded, no. Never. Kylo knew that in the bedroom, you both played your own game of tug-of-war, dominating the other round and round the bedsheets. Just like when you were lovers.

There was a nice gentle breeze as he removed your panties, inching down your legs. You felt his warm tongue licking its war around your center, his teeth even taking little bites around your thighs.

The pillow against your face felt heavenly as you let out a long breathy sigh as Kylo began his adventures in eating you out. You were faced to the window, still watching the light show just on the other side of the glass. Everything felt perfect.

You felt the mixture of his saliva and your own spent dribbling down your thighs, a sign that you were more than ready to feel his thick cock in you. The bed dipped behind you as Kylo pulled your body up, a hand caressing one of your breasts, removing your bra, as the other found its way to your core once again.

He played with you, teased you. Teasing your shoulders and neck with sweet kisses. You reached over and pulled him down, straddling him. “Enough playing, my love.”

Kylo removed his last article of clothing, his boxers, and you hovered over him. He rose, one hand on your hip and the other finding itself tucked beneath your hair at the nape of your neck, he pulled ever so gently, a sigh escaping your lips.

He took one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking, biting, kissing, teasing, yes yes yes, oh yes.

The soft moans escaping your lips only egged him on more and more, not to mention your growing impatience. You reached around behind you and lined his cock up to your entrance, anticipating the stretch.

“Fuck me hard,” Kylo whispered deeply, his voice a low growl.

You smiled against his mouth, “As you wish.” You both let out a groan against the other's mouth as you lowered your body onto him. Bodies coming together in unity and the utmost love. You began to grind against him, loving each thick inch he had to offer you.

A whine left your lips as Kylo lowered his body back down against the plush comforter. Fireworks still exploding, not even halfway through the show playing outside the beautiful window, matching the show playing in the bedroom. Heavy breaths and sighs filled the room, creating your own symphony, melodic music of your love for the other.

Kylo’s sharp fingers grasped your hips, aiding your bouncing on his cock, leaving tiny crescent moons across the skin as if matching the constellation of stars across his body. Truly the moon to his stars. He furrowed his brows, concentrating hard watching his length disappear in your pussy.

You leaned forward a little, still giving him a show beneath but wanting to touch his soft luscious hair so bad. Your fingers became lost in his locks, caressing his head. In this new position your tits came into his view and he let out a louder moan, “You’re so good to me, little one.”

You responded by flipping your bodies, forcing him to kneel on the bed without losing contact between your cores. A soulful laugh left your lips as he smiled, “Now be good to me, Mr. Ren.”

“As you wish, Mrs. Ren,” he mirrored.

Kylo bent to kiss you, softly and gently. Nothing will ever be more perfect than this.

#asher's writing #churros and dole whip #ceo kylo & mistress au #post divorce kylo #kylo ren #Kylo #kylo ren / you #kylo x y/n #kylo x you #kylo x reader #kylo smut #star wars smut #star wars sequel trilogy #star wars reader insert #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren/you #kylo ren smut

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queen-of-deans-booty · 5 years ago

Text

Hammer of the Gods: Part Three

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,067

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

Instead of waiting for Gabriel to come up with a plan, you three left the room to see if there was a way to release the inhabitants from the freezer inside the kitchen. You walk into the lobby and immediately hear screaming. The screams get louder as the owner comes closer to the room you’re in. Sam and Dean jump behind a wall to hide, but you just stand there. There are multiple heavy footsteps to go along with the scream, and your eyes widen at the thought of more of those Gods coming.

Sam reaches out and grabs your arm, pulling you into him. He holds you close to his body as the three of you hide. You and Dean peek over the edge of the wall to see multiple Gods dragging one of the occupants of the freezer into the room. They heave him onto the front desk, and one of the gods raise a meat cleaver.

If you don’t do something, this man is going to be dead. You struggle to get out of Sam’s hold, but his arms are stronger than ever. The God slams the meat cleaver down on the man’s neck, severing his head.

“It’s too late,” Sam whispers, and you bury your head in his chest to resist killing those Gods out there.

“I can take them,” you argue.

“No, you can’t. There are too many of them,” he whispers back.

The Gods take their time chopping up the man, and they take the pieces with them back to the ballroom. The front desk is bloody and messy, but at least the room is empty. Sam lets you go, and you waste no time running towards the kitchen. Dean stares after his brother with an unhappy look on his face. There was no reason for Sam to hold you close like that for that long. This night needs to end so he can go back to being mad at you. Is he being childish? Maybe, but he doesn’t need his brother rubbing in the fact that you two are getting closer because of something you did.

After all, you did kill his niece. How can Sam be okay after what you did?

The occupants of the freezer scream and beg for you to let them go. Since you’re able to get them out the fastest, Sam and Dean watch your back while you use your magic to get the freezer unlocked. They beg and pound on the door which breaks your concentration multiple times. It’s hard to get things done when so much is weighing on your mind.

Suddenly, Dean is grabbed and thrown back into a metal shelving unit. You look over your shoulder at Dean, but he yells at you to keep going. Zao Shen grabs at Sam next, going for his throat. Dean is still woozy from his landing, so he’s not much help in this fight. Zao Shen squeezes Sam’s throat very tightly before tossing him to the side.

When the God knows they aren’t going to get in his way, he goes after you. Your hands and bright blue as are your eyes, and you were going to use this magic to unlock the door, but it looks like you have to use it for something else. Turning around, you place your hands in front of you to create a magical barrier between you and the God.

He looks at the blue barrier, but that only gives him determination to beat your ass. He pushes against the barrier as hard as he can, and your back slams against the metal door of the freezer. He slowly inches closer to you, and if Sam or Dean doesn’t do anything soon, then he is going to break through and kill you.

His face is mere inches from yours, but he doesn’t have the opportunity to go any further. Dean collects himself and gets up, grabbing the first thing he sees as a weapon. With it in hand, he rushes over to the God and penetrates his skin with the… wooden stake? Where the hell did he get that? He twists the stake inside Zao Shen, and the God quickly dies. Zao Shen falls to the ground, and you release the barrier with a deep breath.

“Thanks,” you pant.

“Don’t mention it,” he grumbles.

“Where the hell is Gabriel?” you ask.

Three more Gods enter the kitchen, and before you even have a chance to turn your attention to the hostages, they grab you and drag you back to the ballroom. You’re too tired from using all that magic at once, so you don’t even try and fight back. You enter the ballroom with a grunt, and the God who manhandles you thrusts your ass into a chair. Gabriel is already in the room, and he sits a few chairs down from you with Kali and the rest of the Gods nearby.

“How long have you known?” Gabriel asks Kali once everyone is settled down.

“Long enough.”

“How's the rescue going?” Dean asks the archangel sarcastically.

All he gets in return is Gabriel mocking him with his facial expressions.

“Well, surprise, surprise. The Trickster has tricked us,” Kali grins.

“Kali, don't,” Gabriel whispers.

“You're mine now. And you have something I want,” she says and takes a seat on his armchair so that she’s in his personal space. She reaches into his jacket and retrieves an angel blade that he’s kept hidden. “An Archangel's blade. From the Archangel, Gabriel.”

“Okay, okay!” he gives once she moves away. All eyes are on him, so he’s forced to give up his identity. “So I got wings, like Kotex. But that doesn't make me any less right about Lucifer.”

“He's lying. He's a spy,” Kali directs this towards the other Gods.

“I'm not a spy. I'm a runaway. I'm trying to save you. I know my brother, Kali. He should scare the living shit out of you. You can't beat him. I've skipped ahead, seen how this story ends—”

“Your story,” she interrupts, “not ours. Westerners, I swear. The sheer arrogance. You think you're the only ones on earth? You pillage and you butcher in your God's name. But you're not the only religion, and he's not the only God. And now you think you can just rip the planet apart? You're wrong. There are billions of us, and we were here first. If anyone gets to end this world, it's me. I'm sorry.”

Kali uses Gabriel’s own blade against him and shoves it deep within his chest. She has tears in her eyes as if she’s affected by her decision. As soon as Gabriel screams, you shoot out of your chair with a shout.

“No!” you yell.

The God assigned to you grabs your shoulders and forces you to sit once more. White light shines from Gabriel’s eyes and mouth, and with a flash of it, he’s dead. You look from Gabriel to Kali who just backs away emotionally.

“This is crazy,” Mercury sighs.

“They can die. We can kill Lucifer,” she declares.

“Alright, listen up you primitive screwups,” you say and get up.

You are done messing around.

“Are you outta your mind?” Sam mutters to you.

“I’m done fucking around!” you yell at him before turning back to the Gods. “Now on any other day, I’d kill every single one of you, but desperate times calls for desperate measures. So, even though I'd love nothing better than to slit your throats, you dicks, I'm gonna help you. I'm going to help you ice the devil. Then we can all get back to killing each other like normal. You want Lucifer, well, psycho’s not in the Yellow Pages. However, me, Sam and Dean can get him here.”

“How?” Kali asks, obviously intrigued.

“Oh no, you don’t get shit from me until those hostages are set free. Let them go, and then we’ll talk. We can either take on Lucifer together, or you asswipes can eat me. Literally,” you smile sarcastically. “Who do you think Lucifer wants more? You or us?”

“Come on everybody!” you yell as all of the hostages run out of the hotel screaming. The Gods took your deal, and you’re just making sure the hostages are free to go before heading back inside. “Let's go! Alright, go, go, go! Get outta here!”

“Psst! Y/N!” someone whispers from the Impala. You take a few steps to see Gabriel sitting in the back seat. What the fuck? You thought he died inside. “Don't look at me! Act natural. Get in.”

“What the fuck?” you whisper but get in the driver's seat like you’re told to do. “Man, there is nothing natural about this at all. I thought you were dead.”

“You think I'd give Kali my real sword? That thing can kill me!” he exclaims.

He keeps his head down as to not be spotted by any peering eyes.

“Then what do they have in there?”

“A fake! Made it out of cans of diet orange slice. So, uh, go snag our blood, would ya?”

“Excuse me?”

“Use your witch powers to get it! I heard you in there. Kali likes you. You can get close. Lift the plasma, and then we vamoose.”

“No,” you shake your head. “Hand over the real blade. Better yet, why don't you sack up and help us take down Lucifer.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly,” you chuckle humorlessly.

“Since when are you butt buddies with a bunch of monsters? That's all they are to you, aren't they?”

“Yeah, it’s fucking nuts, but I’m right. It’s the best idea we’ve had all night. So, unless you got a better one, man the fuck up.”

“Good luck with that. Me? I'm blowing Jonestown. Those lemmings wanna run off a cliff, that's their business.”

“I see right through you, you know that? The smart-ass shell, the whole ‘I couldn’t give a shit’ thing? Believe me, it takes one to know one,” you scoff.

“That so?”

“Yes. Maybe those freaks in there aren't your blood, but they are your family.”

“They just stabbed me in the fucking heart!”

“That may be, but you still give a shit about them, don’t you?”

“Y/N.”

“They’re going to die in there without you,” you switch tactics.

“I can't kill my brother,” he whispers.

“Can’t or won’t?” you ask, but all you receive is silence on his end. “That’s what I thought.”

You turn to leave the car, but you pause. There is something else you want to say to him that might change his mind. You turn back to him with a sigh.

“Look, you must know what I did by now. Everyone’s talking about it. Dean thinks I gave up on family when I had your brother kill my child. He’s pissed at me, he picks a fight whenever he can, and he won’t let me by his side anymore. I screwed up big time, but he’s still my family. I’d give everything to have what I lost, but I won’t do it in this world—not like this.

“You know why? Because of your older brother. He’s what’s stopping me from having a family, Gabriel. You must remember when your dad made us, right? To love us more than him? Lucifer wanted to be the center of attention, so he’s throwing a big tantrum to prove he doesn’t play well. How can I raise a child in a world he’s going to destroy?

“He is going to destroy it, Gabriel, unless he’s stopped. Now, he won’t listen to us, but you can change his mind. You grew up with him, just like I grew up with Sam and Dean. You don’t know how many times I was able to stop Dean from doing something stupid. Now, we may not be archangels, but we are family.

“Michael clearly won’t stop Lucifer without Dean, I have no idea where Raphael is or what he’s planning on doing about this, so that leaves you. Sometimes, being a family means doing what’s best for someone else. If protecting humans means killing your brother, then that’s what needs to be done. After all, it is what your dad would have wanted, right?”

You leave Gabriel with that and exit the car. Gabriel watches as you walk back into the hotel to join sides with the Gods in defeating the devil.

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xxisxxisxxis · 5 years ago

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Gateway Drug | Part Twenty-Seven

Table of Content or Part Twenty-Six

Pairing: Douglas Booth!Nikki Sixx x OC

Word Count: 2.3k

Warning(s): Language, Hints at drug use

A/N: This wasn't the entire chapter, however tumblr's being weird and won't even let me create a new draft right now let alone let me upload a 4,044 worded text post so I'll upload the second part of this asap (probably tomorrow of they get their shit fixed on here) and there will be another update Friday. Have a good night:)

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-------------------------------------------------------

I smooth my wavey hair down, taking the last giant velcrow roller out before putting my lipstick on and leaving the bathroom, looking for the car keys, unable to find them.

"Nikki, babe, where are the keys?" I call to him, looking in the kitchen and living room, heading to our bedroom.

He's passed out from a night of partying, Robbin still asleep on the floor.

"Baby." I lightly pat Nikki's face, not having the time to patiently shake him awake.

He groans, scrunching his face and rubbing his eyes.

"What is it?" He asks me, exhausted.

"Where are the car keys?"

"Mine or your's?" He questions, blinking at me to clear the sleep from his eyes.

"Your's. I can't drive mine until we get the driver's side window fixed, remember?"

"What? What happened to it?" He sits up and I raise my brows.

"Uh, well, you put your fist through it?" I remind him and he exhales.

"Oh...yeah." He replies. "They're in my pants pocket."

I don't give him time to reach for them himself.

My hand is in his pants pocket, grabbing his keys and pulling them out.

"Bye, love y-love, I'll see you when I get back." I stutter to cover my slip up, cutting myself off immediately before I can say, "love you", even though I've never called Nikki "love" before.

He doesn't notice it.

"See you when you get back." He mumbles once he's laying back down.

I slip my kitten heels on and head out.

"I love you" was one of the biggest Elephants in the room between Nikki and I.

We should have said it and we knew that, but we just didn't say it.

At first I was waiting for him to say it, then he never did...so I just decided it was something we wouldn't do.

Love's an action instead of an emotion, anyway, so I didn't think it was a big deal that neither of us had heard it from the other because we showed each other we loved each other in other ways...until we didn't anymore...and started keeping score, measuring who was winning by who was hurting who more, instead of trying to be better to each other.

I had to face that ugly reality when we were both screaming "I hate you" with Fred and Doc trying to break up one of our argument-turned-near-fist fights backstage at the last North American show of "Girls, Girls, Girls."

That was the night I got pregnant with my first son, Monroe, and the man barking about how much he hated me, isn't the father.

It's safe to say I won.

My heels click down the concrete stairs of the church as I walk to Nikki's black corvette after service is over, furrowing my brows the closer I get, seeing a white slip of paper tucked under the windsheild wiper.

I pluck the paper off and see it's a ticket for $350.00 with "BROKEN TAIL LIGHT" marked on it.

"My tail light isn't broken." I argue to myself, stepping around the back.

The entire left side set of lights are busted with signs of swapped paint where someone hit the car with their's and I open my mouth to speak but no words come out.

I stand and stare at the paper, then the busted light, tears oncoming the more I look at it.

Nikki is going to kill me.

I hear a car pull up behind me and park on the curb of the street but I don't pay any attention, too busy figuring out how to explain this.

"Hey, uh, Vivian?"

I turn to see Duff, wiping my eyes quickly.

"Duff?" I'm caught off guard by my recently new friend. "I've told you just call me 'Viv'." I tell him, sniffling and he furrows his brows, stopping in front of me where I'm now standing by the driver's door of the corvette.

"You alright?"

"Yeah." It's an obvious lie, a pathetic squeak leaving me.

"What's up?" He asks me and I lick my lips and sigh out.

"It's stupid." I mumble, rolling my eyes.

"What happened?"

I just hand him the ticket and he takes in a sharp breath, his brows shooting up.

"Jeezus." He lets out. "You just got this?"

"Yes." My voice cracks and he looks at me with sympathetic eyes.

"Viv, c'mon, it's not that bad. It'll be alright." He tries to reassure me.

"Oh, no, no, no...that's not all." I say, walking to the back and he follows me, not hiding the gasp that leaves his lips. Nikki is going to kill me."

There's a silent pause as I rest against the back of the corevette, crossing my arms, trying to figure out how I'm going to present the $350.00 ticket to my husband.

Duff leans against it beside me, avoiding the broken bits, thinking for a second, too, before reaching into his jacket pocket.

"Here." He grabs my hand, putting a wad of cash into it and I look at him, confused. "For the ticket." He explains and I shake my head.

"N-No. I can't take this from you, you need it." I argue, wiping more tears.

He goes to say something but I cut him short. "If you say that you don't need it, I'm going to hit you. You live in your car, Duff. You've been talking about getting a new place and this is part of the rent for an apartment." I point out, handing the cash back to him.

"Whatever you say." He shrugs, putting it back in his jacket.

We sit for a moment longer before he nudges me with his elbow.

"You hungry?" He asks and I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Stop offering to spend your money on me." I chuckle and he smiles.

"Actually, I know a place the both of us can eat and it would only cost the price of one beer." He tells me and I raise my brows.

It was the first of many Sunday lunches at this hotel a few blocks away that offered an "all you can eat" buffet if you just buy a bottle of beer.

I listen as Duff goes on about possible members of the potential band he wants to be a part of.

A drummer named Steven, who has a lot of extra drums in his kit than what's needed but he's a hell of a drummer.

A Johnny Thunders look alike-that isn't that great on a guitar but makes it sound cool anyway-that goes by the name Izzy.

And a kind of weird kid that apparantly has massive hair and is super shy but speaks a billion words a minute through his guitar: Slash.

"And Slash and Steven are buddies, but I don't know if they've ever met Izzy or not." He tells me, sipping the beer neither of us were carded for, even though we're only twenty.

"What style of singer do you have in mind?" I ask, taking a bite out of my mozerella stick.

"Someone who gets the punk scene, but not necessarily a punk singer." He tells me and I wrinkle my nose. "Don't do that." He points at me, knowing exactly what I'm about to say.

"Punk?"

"Don't say it like that." He laughs. "You don't like it because you don't understand it."

"I understand it and I respect it, I just don't..." I try to choose my words. "...I like some of it, but most of it I don't really care for."

"How the hell do you survive not liking punk? It's the biggest 'fuck you' to societal standards." He defends the genre.

"I like the Ramones, The Stooges, the New York Dolls." I tell him, even though they were all acquired tastes because I have to listen to them so much due to Nikki.

"What about The Sex Pistols?" Duff suggests.

"I did, until Sid killed Nancy." I shrug.

"Oh, c'mon, Viv, you really believe that propaganda bullshit made up by the conservative media to further their anti-punk/rock agenda and get a good check? He did not kill her." He argues.

"They'd been binging on all kinds of drugs for weeks. I'm not saying he meant to, maybe he was hallucinating and genuinely didn't realize it was her until it was too late, but he did it." I state.

"Nope."

"Oh, okay, so it was the body guard?"

"I think it was a double suicide attempt." He explains and I lean back. "His just didn't work."

"If it was a double suicide, why didn't he just use the knife she used and bleed to death like she did?" I question.

"Maybe he didn't want to be stabbed."

"If he was going to die, what would it matter?" I ask and he shakes his head a little with a small grin pulling at his lips.

"Hi, my name is Vivian Estine Sixx and I can argue with a brick wall for five hours straight." He mocks me and I cut my eyes at him.

We just stare at each other, and he attempts to take another drink of his beer while we have our staring contest, and the both of us crack up simultaneously, and he sprays beer through his lips and nose, further egging my laughter on.

I get home around four in the afternoon after spending three hours talking to Duff, and my stomach's sore from laughing so much.

"Viv?" Nikki calls from the bathroom and I walk in to see him teasing his hair.

He's shirtless, his black jeans are unbuttoned and unzipped, exposing some of his pubic hair and I lick my lips.

"Did you have fun?" He asks in a teasing tone, referring to the oh-so-wild church service I attend as much as I can, and I roll my eyes and lean against the sink beside him, crossing my arms.

"Yes, I did." I reply, not able to meet his eyes because I'm too focused on his exposed skin.

"What took you so long to get back?" He asks next.

I know, I know, "if it was innocent then there should be nothing to hide and you should be able to tell him you were with another man."

It wasn't Tommy, Mick, Robbin or Vince, and he never met Duff.

He didn't trust men he'd never met around me.

So if I would have told him, I would have never heard the end of it.

"Long sermon." I lie, and he looks at me and furrows his brows.

"Have you been crying? Your mascara's smudged." He tells me, his thumb swiping right under my bottom lash line to wipe away dried mascara and I'm suddenly hit with the realization that I have a $350.00 ticket.

"It was a good sermon." I say.

He finishes his hair, turning to look at me.

"Me and the guys are going to the Rainbow tonight." He tells me. "You're comin', right?"

"Yes." I nod, grinning.

"Good. I gotta go get the oil changed and I'll be back to pick you up." He steps out of the bathroom to go get dressed and I follow him.

Once he's got his t-shirt that has "FUCK" written across the front, he's pulling his jacket and boots on.

When he's gotten his boots on, he stands up from the matress of our bed, and I grab at the top of his jeans, pulling him closer to me, standing on my tip toes to press my lips to his.

He kisses me, his hands holding at either side of my jaw.

When we pull away, he smiles, kissing my cheek before grabbing his keys and leaving.

The second he's gone I'm darting to my purse, attempting to find the ticket, praying I didn't leave it in the car.

Once I see it's not in my purse, I let out a deep breath and worry that I've lost it.

"Damnit." I mumble, trying to remember the last place I had it. "The church parkinglot with Duff but..." I trail off, thinking of the possibility of it being left in the parkinglot and I groan out.

There's no way it's still there if that's where it got left.

I decide to figure it out later and go wash away my worn off makeup before reapplying it and changing clothes, waiting for Nikki to get back.

I'm finishing putting on ruby red lipstick when I hear the front door slam and I tense up and put the cap back on the tube before peeking my head out the door and seeing Nikki put his keys and a piece of paper on the counter, frustration taking a stance in his movements.

Pretending nothing's wrong, I walk out of the bathroom and across the floor to our bedroom to grab my purse and put my heels on.

Once they're on, I walk back into the kitchen smile at him.

"C'mon, babe." I nudge him as I walk past him to get to the door.

He grabs my arm, though, causing me to stop and he pulls me back, pushing me against the counter, trapping me when he puts his hands on the counter on either side of me and his face is centimeters from mine.

"You wouldn't know anything about the completely shattered tail light on my car, would you?" He asks me calmly.

"No?" I lie, trying to seem confused, but it's clear he's not buying it.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He just stares at me and I slide my hands up and down his arms, smiling nervously.

"Can we go, now?" I ask, kissing his cheek.

"I spent $100.00 to get it fixed today." He explains. "Did you back into something or did someone hit the car?"

"I told you I didn't even know about it, babe." I argue calmly. "Can we leave and just go back and forth about this later? We're gonna be late."

He gives me one last stare before sighing out, letting me go and I make sure to beat him to the car by several strides, frantically searching for the ticket when I get in, not finding it, before he gets in beside me.

#nikki sixx #tommy lee #vince neil #mötley crüe #douglas booth #daniel webber #colson baker #the dirt #the dirt movie

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lixhive · 5 years ago

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the mafia leader pt.5 • myg

♡ pairing: mafia!yoongi x female!reader ♡ word count: 1.1k ♡ genre: mafia au, urban, modern, angst, fluff ♡ rating: pg16

❝..y/n thought she was your regular girl in Seoul, South Korea. Yet, a series of events led her to be in danger and meets Min Yoongi, the mafia leader. Cold-hearted and stiff but he has a soft spot for her...❞

♡ warnings: weapon use (gun), kidnapping, mafia, blood, assault

♡ note: I was inspired by a photo on Pinterest to do this.

[masterlist]

Of course, he's falling for you. "Since everything you say to me is the truth, answer this question. Are you falling for me?"

For a moment Suga looks away from her. "Fine, I'll answer the question after you get better." "Promise?" She stuck out her pinkie finger waiting for him to finish it. "Promise."

The promise has always been in the back of my mind. Constantly there. I kept my side of the promise. I started eating again and began exercising. But ever since I made that promise, Yoongi has been constantly busy. He was always doing something by himself or with one of the boys.

What bothered me more was the fact that I was able to return to my apartment and my jobs. Yoongi barely uses his own bedroom and I felt kicked out. Kookie and Tae would drop by once in a while. Checking on me.

"Noona, you're spacing out again." I heard. Snapping out of my thoughts, I look towards Jungkook. "Sorry, something's been on my mind for a while." "But you never say what it is," Kook uttered. "It's personal. Plus, it has nothing to do with you."

I walked back to the couch and sat down with a blanket covering my legs.

ring!* ring!*

Jungkook picks up his phone and immediately gets up. Once he hung up, he told me he had to leave. "Bye Kookie, tell Joon and Jin I said Hi," I waved. I locked the door behind him and went back to the couch.

Everyone but Mister Mafia Leader visits me. Even when I ask about him, he's busy. I turned the television off and into my bedroom. Dropping myself on the bed. "He's avoiding me," I yawned.

After a few more days, y/n went back to the life she had. She refused to move into a palace her father gave her. Let alone he had given her billions of dollars. She's thankful but doesn't want to spend the money unless she needed to.

Once news got out about her being the daughter of the famous Chen Dongsun, the people she never talked to wanted to be her friends. More people came to the cafe just still the girl work. "I'll see you guys tomorrow." She waved at her coworkers. Y/n wasn't closing tonight with Lisa. She had gotten a call earlier from Jimin telling her to get dressed.

"It's her. Chen Y/n, why do you want to work at a small cafe when you are the richest girl in South Korea?" One reporter asked. "Are you really the daughter of Chen Dongsun?" Another questioned. She ignored the questions and tried to find her way through the crowd.

"Y/n?!" A familiar voice called out. Looking towards the direction of voice she saw Yoongi and smiled. She rushed over to him. "Get in." Opening the door to a black car. She quickly goes in and waited for Yoongi to get into the driver's seat.

"Ready?" "Yea," she answered. The atmosphere in the car was a bit awkward. Neither of them has been in the same room in a while.

"How's life?" She said while looking out the window. "Really? The first thing you ask is 'how's life?'" "I'm sorry, I haven't seen you for weeks. What am I supposed to say?" She scoffed.

"I was busy," Yoongi voiced. "Busy my a**." Y/n mumbled under her voice. "Excuse me?" "I said, busy my a**." Saying the statement very clear for him to hear. "What do you think I was doing? I had things to do. I'm part of the mafia. I can't just hang out like a normal person." Yoongi tried.

Y/n rolled her eyes and stayed quiet. She decided to give him the silent treatment and Yoongi wasn't very happy about it. "Y/n, are you serious?" She glanced at him and went back to the window. "Why are you upset?"

There were at a red light and Yoon gave his full attention to Y/n. "Why are you upset at me? You have my full attention." She stayed quiet. She continued to look out the window. "Fine," he sighed.

After a while of driving it finally hit her that he wasn't taking her to her apartment. He was taking her to the mall. Parking the car, Yoongi looked at y/n. "Put this on so we don't get run over by your fans." He said while passing her a mask. She put on and got out of the car.

"No, he didn't say why he took me here." Y/n spoke. They met up with Namjoon and Hoseok at the mall. She's only been talking to them and completely ignores Yoongi. "You have a party to go to," Joon says. "It's more of a gala," Hobi added.

They continued to walk through the mall with Y/n. "Can you guys relax a bit. You're all stiff. I don't think someone will threaten me here." She mumbled.

ring!* ring!*

Yoongi's phone begins to go off. Answering the phone, Yoongi moved away from the other three. Y/n saw and instantly started to speed walk into a store. Namjoon following after her.

"Y/n, what happened?" "Nothing, I just thought I saw a dress I could wear." Lie. "That's a lie, you don't like the color pink," Joonie uttered. "It was a call from V, he needs back up," Yoongi informed. "Alright, see you two later tonight." Namjoon waved.

Hobi left along with him. Leaving Y/n and Yoongi by themselves now.

She looked around the store for anything she liked. But everything was so expensive. Y/n hesitated every time she picked something up. The price tag just gives the signal no. "What are you doing?" Turning around, Yoongi had a bag with clothes in it already.

"Are you still going to give me the silent treatment?" Y/n nodded her head and walked away. "What did I do?" Yoongi mumbled while walking away.

It took a while for Y/n to finally start picking up dresses. And yet it turned into a bag of dresses to put on. "Are you going to put them on?"

Yoongi didn't know how much he was going to regret saying that. They both had a bag full of dresses. It was dress after dress and they were both getting tired.

It was the second to last dress and y/n wasn't feeling it. "Are you ready to show me?" Yoongi sat by the waiting area. Scrolling through his phone. Y/n poked her head out from around the corner to see more people in the store.

"It's very revealing," She began to fiddle with her fingers.

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fencheto · 5 years ago

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Forbidden - Part 3 (Dimon Romantic)

The story can also be found on Wattpad You can find the previous chapters here Feedback is greatly appreciated. I went to the bathroom and finally took the much needed shower from the night before. The whole dorm was still densely filled with the smoky-alcoholic scent so I also made sure to open all the windows and doors to get some fresh air in there. “Got any suggestions where to go?” – I yelled through the bathroom door before starting the shower. “How does Starbucks sound?” – Chelle replied from her room. “Works for me.” – I said back and proceeded to wash my body Starbucks was both Chelle and I’s favorite spot for a morning coffee, the café was located in a very nice area, quite close to the centre and was easy to get there on foot from the dorm. The smell there was also blissful, nothing better than a banana cake to match the strong coffee aroma. It was the best time to go out and sit there, especially on such sunny days when the tables outside were available. On the not so bright side though, we could only go there like 2 times per week without going bankrupt. I love those guys but man, are they an expensive place. At the end of the day, I am a student and that meant being on a strict budget and having zero freedom. I put my hair in a high ponytail, and quickly put on a pair of jeans and my favorite oversized t-shirt saying “I’m sorry for what I said when I was hungry”, a present from my sister Dallas, the second biggest weirdo on this planet after me. I noticed I also had dark circles under my eyes, so now the choice was either for some make up or for the big sunglasses. “Demi, are you ready?” – I hear Chelle asking, meaning she was done with her preparations. Well, it will be the sunglasses, then. “Yup, a second” – I replied, putting the last few pins on my hair and spraying a bit of perfume around my neck. “Okay, let’s go” – I told her, letting go of my door handle and going to the front door. The way to the café was a short 10-minute long walk, but we could still notice some leftovers from the few parties that were hosted yesterday. The most common type of garbage was the occasional McDonalds’ huge paper bag or Subway’s sandwich wraps and napkins. It looked as if the rubbish bags were out of stock in this country, a horrible mess. We reached the coffee shop and picked a nice cozy table in the corner on the right. Thankfully not too many people had come yet so the tables outside were still not all taken. Our seats weren’t in the middle of the hustle and bustle if I may call it like that, yet they were also close to the inner part of the café so we wouldn’t need to walk too much with the purchases in our hands. Chelle and I sat on the table and we both started flipping the pages of the menus, as if we didn’t know it all by heart by now. I was certainly gonna be having a frappe today, it was hot AF and the alcohol was still running in my system, so I was sweating like a mine worker. Not the biggest fan of ice coffee, but the situation was of a pressing matter. I turned a few pages further, the breakfast items didn’t look too bad either, the question was if I was actually hungry or just wanted to have a snack though. I thought about having a coffee cake, but that usually bloated me up a lot, so I would rather have the white chocolate chip cookie. It was not too heavy and it usually did cover me well when the sweet tooth hit me with cravings, so I was good with it. “Alright, I can go in there and get the stuff, can you stay here and keep the table?” – Chelle asked a few minutes later. “Yeah that’s cool. Can you get me a frappe and a chocolate chip cookie, with white chocolate chunks though?” “Sure, be right back. Watch my stuff there.” “Here, take 10, should be just enough” – I handed her the bill. Chelle went inside and I plopped myself back on my chair. The day was beautiful; lots of the students from our uni or the few others in town were out as well. Sunday was the day of procrastination and it did hold a very truthful rule for students: If you put it off for Sunday, it won’t happen, dude. At some point a pretty loud noise for my still hangover head came from the road. I turned around to see a black car pull over on the other side of the street. It was a type of car that was pretty rare to notice in Boston or in the states in general, quite low over the road and with a foreign registration plate. It did resemble a very familiar car that I had definitely paid attention to before. If you’d ever watched “Gone in 60 seconds”, then you would know it too – a British Jaguar. How did I know? That was Marissa’s favorite movie and therefore my least favorite one, because we’d watched it like a billion times. The only difference here was that this car was a lot newer – a model I couldn’t name for sure. I kept my gaze on and saw the person on the driving seat fidgeting with something and then opening the door. The driver stepped out, but kept his head towards the car. It seemed as if he was looking for something, until he finally found it and grabbed it from inside. I wondered what it was like to have that much money and to be able to afford such comfort. Surely I was now in a position where finances were not the greatest developing aspect of my life, but that would change later on hopefully. I would love to buy stuff without having to look at the price tag and not worry about it. Just to be impulsive, like: a Jaguar? Yes, please. That car was worth about a million dollars last time I checked. I re-focused my look over to the driver and realized I had seen this man before. Not only that, I had actually known him and already spoken to him. That was Mr. Cowell, my Music Production lecturer. And also the man whose car - probably one of his many, I kicked. And if that wasn’t awkward enough, the man I had the audacity to call ‘a fool’. He was very casually dressed this time – in just a white t-shirt and some jeans, no trace of the formal black blazer he was wearing at the university. He was also wearing a pair of dark ray-bans and was puffing on a cigarette, whilst slowly making his way to internal part of the café. At this point I actually wondered what the best thing to do was: hide from him behind my bag, bury my face in my phone and pretend I never saw him, greet him with a simple nod or step into the dangerous zone of another possible embarrassment and talk to him. In case you wondered why would I talk to him – because I wanted to apologize!? If my math was right, he would be my lecturer for quite some time, and feeling this awkward for so long was something I’d rather pass. Anyway, the problem here was that instead of actually following one of the scenarios I thought of, I was doing probably the worst I could have right now – I was looking, actually I was staring at him as if I was bewitched, with my mouth slightly opened and my chin propped onto the fingers of my hand. Good thing was I was still wearing my sunglasses and so was he, so there was still a chance he didn’t just catch me watching him like some weirdo. He reached the entrance of the café, took the cigarette off his mouth and dogged it in an ashtray on a nearby table on the porch. Once he pinched it off, he carefully lifted his gaze and for a moment looked into my direction. My immediate reaction was to look down for good 3-4 seconds, only to make my sunglasses fall down and hear the cracking sound of them hitting the ground. So much for your strategies, Demetria. I clumsily moved the table to pick them up and saw he was getting inside once I did. My face went deep red; could this have gone any more wrong? I silently hoped there was someone else his eyes were on, but when I looked around, there was no one neither behind me nor closer than 2 tables away. So chances were somewhere between very small and absolute zero. “Sorry I took so long, but there is such a long line, and oh they wrote my name wrong on the cup, so they had to change it…” – Chelle said coming to me, almost out of breath, putting the purchases on our table and taking her seat. “There you go with your drink and the cookie” – She said again, handing me my items. “Thanks Chelle.” - I said kind of distracted. “Since when are you a fan of frappes?” – She asked me. “Yeah I’m not but now it is a bit hot so I will try it out.” – I said, taking my sunglasses off and waving my hand to bring some wind to my still heated face. “Are you alright? You look nervous.” – Chelle asked. “No, nothing” – I replied, mixing my drink with the straw. A few minutes later I saw Mr. Cowell coming out on the porch from the inside part of the café, carrying two cups of coffee, only this time it was not just him, now he was accompanied by a tall blond female. She was wearing a short grey skirt and a top that was outlining her boobs quite clearly. She looked as if she was taken straight out of a magazine cover. I wondered if this was the type of women he was into. They made their way outside and quickly chose their seats, a single table distance across from us. I was facing her back and his seat was positioned in a way that we both could see each other directly. I now started to regret taking my shades off. “Dems, come on, what is it? You seem kind of lightheaded.” – Chelle asked me once again. “How come?” “You seem to not even be listening to me?” “I am, sorry, it is just…” – I said uncomfortably, looking at Simon’s table and then back at her. “What?” “I will tell you, but promise me you won’t look” – I warned in a very quiet voice. “Not look at what?” “Shhh! Okay, Mr. Cowell is sitting right across our table” “What? Where? ” – Chelle asked a lot louder than I would’ve preferred. A few people from the other tables turned their heads towards us. “Don’t shout, he’s going to hear you! There, right behind you.” - I yell-whispered at her. Chelle slowly turned her head, pretending to be fixing her hair and noticed him along with the woman that was sat on the same table. “Woah, talking about appropriate skirts” – She commented, lifting her eyebrows in amusement. “I know.” – I replied, doing the same grimace. “Are you alright?” – She asked me. “Sure, just surprised, though” – I shrugged my shoulders. “Anyway, so tell me about the guy from yesterday, he texted you in the morning didn’t he?” – I asked her, pointing at her phone. Although I had no interest in the guy she hooked up with yesterday, I knew I had to change the topic. I couldn’t possibly talk about Simon the whole afternoon; I mean who talked about their lecturers all the time? Not even geeks did. I asked Chelle more about him, letting her show me photos of them together from last night and share some unnecessary details for me to know. She was quite caught up onto the subject, and despite the fact I should have probably listened to her, I didn’t. I was barely paying attention to her and was occasionally nodding just to confirm I was a part of the conversation. My mind was busy with the man sitting on the table behind my friend. There were two factors creeping into my head constantly though: One was the common sense, telling “He is your lecturer” and two was the guilt, following with “Why is your lecturer such interest to you?” I mean how should I even define this? In general I have always been quite an impulsive person, so yelling at him on that first day we met was no surprise. Okay, the following actions were a bit too aggressive, I take that. But now what? He was offended, didn’t like me, like any other person also wouldn’t. I, on the other hand, was apparently feeling homesick; having the guy I’m in love with thousands of miles away from me, I was looking for comfort. Man’s comfort. That was the only reason behind my strange thoughts. In the meantime I noticed both Simon and the woman stood up. He pointed at the engine to her and motioned that he was going to join after going inside first. She quickly nodded and walked towards the car, whilst he went for the café bar. I followed him with my eyes before turning to Chelle. “Excuse me for a bit.” – I told her and adjusted my shirt. “Where are you going?” – She questioned surprised. “To the bathroom, be right back”- I said, leaving my seat. I got inside the café bar and saw Simon standing at the counter, placing an order for a take out. I pretended to be looking at the cakes behind the glass, standing a few feet away from him. In my ideal world, he would have turned around; I would have greeted him politely, maybe make some small talk and bring him under a somewhat good impression of me. Actually any impression that was better than the one of being a rude, aggressive bitch I had given. That was my goal right now. In reality though, after receiving his order, he was way too busy fixing the 5 items on his hands to pay any attention to me. He kept his head down the whole time, careful not to drop anything on the floor. He passed by me and did not acknowledge me even one bit, his eyes focused on the drinks. He had two drinks in each hand and a cake, which he supported against his chest. He was also mumbling something to himself while looking down, something I couldn’t fully figure out, but it was along the lines “yeah I can carry the office drinks, don’t help me”. Needless to say, I was quite disappointed of not getting the chance to talk to him. I did try to I don’t know, establish some kind of a contact, but it didn’t go as planned. To be honest, it was probably not only the lack of luck, but also the fact that he most likely didn’t want to talk to me. I couldn’t blame him, though. Perhaps it was for the better. Asking for his attention wasn’t a good idea, regardless. As I was about to make my way out to the table and Chelle, I accidentally noticed something, which looked like a small folder, standing by the edge of the counter. I looked over to the staff members, but neither of the them had noticed it yet. I guessed it was because it was left on the front side of the bar. I slowly approached the counter to see it was an open leather wallet. My first thought was to hand it over to the bartender and say I found a lost belonging. Probably what every normal human being would have done. Probably what I should have done. Instead, I decided to check it out on my own first, without giving it much of a thought. I squinted my eyes to see the beholder's name over the documents, only to confirm the doubts I'd had. On the front side of the wallet there was a driver's license, along with a photo and personal details of the beholder - Simon Philip Cowell. This time the question in my head was judged way less by morality and more by motivation. “What are you going to do about it?”

#simon cowell #demi lovato #Dimon #dimonshippers #fanfiction #DEMI AND SIMON #au story

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torannosaurusrexy · 7 years ago

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Tuckered Out

➝ Genre: Smut

➝ Pairing: Min Yoongi | Reader

{Dom!Yoongi} {Sub!Reader} {DatingAU} {Praising} {Strip Tease} {Thigh Riding} {BlowJob} {Riding} {Hickies} {Ass Grabbing} {Bruising} {Vaginal Penetration} {Squirting} {Lazy Sex}

➝ Relationship Status: Dating

➝ Word Count: 7235

➝ Requested by: @apotemnophilia

➝ Summary: Yoongi works so hard. You know this. This is especially apparent when you come to the offices and find him completely drained. Now there's no way you could possibly leave him in that state, so you take the liberty of treating him, something he doesn’t mind in the slightest.

The weather sucks today. It’s cold, rainy, and dark. To most, this kind of day would mean grabbing an umbrella and braving the cold, all while wearing a big fat frown. But for you? Pft. This shits the best. Your boyfriend agrees, he’s always been one for rainy days, half-assed cuddles that he eventually gets into so much that you end up practically in his lap, sloppy forehead kisses, or you sing off key together before bursting out into a full-blown rap battle that he always wins.

The only thing that’s different today is that he decided to stay at the studio late. It wasn’t so bad at first, you did everything you’d usually do on days like this...just the solo version. Rap battles were great...but they’re not as fun when you mess up halfway through and have to awkwardly laugh it off by yourself before retreating to the couch in the hopes that its plush cushions will provide some kind of reassurance.

As the day passed on, doing the simplest of things became chores, and all that was on your mind was whether or not Yoongi had eaten properly, or if he was warm, did he have clothes? Ugh, he must be so tired. Dammit.

Your fingers meet the cold handle belonging to the two towering glass doors that welcome you into the equally massive building. Inside lies the BTS offices...and in one of them...your boyfriend. You aren’t exactly sure how you convinced yourself that coming here was a good idea, all you recall is one second you were lying face down on the living room floor, the next you were in the back of a cab, ordering the driver to bring you here. He’s gonna kill me.

The front desk assistant looks way too happy for a midnight shift, but nonetheless, you greet him with a warm smile before starting to walk towards the elevators with brazen strides, you’re stunned when he stops you and asks to see your ID...he must be new. You could care less though. The two of you walk to the check-in counter, his lean frame moving behind the large desk while you rest on the front. He examines your disgusting drivers license photo along with the impromptu photo they took of you here for your identification card, which someone should’ve provided warning about, but instead, Yoongi let you come in leggings and one of his sweaters, your hair up and messy, what tresses were left hanging tucked behind your ears. Asshole laughed the whole time.

It’s not really a surprise when the worker, who you now know after reading his name tag as Adam, needs to look twice at you, all to confirm that the troll in the picture is indeed the slightly less disheveled young women in front of him. Adam’s expression melts into a look of sympathy, as if he’s worried that your feelings were hurt. “I should’ve known! I am so sorry…” He bows, hitting his head on the check-in desk countertop.

The sound of his skull making contact with the countertop causes you to jump. “Are you alright?!” You push yourself up on your tippy toes, planting your hands into the cool surface in the hopes of seeing him still conscious. He jumps up before you can lean over fully, a giant red bump gracing his forehead.

“Don’t worry about me! What do you say? Should I ring up to Suga to tell him you’re coming?” He forces a smile, clearly overwhelmed with pain. You smile back, a suitably soft tinge that leaves him with a soothing sense of comfort, at least that’s what you hope.

“He already knows I’m coming.” You lie, putting on an expert poker face. “You just worry about putting some ice on your head.” A nod goodbye has definitely been earned, and when you give it with a slight bow the young man bows back, being careful this time not to hit his head on the hard surface beyond his frame. Hopefully, he’s more eloquent by your next meeting.

Having been here a billion and one times in the last five months has its perks. For one, you know which vending machines eat your cash and which ‘accidentally’ give you too many snacks. You press the elevator button once more impatiently, watching as the glowing numbers above the doors make their way down to you at a speed slower than that of a snail moving through peanut butter. Your boredom melts away when someone utters your name.

“Jimin.” No surprise there really. Jimin always comes to pay whoever’s working a visit, why would that be any different now?

He smiles, giving you a friendly wave. “Hey. I didn’t know you were coming by today.” He hits the elevator button, but even you know by your past attempts that try as he may...it’s not going to make the elevator come any faster.

You sigh. “Yeah well, Yoongi’s working late again... I’m worried he didn’t eat much today. And I couldn’t stand being home alone a second longer.” You bite your lip before fiddling with the plastic bag that is held up by your fingers.

“Ah.” Jimin falls quiet. You expect him to elaborate, but his sentence stops there, and you roll your eyes.

“And you’re here because…” You don’t mean to pry but you know that even you showing up without a word may throw Yoongi’s mood, being greeted by both you and Jimin will definitely earn you a spanking...even if Jimin showed up on his own accord.

“I got bored. Figured I’d come see Yoongi~Hyung.” Shit. “But seems like you’ve got that covered. So i’ll see what Hobi~Hyung’s up to.” A wave of relief washes over you. Yoongi can often be irritable, especially towards the end of the day...and figuring the time, he won’t love a visit from you, let alone Jimin so late.

“Oh...okay.” You fight back a smile.

He falls silent again, and you fold your lips inwards to prevent from smiling. “Oh c'mon, don’t pretend to be upset about it. God only knows what Yoongi will do now that you’re here.” He punches your arm playfully, his subtle gibs at yours and Yoongi’s sex life making your stomach twist with lovesick embarrassment.

“He’s probably too tired for anything like that...but i’ll make sure the doors locked.” You wink joshishly at him, his salacious smile making you shake your head. A long yet comfortable silence passes once your interesting topic in conversation dies, you can tell at a glance that Jimin’s getting impatient.

He walks forward and repeatedly presses the glowing button, making the light disappear with each click. His expression is pained, angry, and overflowing with annoyance. “I think i’ll just take the stairs. It’s taken this long.” You start to head down the hall, holding your gaze on Jimin until he turns and nods.

“Alright, we’re still on for movie night tomorrow right?” He straightens his posture. You stop walking, turning back towards him.

“Movie night?”

“Yeah. At the dorms. Didn’t Yoongi tell you?” You shake your head no. It must’ve slipped your boyfriend's mind.

“Oh, well sometimes we all get together and eat a bunch of really good but super disgusting food and watch a ton of movies. I told Yoongi about it...he must’ve forgotten to pass on the message.” The elevator doors open and Jimin holds his hand out to keep it from closing. “We haven’t had one in a while so...you guys should come. Just shoot me a text if you decide otherwise.” He steps into the steel box and you jump in with him, finding that taking the stairs is just extra work now that the elevator’s made it's decent.

“I’ll make sure we come. But I get to pick the first movie.” Jimin hits the button to the floor for the offices with a groan.

“No fair…” He pouts, earning a shove from your shoulder.

The two of you have always gotten along well and Jimin has always been able to make you laugh, that’s especially apparent in the silly faces he makes in the mirrored walls of the elevator, causing you to step out with tears of joy cascading your cheekbones. “Go get em’.” He teases, pushing you playfully towards Yoongi’s office, running off and into the Hope World studio before you have a chance to spin around and push him back.

You chuckle to yourself, away from the elevator and instead, closer to your boyfriend's door. Yoongi, being the overprotective dipshit he is...happens to be the only one of the three members with offices to have a lock on his door. With a glance down the hallway to ensure you’re alone, you knock.

He doesn’t answer. Typical.

You know he most likely has headphones on and that his hearing is impaired because of them, disregarding it, you proceed by calling his name. “Yoongi?” You knock lightly again, “Oppa~?” You pause, listening intently to the room. The latter definitely got his attention, apparent by the slight stirring that can be heard from inside.

A tired, eyebag bearing Yoongi comes to greet you. He didn’t even leave his rolly chair to do so. “Hey!” You smile, walking into the room once he rolls himself out of the way.

Regardless of his tired appearance, Yoongi returns a gleaming smile. “What are you doing here? I told you I was working late again-” You lean down and peck his lips, cutting him off.

“Exactly. I couldn’t take another night of sitting home alone with nothing to do.” You look him up and down, scanning the room for remnants of a meal or snack he may have eaten. “And as I suspected, it looks like you haven’t eaten anything.” He spins back towards the soundboard, trying to slither around that well-known fact. You take a couple steps forward, your frame now just behind the chair Yoongi hides in. “Here. It’s your favorite.” You drop the bag of food in his lap.

“Korean...barbecue?” He practically squeals, removing it from the bag before discarding the plastic towards the floor. You watch as he eats, moving away from the back of the chair and instead resting against the piano, careful not to press any keys or break anything. His hair is unkempt, strands ruffled and crimped. He wears a pair of glasses, hair going both over and under them. Can he really see like that? Not that it matters. His eyes are practically closed as it is.

“You look exhausted.” He huffs at your comment. “No really. I’ve seen punching bags in better shape.”

“Gee thanks. What a loving girlfriend I have.” He says it with a straight face, but the slight lift of his chin tells you he’s just pulling your leg.

“Was the food not enough to prove how loving I am?” Yoongi stops chewing, swallowing as he turns to watch you peel yourself off the keyboard and walk those few steps towards him. He protests little when you drop to your knees and roll his chair out to face you. He pushes his food away, placing the fork down and in its place, turning his attention to you. “I’m sure you worked so hard today…” You purr. “You always do...but even after I got you this food...and came all the way here...I’m still not loving enough for you sir?” You hear Yoongi swallow, his lip lost between his teeth when you reach forward, pausing as your fingertips brush the denim of his dark blue jeans.

He doesn’t answer, only opening his legs so your head can rest level with his knees. His tongue ghosts over his top lip, returning to disappear into the caverns of his mouth, the mouth you’ve felt pressed to yours oh so many times. “So you want to take care of me baby girl?” He runs his hand over your head, pulling you closer towards his lap when his fingers dig themselves softly into the back of your skull, the course tips of them slip down to the nape of your neck, caressing the skin that harbors your baby hairs.

You smile, licking your lips with want. “Yes...sir.”

Yoongi appears as if he’s ready to pounce you, completely unphased by his drowsiness that quickly melts when you act first, pulling at the waist of his light ripped jeans, his knees exposed when the rips in the denim become holes over them. “Wait.” His voice has dropped a couple octaves, and you practically mewl with want at the sound, it's intoxicating. “Strip for me.” Your hands squeeze the denim beneath your fingers before you push off of them. Even on the brink of slumber, Yoongi never ceases to order you around.

Yoongi clenches his jaw and leans forward, your hands retreating to cup his knees. He clasps his palms together, tonguing the inside of his cheek in thought. He meets your gaze. “Is there something wrong?” He smirks, a smirk so full of mystery and danger that you can’t help but grow increasingly warm. You’re so fucking fucked. He runs his tongue over his pearl-like top teeth, letting it rest in the corner of his lips. You run the idea over and over again in your head.

You’ve never done a strip tease for Yoongi in such a public place. Sure, maybe at home when he deserved it...but here…? You don’t move, frozen with a weary feeling tugging at your stomach. Yoongi would be pissed if someone was to walk in and see you...so vulnerable and at his mercy. He lifts your chin, moving his thumb across the sharp bone of your jaw, his eyes filling you with confidence and courage. He deserves it.

“Sir…” You start, having to swallow from how much your mouth is watering. He hm’s in response, unclasping his hands to push strands of your hair behind your ears. “Does it look like I mind being watched?” You puff out your chest, displaying your breasts forward to your lover. Yoongi’s eyes turn dark, lust filled and toxic. They draw you in just like a siren's song attracts an unsuspecting sailor, oh so invigorating. He’s had it, and when you bite your lip his mouth smashes into yours, the intensity behind the kiss showing just how riled up you got him.

The kiss separates too soon, and judging by Yoongi's dismissed look, he’s just as sad to see your lips leave as you are to remove them.

The rain’s left you with not the most flattering of outfits, but what keeps your confidence afloat is the fact that Yoongi could care less about what’s above...it’s what’s underneath that he loves more than anything. The way his hands restlessly move and resist the urge to pull you into him solidifies that assumption.

You back towards the door, swaying your hips as you do so. You can hear Yoongi exhale a needy whine, the thought of him whining for you is a new one...but you could get used to it. When you spin on your heel to face him he’s gnawing on his bottom lip, his large vascular hands palming the thick denim you were feeling just minutes ago. God those hands...it’s not fair!

You hate heels...and there’s no way to possibly take off a pair of converse without looking like a complete and total idiot...or falling, but trying is doing. You wink his way before bending to untie and loosen the laces of both shoes, their bright red fabric stained with water residue. Your hair falls towards your face, momentarily subduing your vision while your fingers work the laces loose.

Eventually, they give you enough slack so you can kick the shoes off with one quick flick of your ankle, but not before you snap your head upwards to remove the hair from your face, the strands flying backward to land messily against your back. Should something so embarrassing really be so invigorating? Your hands caress your thighs on your way back to a standing position, the one traveling onwards enough to evoke a slight rumble of pleasure in your chest.

A smirk plasters itself to your face, your muscles involuntarily forming it when you playfully kick off the sneakers. Thankfully, you tossed off your jacket when you first entered, discarding it onto the couch, one less piece of clothing for you to remove. You take a deep breath, your fingers dancing towards the hem of your t-shirt and yanking it upwards, watching Yoongi’s reactions with lion-like intensity before the fabric blocks him from your sight. Your hair is soft against your back, swaying with its newfound momentum before slowing to a halt.

“Leave that on baby girl.” His sudden uttered words force you to widen your eyes, he nods towards your bra, the angelic baby blue practically leaving him in a state of hysteria. “I wanna take it off myself.” He leans his head back, cocking is slightly. His hand rests above his crotch, every now and then the fingers knead him through the thick denim. Fuck.

With orders, you nod and bat your eyelashes, hoping your obedience earns you some harder and less drowsy loving from your favorite man later. The button of your jeans is freezing when compared to the warmth of your palms. Yoongi’s eyes watch as your fingers take the zipper between them, pulling downward and folding away the opening to give him a glimpse of your practically see-through panties. He may not have touched you for more than a second, but the baby blue fabric is visibly soaked through when you push down the denim. “Damn...look at you.” He praises, hooking one of his fingers over and over as a means to calls you over.

Your steps are well timed, each one full of seduction so strong it stings your eyes. His hands ride up your thighs, stopping at your hips and holding you tightly. Hazy, dark and seductive eyes glaze over your body, his lip snared by his gummy smirk. “Look at this pretty pussy…” Two fingers glide down the front of your panties, getting lost between your legs and pressing against the drenched fabric, drawing a cracking moan from your lungs. “So wet and beautiful…” He narrows his eyes, the drowsiness in them long forgotten by now.

Your hands grip your boyfriend's shoulders for support, your thumbs digging into the bowls formed by his collarbones. You hang your head, your hair covering Yoongi’s handsome face. How someone can be this tired and still look like an angel from above is beyond you, you know how dead you look in the morning and when you haven’t gotten sleep in days, but somehow Yoongi makes it all look easy, the messy hair, the eyebags, even the drowsy eyes...he owns them all.

“Yoongs…” You whine, the hand on your hip leaving to come and caress your cheek.

“God, you’re beautiful…” His lips meet yours in an instant, and although the want to make the kiss grow is apparent by both participating parties, it doesn’t, staying consistently soft and so full of greed that each brush makes you ache. As if struck by lightning, Yoongi's knee spreads your legs, his fingers abandoning their post to push you down onto his thigh. You bite his lip, greedily asking for more than just the soft caress of them against your own. You chase their soft texture, but Yoongi pulls away.

He doesn’t say a word, just stares up at you with attentive eyes, then he smirks. Your eyebrow twitches with frustration just before Yoongi pushes his thigh up. The minuscule friction is driving you mad, and when you try to grind down onto the thick muscle Yoongi stops you, his hands returning to squeeze your hip bones. “Did I say you could move?”

“Yoongi...god…please…” You plea, lifting yourself up by pushing off his shoulders, only to get dragged back down by his coarse fingers, their tough exterior digging bruises into your delicate skin. Definitely the hands of a hardworking man...

“Patience baby...I want you just as bad.” He gestures to his jeans, the material visibly restricting when you notice the prominent bulge that pushes the denim out.

Your mouth starts to water when Yoongi raises his hips while simultaneously unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. His thigh brushes your core and even that slight intrinsic feeling he gives you invades all others, overpowering not only your thoughts but your emotions. You can’t smother the whimper that leaves your mouth when Yoongi releases himself from the confines of his boxer shorts, hearts with cute little smiley faces decorating the black fabric.

You can’t help but laugh, “Oh Yoongs... I’ve never been so attracted to you before…”

He sighs, “Sue me for being comfortable. You get what you see.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I love them...and I also like what I see.” You lick your lips, watching Yoongi stroke himself over repeatedly. Your legs start to shake with anticipation, and the aching of your core has become even more apparent.

“Go ahead.” Your head snaps back up to look into your boyfriend's hazy eyes, the designer eye bags he harbors making you wrinkle your eyebrows slightly. “Move.” He explains, obviously catching onto your befuddlement. “I wanna watch you cum on my thigh.” He tenses the thick muscle underneath you, forcing you to throw your head back and revel in the feeling he gives you. You do as he orders, grinding down onto his thigh and rocking yourself back and forth until your juices have slicked the inside of your panties. The pleasure only increases when Yoongi moves the barrier aside and allows your clit to make direct contact with the denim of his jeans. You can’t even manage a coherent thought, let alone a word of communication, but your moans are enough to tell Yoongi that what you’re receiving is beyond words.

He continues to hold the fabric aside, staring down at where you meet him. You dig into his shoulders, your nails leaving marks through the material of his open flannel that lays comfortable over a scoop neck t-shirt, the color of it matching that of the blue-green flannel. He continues to stroke himself, slowly, almost as if he’s teasing himself. A surge of blinding white pleasure surges through you, momentarily blinding you as you feel your impending orgasm start to barrel towards you.

Yoongi chuckles darkly, his eyes admiring you and the way you bounce and slide against him. He squeezes his one hand hard against your hip when you finally cum, leaving a prominent wet space on his jeans. For a second you sit there, coming down quickly while Yoongi strokes your sides. “You never cease to amaze me.” He praises, feeling between your legs for your sensitive clit. “I think you owe me something baby girl.” He squeezes the sensitive bundle of nerves, sending your hormones into overdrive. You cry out, pulling away as far as you can when the overstimulation becomes too much. “That warm mouth of yours...would make a wonderful resting place for my cock.”

Your mouth starts to water at his tone, deep, dark, and suitably awash with lust. He spreads the precum that’s been gathering on the tip of his dick, sliding his hand down the shaft until he hits the hilt. “Don’t you agree?” He pulls your chin down, your mouth lingering just mere centimeters from his own. You look down, watching with beaming eyes as his cock continues to twitch in his hand.

You whimper, “I-I want it...I want to swallow you...all of you.” Yoongi presses his lips to your ear, the warm air from his stuttered breaths sending chills coursing through every viable vein in your body,

“Then what are you waiting for?” He kisses the scant space available behind your ear, that slight touch leaving you reeling. You dismount his thigh, a sore yet sensitive feeling being left behind when you remove yourself from the glorious-although limited-grinding room he gave you. Even so, the pleasure written on his face when you’re able to see the damp spot you left behind is more than enough for you to gain the strength to press your thighs together and fully assist yourself to the floor. Yoongi spreads his legs, removing his hand from around his member when your fingers glide up his thigh only to brush the tip and slide down the body of his cock slowly. His breath hitches when your tongue dances along the rim of his cocks swollen head.

His precum is salty yet enjoyable. Then again you’ve always loved to lick every last bit of it from your lips after he cums in your mouth, the bitter substance gliding down your throat and coating every last square inch of the muscles inside. Yoongi’s trying to pace himself, taking things one step at a time and trying his damnedest not to thrust up into your mouth as you adjust to his girth. He may be small, but parts of him are rather generous, his cock being one of them. “Ah, fuck.” He complains, a complaint aimed moreso at himself than at you. “Just like that baby girl, can you take it deeper?” His hand shakily moves to hold the back of your skull, your hair tangled within his fingers. “Let me feel the back of your throat.” His eyes flutter when you whimper and whine with pride.

He groans and grips onto the side of his chair with his one free hand, the fingers turning paler than usual from the pressure. “God, I won’t last like this.” Yoongi clenches his jaw, his mouth opening only to reveal his teeth barring into the others. You lick from the base upwards, swirling your tongue up, over, and around the tip for maximum pleasure. Yoongi’s shaking and mewling under you. It’s his fault for ignoring you and working so late when this mouth and pussy were waiting patiently for a call or text. Come over, I need you. Is all he has to say.

He was right to warn you, not a second after the head hits the back of your throat Yoongi falls apart. His mouth slacking open with his release, his blonde hair sticks to the sweaty canvas of his forehead, his striking pearl-like skin contrasting that of sweaty strands. You squeeze your eyes shut at the momentum of his release, and Yoongi flinches when you start to slide off him, sucking the end once more in a last stride attempt to drain him of everything, not that his lack of sleep hasn’t done that already.

“Holy fuck.” He pants, swallowing what saliva’s still left in his mouth. “I always forget how good you are at that.” He smiles down at you when he says this, watching as you tongue the corner of your mouth in a blush. “You’ve been so good…” He follows your gaze as you move back into a bent standing position, his hands pulling you at the hip.

“I’m not done, sir…” His eyes widen, clearly not expecting anything more than what you just gave him. An orgasm for an orgasm.

He cocks his head to the side, running his thumb back and forth over your hip bone, “There’s more?” His tone is soft and sensitive, but his face and its structure show so much more than that. Especially his eyes, the dark orbs hidden inside have dilated with a beguiling want, and you’re under his spell.

You grow mischievous, feeling the need to level the playing field, “If you can take it, then yes.” He raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh, I’ve never had trouble handling you now have I?” You move forward, his strong hands pulling you forward quicker than you anticipated, your crotch landing in his lap, his member lost in the space between you. “I think I can manage.” His breath moves your eyelashes, the panting from before dying down and before long the room falls silent. You make the first move, leaning in and tugging his lip between yours. Yoongi’s still playful, pulling away from you when you go to deepen the kiss before moving back in and dragging his teeth across your bottom lip, or he’ll brush his tongue across the entrance of your mouth and retreat it as you go in to trap the muscle between your lips. Eventually, it’s you that grows impatient, and your hand shoots up towards the back of his neck, playfully-yet forcefully-pulling his hair as a means of telling him to knock it off. He groans, melting into you and the kiss you feed him.

“Someone's impatient.” He teases, stepping back before dancing his tongue against yours in a way that tickles at your heartstrings.

“Can you blame me?” You push his chin up, expanding the open surface area of his neck and kissing at the tendon. He whines when your nails scratch down the back of his neck.

His hands have been thronging the buckle of your bra strap since you started straddling him, “Mmm, no I can’t.” He unclasps it with an imperceptibly brisk twiddle of his fingers, the clasp coming undone in a matter of seconds. You fall loose, the baby blue cups moving away from you when your boyfriend moves the straps down, eventually removing them and discarding the entire piece over his shoulder. He moves away from you, leaving your head lingering over his shoulder.

His palms replace the emptiness your bra left behind, and the soft kneads he starts with becoming rougher and more sensational when his warm mouth touches down against your nipple, it’s aroused state leaving the perfect sucker for Yoongi to play with. He nips the sensitive flesh, chuckling to himself when you jump with pleasure.

Your hands have been lost in Yoongi's soft blonde hair, but the one has grown restless and he doesn’t seem to mind when it slips downwards and strokes the head of his twitching cock. Your hand moves agonizingly slow for Yoongi's taste, so leaving a couple hickies along your breast line before releasing the soft flesh from his mouth serves as a sure sign that he’s done playing around. “Alright baby girl, you wanted to take care of me? Fine. You have the reins. Now do something before I rip them back and spank you hard against the piano keys.” His fingers bruise the delicate flesh of your ass when he says the word spank, hinting that he won’t mind doing so.

You wouldn’t either, except the last time Yoongi gave you the ticket to a spank sesh, he left bruises so large, deep, and distinctly hand shaped that sitting, standing, even breathing became difficult to do without a painful reminder of his deeds. You scooch forward, resting carefully on your knees. Yoongi gets a faceful of breast when you thrust yourself upwards, lifting him in alignment with your opening which is dripping with anticipation. You slide the warm head along your folds, slicking the flesh all while teasing your entrance.

Your face contorts with a sense of depraved pleasure, it only worsens when Yoongi’s lips press themselves to your chest that’s oh so close to his face. You look down at him with hazy eyes, the look he gives you only strengthening the enamored admiration you have for him. The way his gums pull at the faintly beautiful upturned smile he harbors sends an array of jubilant fireworks through you, just as you lower yourself onto his dick, the core of your panties moved aside to allow entrance. He groans, the smile on his face melting into a struggled expression. “Still think you can handle it?” You tease, your walls clenching around him.

“Ah fuck.” He bites his lip, not able to answer your question.

You couldn’t take him in all at once, your walls were greatly unprepared, your slickness thankfully making the penetration much easier, but you should’ve thought ahead of time. You fear if you don’t move soon, Yoongi will take back your one chance to make him feel good. With as little effort on his part as possible. With that in mind, you press a hand to his chest, the low scoop neck of his t-shirt allowing your fingers to brush against his pale exterior. “Don’t make me beg baby girl….you know I don’t like to.” His tone has your heart doing backflips, the heavy lull from sleep deprivation making him sound more alluring than usual.

You lean down and kiss him, his cock sliding deeper inside you thanks to the movement. “Oh I won’t...you just watch.” Winking, you lean back so you can sit straight again, your palm pressed to Yoongi’s clothed chest as his hands hover just behind your ass, his every nerve trying their hardest not to force you down his length like he would’ve if he wasn’t so wiped.

Pressure builds in your stomach, your drenched lips assisting in the adjustment to your boyfriend's length. It’s times like this that muscle memory fails you. How you wish he could just take you whenever he wanted without preparation. Not that you don’t enjoy Yoongi’s foreplay skills, but what came after was always a blessing to behold. Your muscles burn when you start to bob up and down, with every grind Yoongi’s thick length gets lost within the abyss of warm velvet that lies inside you. You’re sweating by the time you can take him all in, his girth hitting all the right places right when he needs to, and the best part is...he hasn’t done a thing.

Regardless, Yoongi’s just as breathless. His fingers twitch continuously against the flesh of your behind, squeezing and kneading it as a means to contain himself. “S-shit.” He garbles, unable to subdue the sounds that escape him, their strength being indomitable, and each small whimper, groan, and hitch of his breath had permeated through you, sending chill after chill coursing through your veins. The craning of his neck and arching of his back only egged you on more, this was your unveiling, your moment to show him how good you are, and that you’ll always take care of him.

Yoongi’s eyes flutter open, his blinking slow and haphazardly fluctuating. Yet his hands, his strong vascular hands, were locked in place, helping to move your hips down onto him. Your clit brushing his stomach with each grind downwards, the sound of Yoongi sliding in and out of you with each movement is loud enough to bring you worry. Then you remember the rooms soundproof. “Oh god!” You scream, caring little about the sound possibly traveling under or through the door, busting out into the hallway and echoing down the hall to catch Jimin and Hoseok’s ears. Let them hear. You think, Let them hear how well I treat you, I don’t care. An internal smirk becomes external in a matter of seconds, but Yoongi’s too preoccupied to even say anything about it.

He pants like a dog deprived of fresh drinking water, his chest heaving with every sign that he’s on the brink of implosion. “Mmmm, slow baby, slow…” He whispers, guiding your hips with what little energy he has, his eyes moving downwards to watch your mastery, You do as he asks, slowing your drive to languidly move your hips into his, he holds them in place for a second before continuing their course, then he pushes you faster, letting you bob up and down fervently once more when his strangled expression returns.

“Y-you’re close.” You cock an eyebrow, Yoongi’s eyes reopening to watch it do so.

“Am not.” He dismisses, gulping.

“You sure?...because I am…” You lean in to whisper in his ear, your hips continuing to move as if on autopilot, “Your cock just feels too good.”

He throws his head back, confirming what he’s been thinking all along, “Mmm fuck, you really are so good.” His hand shoots up, past your arm that still rests against his chest and wraps around your neck. He doesn’t squeeze, but just the presence of his long, adonis like fingers affixed on your flesh adds a sense of danger to what you're doing. Yoongi may still be in charge, but what you’ve done tonight has and will earn you a much greater besottment with your lover.

Your insatiable appetite has gotten you this far, but when Yoongi bucks his hips upwards to meet yours, you’re done for. You cry out, leaning forward and throwing your head over his shoulder, your hands shaking from how tightly you proceed to latch onto him. As you continue, your rhythm starts to falter, the pleasure being so much, like a tidal wave hitting you from all directions. The build-up itself has been steady, but this...this is different.

Your muscles flex and tense around Yoongi, his pleasure skyrocketing as a result. “F-fuck!” You cry at the same time, both of you smirking at the shocks of ecstasy the two of you received and how it has managed to link up.

“Y-yoongi…” You choke on the words, your mouth gaping open against his shoulder. “Yoongi,” You repeat, this time coming out clearly when you swallow, ultimately filling your mouth with saliva again. “I’m gonna c-cum!” You have to take some of his flannel between your teeth, biting down against the fabric in the hopes of muffling your cries.

“Ah fuck yes, cum all over my cock baby.” He pulls you into him, pushing deep and slow, your mewls being enough to grant him the satisfaction of making you feel good with just the slightest movement. Yoongi bites his lower lip, groaning when you speed up, ultimately throwing yourself head first into your climax. You stop moving, shaking and nearly falling off Yoongi's lap and chair from the speed and intensity at which your orgasm hits you.

It comes in waves and by the time you come down, Yoongi’s eyes are wide open in surprise. Silence follows your come down, your exasperated breath’s preventing even a word from leaving the confines of your gaping jaw.

“Well fuck, that was so hot.” He looks you up and down, moving your gaze with his. “Looks like someone’s pussy got a little carried away.” At first, you’re confused, furrowing your eyebrows and panting, then -after a second of exasperated breathtaking- you look down and see a milky white substance coating down what visible length Yoongi doesn’t have inside you, as well are his upper thighs. “Now I know how you feel when I cum on you.” He jests, wiping his finger against the juices and lifting the pearl-like substance to his lips, tonguing it off.

“S-shut up…” You blush, smiling but turning away all the same. You never knew you could push yourself to do something so intense.

“I wish you could do that all the time.” Yoongi continues, pulling your attention away from the D key you were staring at on the piano. “Tsk, and to think you did that all yourself, damn I’m jealous.” You stare at him, no words coming to describe how you feel.

You blink rapidly, trying -and failing- to hide how proud you are of yourself. “You’re jealous?” You croak, coyly smiling.

Yoongi straightens his posture, his dick twitching inside you. “Maybe...but don’t get cocky. I still played a key role. I’ll just have to fuck you harder once I get my stamina back.” He chews the inside of his cheek, and that’s when you realize you still haven’t made him cum again. What just happened to you did have everything to do with Yoongi. It was his dick that made this climactic moment happen.

You start to grind down onto him again, and the look and your boyfriends face is priceless, never did it cross his mind that your mission tonight hadn’t changed even after cumming twice. Your objective was still to please him and only him. To drain him of everything. If he wasn’t to go home and pass out immediately...well then you did something wrong.

“You still made me squirt.” You start to bounce again, Yoongi’s face quickly changing from dismissed and shocked to strained and pleasure loaded. “I’m sure it won’t be the last time that happens.” He groans in agreement, squeezing your hips as you continue to rebound.

He slips in and out of you with ease now, your walls both adjusted and slick against his dick. Yoongi throws his head back hard against the chair, a thud sounding against the fabric. He gulps, his mouth slacking as he swallows. His adam’s apple bobs in a similar manner to how you do. Yoongi tries anew to stifle his moans, ensnaring his lip and clenching his jaw, but all that does is muffle the growls he conjures.

You swallow hard when you watch his face contort under your control. Your hips are still encased in his blanched hands, the veins lying underneath mystifying you even now. Emboldened by his reactions, you speed up, overstimulation hitting you like a truck. You try your best to snub it into the back of your mind, focusing on moving your hands through the back of Yoongi’s hair thus causing his eyes to move fervently underneath his eyelids. The sleep-deprived submissiveness Yoongi’s forced himself into turns your insides inexplicably, you turn down a dark and rather foolhardy road, slowing yet increasing the pressure of each grind as you descended onto him. The strings tying his orgasm down one at a time were now being cut directly through faster than usual, needless to say, the power of his orgasm is almost as strong as yours was.

You stop short when his nails dig into the flesh of your thighs, leaving marks behind that will serve as a friendly reminder. You examine him well, your eyes moving up and down his serene body all while taking in his load with open doors, or legs in this case.

He remains silent, eyes squeezed shut and swallowing over and over. He looks otherworldly, even drained of both cum and energy, Yoongi looks as if the gods blessed him with some kind of holy energy that grants him allowance to look how he does. “Holy fucking shit.” He laughs, opening his eyes and finding yours.

Your index digit runs along his jawline, causing Yoongi to lift it in tune, “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” You giggle, starting to move off him. Before you can, your exhausted lover pulls you back, kissing you deeply and this time with tongue. The muscle moves ferociously against your own, the way Yoongi can control all of you with just one kiss is astonishing. The smack of your lips reverberates off the walls when he pulls away, and all you can do is sit there with your eyes closed as a satisfied whine crawls it’s way from your lungs to the back of your throat.

“I enjoyed it very much baby girl.” He squeezes your bottom and hips in a massaging manner, full well knowing all that work will have come at a cost. “I can’t wait to return the favor.”

You smirk, running a hand through your hair before locking eyes with your lover. “How about movie night for starters.”

#smut #bts smut #bts #bts yoongi #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #yoongi/reader #suga/reader #bts yoongixreader #bts sugaxreader #min yoongi #min suga #j-hopeyouchokeme

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bxxpbxxprichie · 7 years ago

Note

Part three bichie soulmate au??

Part One / Two / Three

Didn’t edit this because I’m a piece of shit, but here it is.

Dedicated to @bcckybeaver for the amazing moodboard

Warnings: Violence, Pain, Self-Harm

Word Count: 1719

“Rich, calm down.”

They'd now gotten the attention of Eddie and Stan, who were rushing back to them.

“It's okay, Eddie. I s-should’ve kept m-m-m-my mouth s-s-shut.” Bill recoiled a bit.

“Stay out of it, Eds. Go frolic with your soulmate.” Richie reared on the smallest of them, almost spitting the word ‘soulmate’ at the two of them.

“Don't talk to him like that!” Stan stepped closer, as if wanting to shield Eddie.

“What the fuck is your problem, Bird Boy? Don't tell me how to talk to my boyfriend! It's none of your god damn business!” Now Richie was chest to chest with the curly haired male, their noses almost touching.

“Richie! Stop!” Eddie's plea’s were unheard.

“He's not your boyfriend anymore. Get that through your head.” Stan pushed him back, not too violently, but wanting the other out of his space.

“We haven't broken up! He is still my boyfriend!” Richie gave a shove back.

“Yeah? Well guess what, asshole? He's my soulmate! You know what that means? He's mine!” Stan pushed him back once more, trying to keep distance between them.

Richie started in on Stan again, his arm raising to throw a punch, before a much forgotten Bill tugged on his arm and pulled him around.

“Stop this.” Bill spoke, his voice all commanding.

Something in Richie's stomach dropped, the command in the taller males voice breaking through to him. But he was fighting it. Just like he was wanting to fight someone.

His fist connected with Bill's cheek, and both Stan and Eddie grabbed his arms. Richie elbowed Eddie roughly in the stomach, and the smallest male fell into the snow.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Richard?!” His voice was laced with pain, but anger overpowered it all.

Richie turned quickly, all anger dissipating at seeing his boyfriend in the snow. His cheekbone throbbed with a short amount of pain he shared with Bill.

“I'm so sorry, Eds.” Richie offered a hand down.

Eddie slapped his hand away. “You're acting like a fucking idiot asshole. You know who you remind me of, right now?” His eyes were narrowing with his words, as Stan helped him up.

Richie froze.

“You're acting like freshman year Richie. And he'd better fucking retreat before you lose your best friend.” Eddie brushed the snow off his ass.

Richie didn't respond.

He just ran.

Bill didn't know what was happening anymore. For a moment, he and his soulmate were getting along. But maybe that was the problem.

Richie didn't want to like him.

He understood it. Nothing about this was easy for any of them. He felt like he was losing Stan, and he was sure Stan felt the same way. He was just blinded by the beautiful boy standing next to him.

Bill would be blinded too, at some point. But he was trying to guard his heart. He knew this would get harder before it got easier.

He rubbed his throbbing cheek as he sat in the back of Stan’s jeep. It wasn’t very often, but Bill would sometimes get this deep rooted sadness, a pain in his chest he was unable to rub away. He thought that maybe he was depressed or something because of everything that happened with Georgie. And it wasn’t that he didn’t have some sort of problems from his childhood, but this pain didn’t feel like his.

It felt like a second-hand pain.

He hadn’t heard of it before. Feeling emotional pain. But maybe that’s because most people don’t feel the terrible sort of sadness that accompanies certain events before they meet their soulmates.

Bill had, when he lost Georgie.

And he knew Richie had too. He didn’t know what those events were, but he’d felt the chest pains before.

He felt them now, and he knew exactly what they were for.

His chest ached, and he sucked in a shuddering breath. It was overpowering. He felt like sobbing. Sure, he wasn’t happy in the situation, but he wasn’t feeling this bad over it. This was majorly Richie.

He didn’t understand it.

“You alright, Bill? I’m sorry, again. I’m going to have a talk with him and try to make things better.” Eddie turned in the passenger seat to look at Bill.

“Y-y-y-yeah. I’m okay. T-t-t-thanks. J-j-j-ust k-keep in t-touch, alright?” Bill gave Eddie a slightly sad smile.

“I will.” Eddie smiled back.

“Let me walk you to the door.” Stan’s even voice broke through it all.

The two of them got out of the jeep, and Bill climbed up to settle himself in the passenger seat once both doors were shut. He kept his eyes downcast, not wanting to know if the two kissed, hugged, anything.

The drivers side door opened minutes later, and Stan looked conflicted. He brushed a hand through his curls, before putting both hands on the steering wheel and gripping it hard.

“I’m gonna kick that guy's ass.” Stan growled.

“No you’re not. He’s just hurt, Stan. I’m hurt. And if you beat his ass you’ll be hurting me too. Don’t forget.” Bill sniffed, his hand still rubbing at the pain in his chest.

Stan gave a heaving sigh, brushing another hand through his hair, “I know, I know...That’s the only reason I won’t kick his ass.” He put his jeep into gear and pulled away from Eddie’s place.

The drive back to Derry was quiet, other than a random sniffle, or a cough. They made it back to the Uris household, and the two boys shuffled up the steps. Stan knew he had to tell his parents he met his soulmate today, but now was not the time.

The two of them began undressing. Things felt different now. Not in a bad way, just that they both knew today was their last day of messing around. Stan was going to be so gone on Eddie within days. Bill wasn’t going to push it.

He just hoped he would still have his best friend.

“So, did you kiss him?” Bill asked, his voice a little thick as he tugged his sweatshirt over his head, his shirt coming off right with it.

“What-?” Stan choked.

Bill turned and looked at him. Even through puffy, red eyes, a ‘you know what I said’ look was shot, along with a thin eyebrow raising in amusement.

“I-uh...no, not on the lips. We hugged, and I kissed his forehead. I just...with Richie going as insane as he is, I don’t want to kiss Eddie and then Richie do something stupid. It’ll just end up with all four of us in too much pain.” Stan explained, exchanging his jeans for flannel sleep pants.

Bill hummed in response, shucking his jeans off and crawling into Stan’s bed in nothing but boxers and socks. “We can still cuddle, right?” He asked, a childish grin on his face as he rubbed at his chest.

“Right...and you need to stop doing that, you’re making it red.” Stan crossed to the bed and pulled Bill’s hand away from his chest to show the impressive red mark that marred his sternum.

Bill looked down at it with a furrowed brow, before his eyes caught on a different spot.

“What the-” He shifted from his knees to his ass, and looked at his right thigh. His boxers were already riding up from gravity. He pulled them back more, eyes brushing over the purpling spots on his skin.

“Should we…? I’m gonna call Eddie.”

Richie had ran. He had ran so far his chest was heaving and the cold night air was biting his lungs. He had ran all the way home. He didn’t know how long it had taken him, really, but he was here.

His hands were shaking so much he was having a hard time unlocking his front door, the key missing the lock about a billion times before actually sliding in. The lock clicked and he pushed the door open, not bothering it shut it behind him as he trampled up the stairs to his room.

His bedroom door slammed behind him. He vaguely heard his father yelling up at him for making such a noise at this time of night. He ignored it though, his mind still reeling from the whole day.

It had been so good. So good that morning. He finally got to mark up his boyfriend the way he always wanted too, they were happy, in love, and going to have a great day.

And now they were in a fight, probably not boyfriend’s anymore, and he punched his soulmate.

His cheek ached slightly where he’d punched his soulmate, but it wasn’t enough.

He wasn’t being punished enough.

Richie threw his clothes off, scarf and all suddenly feeling very suffocating on his thin body. He was naked in moments, standing in front of his mirror. He was disgusted with himself. How could he get so angry at Eddie? He almost hit him. He probably would’ve, if Bill hadn’t caught his attention again.

His fingers curled into a tight fist, short nails digging tightly into his palm. It started small, really. A light tap of his knuckles against his thigh. His other fingers drummed against his other thigh, trying to rid his still body of some energy. His arm lifted a bit more, before coming down harder onto the meat of his thigh.

The pain was dull, achey. But, bruises were easy to brush off. People would believe him when he said he didn’t know how they happened.

His hand lifted further, driving down harder against his reddening skin. A soft whimper left his lips this time, but he kept at it, his fist speeding up now.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

On and on it went, skin slapping against skin as his fist pummeled into his thigh. He couldn’t stop himself at this point, it was automatic. His brain was wandering elsewhere, a blank slate as his skin started bruising under his ministrations.

He finally stopped after a while, panting lowly. He didn’t look at his leg, not wanting to see the damage. But he felt it. The throb was a good reminder. He deserved this. He deserved to feel this pain.

Richie crawled into bed and curled up into himself, crying for the thousandth time that night.

Tag List:

@beepbeeprichie @killerxqueer @spoookyboi @spooky-kaspbrak @lemon-drop-writings @ithinkthe4thkindisabuttthing @antisociallilbrat @reddietoziier@toziergazebos @multifandomimaginings @godhateslil @cupcakeatl @richie-n-eds@paperboat-bill @ssmirking @acerichie @crutchiedeservesmore @trulytozier @richiestoziers

#bbrbs #bichie #richie tozier #bill denbrough #reddie #eddie kaspbrak #stanley uris #stan uris #steddie #stenbrough #tw: self harm #Anonymous

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alexhatesmusic · 8 years ago

Text

Alex reviews the song Closer by the group the Chainsmokers

The beginning to {insert your favorite crime show here} always unfolds in the same way. Someone is running through the woods, breathing heavily, and looking back over their shoulder. The viewpoint juggles between tight, close-ups to far away landscapes to point-of-view as we watch this character sprint through the wilderness. It becomes pretty evident that this person is running from something, but we never get a clear view of what they’re running from, only that it’s terrifying and evil. The escapee crouches behind a tree/fallen tree/randomunexplainedstructure and we think, “Hey, they made it!” Right as relief washes over the character (and us), the poor soul is stabbed or shot or something and we learn an important lesson: You can never escape evil.

That’s how I feel about the song “Closer” by the Chainsmokers. It had been a few weeks since I had last heard “Closer.” I was enjoying life; a soul-crushing burden removed from me. I let myself believe that I had escaped this song and perhaps I would never hear it again. I thought that maybe (just maybe) I was free.

And then some fuck tagged me in this.

First of all, let’s talk about this band. “From Lambs to Lions???” realllyyy??? You wanted to start a faux-screamo band with your fake-metal friends and your fake-metal aesthetic and overdone haircuts that are now both out-of-style and the go-to Nazi style (s/o Richard Spencer) and you call yourself From Lambs to Lions?

Okay.

I would have gone my whole life not knowing who you are, but because you somehow thought “punk goes pop” was still relevant and because someone out there decided, “Hey, Alex would looooooove this,” I have to watch you sing shizzy autotune and do awkward choreographed instrument dances in an empty barn (so very punk). But enough with you.

I’ve been asked before why I don’t like the song “Closer” by the Chainsmokers. Somehow the answer “well, have you listened to it?” isn’t good enough, so I’ll elaborate here. Line by line.

The song starts with what I can only assume is a walrus slapping his fin down on a piano and hitting the same two chords over and over again. A voice pops in nonchalantly and says, “Hey.”

Before we go further I’ve got to note: Some people are really talented. Some people are really, really great at singing. Andrew Taggart of the Chainsmokers is not one of these people. I thought the singing might be coming from the walrus playing the same sparse notes in the background, but upon watching this video, I learned that there is in fact a man behind the voice.

So the song goes:

“Hey, I was doing just fine before I met you/ I drink too much/ And that’s an issue, but I’m okay”

Where to start? Easy knocks: I was doing just fine before I heard this song. I would drink too if I heard your voice on the daily. Blah blah blah. Beyond that, he’s obviously setting up a narrative. There’s a love interest and he drinks a lot.

“Hey, you tell your friends/ It was nice to meet them/ But I hope I never see them again”

Hey again! Not a greaaat way to start off a relationship, telling your so’s friends to fuck off and all, but alright. That last line is super wobbly vocally, but not the worst vocal experience of the track, because that belongs to the following pre-chorus.

“I know it breaks your heart/ Moved to the city in a broke-down car/ And four years, no calls/ Now you're lookin' pretty in a hotel bar/ And I-I-I can't stop/ No, I-I-I can't stop”

We don’t really know what Taggart can’t stop doing (the narrative foundation isn’t super strong here), but if it’s singing, I implore him to just try really hard for everyone else’s sake.

So the narrative timeline is a bit wonky here. He told the girl’s friends to fuck off, he admits that he’s a drunk and that he was doing a-okay before she waltzed into his life. They obviously moved from somewhere into the famed, archetypal CITY in the famed, archetypal BROKE-DOWN CAR; they haven’t spoken in four years; and, above all, he-he-he can’t stop. He runs into her at a bar, so what’s the logical thing to do next? Hook up.

“So, baby, pull me closer/ In the backseat of your Rover/ That I know you can't afford/ Bite that tattoo on your shoulder”

I guess my biggest thing is: If you own a Land Rover, why are you having sex in the backseat of your car and not indoors like a normal person? Don’t get me wrong, Car and Driver reviewed the LR4 and noted, “The LR4 is one of the few modern vehicles with a genuinely low cowl, and combined with the tall roof it returns the sensation of extreme roominess,” which means there’s probably plenty of head room to get head, but come on, man. You’ve had how many #1 singles and you decide to get it on in your girl’s Range Rover? SHE CAN’T EVEN AFFORD IT! YOU’RE GOING TO GET STAINS ON THE “luxury-lined interior” (s/o Car and Driver).

“Pull the sheets right off the corner/ Of the mattress that you stole/ From your roommate back in Boulder/ We ain't ever getting older”

So your girl’s a criminal, Taggart. Wow. At least now you’re having sex inside like a normal adult and not like a high schooler trying to hide from your parents.

So, you haven’t seen this girl for four years and you run up on her at the bar. You hook up, not only in the back seat of her car, but on a mattress that she’s had since college and your excuse is, “We ain’t ever getting older.”

Alright.

Meanwhile, the world’s laziest EDM drop is happening as the walrus continues smashing his head against the same four notes that he’s been hitting all song.

So, let’s hear what the other side of this relationship has to say.

Picture Halsey, sitting at the bar, sipping on a (lets say) Irish car bomb and (enter frame) ex-bf walks in. You haven’t spoken in four years. So far we know that you used to go to the University of Colorado, you stole your roommate’s mattress and somehow brought it 1023 miles to what I can only assume is LA. You own a Range Rover that is way out of your price range, your ex is a drunk who can’t sing, and you have a tattoo on your shoulder.

And action!

“You look as good as the day I met you/ I forget just why I left you, I was insane”

Okay, on that last part, make it a present form of the “to be” verb and we’ll talk. Maybe it was because of his alcoholism? Maybe it was he was a dick to your friends? Does he really look as good as the day you met him? It’s been at least four years plus however many years you were together (healthy estimate based on time at Boulder and time in Tuscon (see upcoming lyrics) is that you met at least six to eight years ago).

What water are they drinking in the archetypal CITY? Are y’all really not “getting older?”

Stay and play that Blink-182 song/ That we beat to death in Tucson, okay

You really couldn’t find a better band to prove that you’re a badass than Blink-182? Don’t get me wrong, “I Miss You” is a hit, but you’re hitting low-hanging pop punk fruit here.

The worst part though? SHE SINGS FOUR LINES BEFORE THE PRE-CHORUS COMES BACK INTO THE SONG. She’s the redeeming factor of this track. She doesn’t have a terrible voice. She’s pretty and provides the narrative contrast to a so far confusing son. Why in the world are you only giving her four unique lines before shoeing her into the chorus?

“I know it breaks your heart/ Moved to the city blah blah blah blah”

Same lyrical content over again. You’ve heard this song, so you know it repeats this pre-chorus and chorus another time in a charming (eh) duet before finishing the track in anthemic shouts of “We ain’t ever getting older” over the same lazy beat and same three or four electronic chords that have plagued the entire song.

And that’s the track.

So what does this story tell us? I honestly couldn’t tell you. The narrative is cloudy and the music is too devoid of variety to be able to make anything out.

The best I can tell you is that these are obviously the rantings of a drunkard and his borderline kleptomaniac ex-girlfriend. They find each other again in the archetypal CITY and hook up in a station wagon and that is the song.

This is pop music.

I don’t like this song. It’s lyrically dumb, instrumentally inept, and vocally horrifying.

That being said, I know a lot of people do (897,256,229 plays on spotify and counting). Honestly, there’s really nothing wrong with liking this music. The music industry has spent decades and billions of dollars engineering pop music to be aesthetically pleasing, so it makes sense that people out there like this track. I just can’t be one of those people.

At the end of the day though, I spent an hour or two typing all of this and I learned something. I really am no better than Andrew Taggart. As I said earlier, “Closer” is just the ranting and raving of a post-hook-up, drunk boy in the city. This review is nothing more than the ranting and raving of a no-hook-up, sober boy in the country. The only difference is I don’t have festival headlining appearances and 39 million monthly listeners. Which, truth be told, is probably for the best.

So that’s that. My review of “Closer” by the Chainsmokers featuring Halsey. If I had to assign it a value, I’d give it a 1.5 star out of 5. If you’ve read this far, god bless you, you crazy person. If you gave up long ago, I honestly don’t blame you.

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omgnsfwisnsfw-blog · 6 years ago

Text

NSFW #04: Crushed

The night was far too beautiful for something so violent to have happened. The vast starry sky spread out far above the top level of the parking garage, moonlight joining the various halogen sources of illumination as a large, well built blond gently lifts a far smaller redhead out of a wheelchair, tucks her into the side door of a vintage Mustang, and turns to face the other individual with him. “Thank you.” John tossed a pair of gym bags that were previously slung over his shoulder into the trunk of ‘Alundra’ and quietly closed the lid. So quiet as if to make sure to not alert anyone to their successful escape. The wheelchair John had used was discarded nearby. Mike, for their part, had curled up in the passenger seat, wrapped in a blanket, both for warmth and to cover the fact that they were wearing a hospital gown and little else. The surroundings were comforting, the faint smell of leather far easier on their nerves than the oppressive scent of disinfectant and medicine. Feeling perfectly safe now, they teetered between being asleep and not, listening to the muffled voices of their friends outside the car. The reserved big man walked around the driver’s side door to meet his accomplice. Natalie Young. For her part, Natalie was doing her absolute damndest to keep her emotions in check since Mike needed her to be their rock… but the edges were beginning to fray. If she actually smoked, she’d be well on her way through a pack of them at this point. The sound of John’s voice roused her from her thoughts, the blond managing a weary smile. “Of course. I hate hospitals just as much as they do, so for the record? If I’m ever the one in this situation, feel free to do the same thing.” John nodded solemnly. His right hand wavered nervously so he put it into his jeans pocket. “Was this okay to do? I know it’s what they wanted. But I guess, what if this is worse than it seems?” “Then the nurses wouldn’t have let them have a smoke break.” Sighing to herself, Natalie wrapped her arms around herself before giving him an appraising look. She knew full well how sturdily built John was physically - she remembered how easily he hauled her out of harm’s way - but that didn’t necessarily match what was happening in his head. “How about you? How are you holding up?” Inside there were a multitude of platitudes waiting to escape from his lips. But this evening had been exhausting. So, instead, he let fly what he was thinking exactly. “I’m angry.” His dry tone betrayed that statement. There was a twinge of that emotion before his normal soft eyed expression resumed. But the stream of consciousness also continued. “I’m angry that this happened. That I let it happen. They’re my partner. They’re my… partner. I let them down.” “John…” Forgoing the formality, the blond reached out, her hand carefully, lightly resting on his shoulder even if she’d much rather just give him a hug. There were boundaries she needed to respect, though… unspoken ones she had picked up on after spending some time in his presence. “You didn’t let them down. There’s no way you can blame yourself for the actions of someone else. Besides, you got Mike out of a situation they hated as soon as you could.” He didn’t draw back. There was a trust there. There was an understanding that Mike thought the world of Natalie. Even in this short period of time. Time, though, was relative for John. It was what happened during that time that truly defined -- that this was okay. “I also have anger towards the ones who did this. I don’t even know who they are.” He struggled with this. He had never really felt this for anyone. Even before all of this. He averted his eyes from Natalie as he confessed. “Don’t think less of me. I hate them. They showed no remorse in their actions.” A gentle pat of his shoulder. “I don’t think any less of you for that, John. If anything? You need to use that anger. Use it the way I did to make Luke face the music.” Her hand lingered after that contact before it slowly withdrew, a soft sigh escaping the Undisputed Champion before she nodded as if to support the suggestion she was about to offer up. “But for now… take it easy. Put it aside and focus on taking good care of them.” He complied. John tucked away that imagery of bone impacting bone. Their skulls being crushed by his knee. Their bodies flying through the air -- hitting exposed concrete. “I will. I think we’ll hole up somewhere close for a few days. I’ll keep you updated.” “Alright.” Leaning down, the blond murmured her goodbyes to her girlfriend before she peeled her well-worn Duke hoodie off over her head and added it as a layer to their warmth. A parting nod and she was off, leaving the two to make their departure. The room was dim and ambient. Most of the lights were off, the curtain drawn with only faint peeks of late morning sunlight peeking through. This was due to to one of the occupants getting over a roaring headache: in fact, after what she’d endured the previous night, Mike McGuire was deeply fortunate that was the worst she got away with. She was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room on one side of a small table, draped in a Blue Devils hoodie slightly too big for her, ice pack clutched to her head, her faithful (and also somewhat banged up) partner, Bishop Church, sitting opposite. A takeaway box bears evidence of her breakfast- a smattering of crumbs and a few stray smears of strawberry syrup. Beside it is a smaller box containing bread crust neatly cut away from the previously consumed buttered toast. Slowly, Mike set the ice pack on the table, and staring dead into the camera, slow clapped. “Congratulations, boys. You had the balls to answer our challenge. Good for you. Shame you had to jump us from behind like the couple’a needle dicks you are, but hey. We can start from someplace, yeah? So let’s start here. Hi. We’re NSFW. I’m Mike, he’s Bishop, and you, apparently, are The Lummox.” Her partner raised an index finger up to object. “The Limit.” Mike shrugged. “How silly of me. Wallop in the fuckin’ head after being spiked through a table will do that. But anyway. We have no idea who the blue fucking fuck you guys are. We didn’t even know your names until literally a minute before we started filming. Had to key up last night’s Rampage just to see who the purple polka dot fucking Hell jumped us. Hey, kids, EWC.tv is really fuckin’ prompt with putting up material. In case you’re holding out on picking it up, I’d do that. Real handy if you have to work Monday nights.” “Very colorful.” John smiled wryly at her. “And my partner is right. We asked for competition. And we got it. You unmasked and you made your intentions clear. Want to know what is strange? Frank. Alexander. We agree with you. The tag division is rather anemic these days. So Mike, imagine this. These two guys inked fresh new contracts. They look around and they see the landscape. And to be honest, they don’t see much. But suddenly, they see that shining city on the hill. That’s us. We are, champions or not, the example of what a tag team should be here. So you didn’t go after the champions. You didn’t go after anyone else. You went after us because we are tag team wrestling in this company.” “Exactly fuckin’ right. There is no team like us. We are not two random guys put together. Nor are we one guy who picked some random dude for notoriety and muscle. But you guys? I see you. Look at you with your matching outfits and finishing each other’s sentences. I’d say it was cute, but… eeegh. Maybe you boys shoulda left the masks on. You’re like ten pounds of ugly in a five pound fuckin’ sack.” Mike shakes her head, then frowns, rubbing it. That probably wasn’t a great idea. “But this ain’t a beauty contest. Otherwise Natalie Young woulda been champion a billion years ago instead of just snagging it recently. Nah, you’re a couple of fucking bruisers- you’d almost HAVE to be, bein’ from goddamn Detroit- and you obviously know how to make an impact. There’s just one small problem.” She leaned forward, emerald eyes steely, expression harsh. “We’re not fucking afraid of you. We ain’t even intimidated.” John shook his head as if to confirm that. “No. Your brand of cruelty isn’t new. The Limit is Rob Garcia minus the charm. The Limit is Draco Lazarus minus the wit. The beating you gave us wasn’t the first we experienced and as we make more and more waves, it won’t be the last. We won’t let what you two did to us - define us. You may be just the answer to the questions we've been asking. You two may beat us pillar to post in Manitoba. But we will get back up. No matter what happens to us. You are what we asked for and we will damned if we balk at your methods.” A familiar, mildly unhinged smile began to bloom on the New York brawler’s face. “You’re not somethin’ to be scared of. In our book, you’re somethin’ to look forward to. You’re a big steak dinner with all the trimmings. You’re Christmas morning. You’re the first fucking day of summer vacation. Do you know how long we’ve been waiting for a couple’a beasts like you to come along? Not a lazy soup-slurping sasquatch, but an actual well-oiled fucking machine who knows how to do what we do? I’m so excited I could wrestle you both right now. I don’t fucking care how much of a bruised up mess I am or that the ghost of Keith Moon is playing a wicked drum solo on my fucking cortex. NSFW doesn’t run from a challenge, especially ones we ask for. No Scrambling, Flaking, or Waffling here- we asked for competition and you delivered with a cheap shot, and we can’t wait to answer back.” John, under the table, placed a hand on her forearm. “I’ve asked my partner to not feed into the conspiracy theories. The coincidental timing of your appearance. The reactions of those involved. But there is something I do hope The Limit understands. It is the same lesson that Orianna Johnson learned. Alexander. Frank. You two made this personal. And I promise you. I assure you. By the time this is all said and done, you two will get your receipts for this.” Mike looked to her partner briefly, almost as if wordlessly saying something to him before slowly bringing her hands up. Almost abruptly, she cracked her knuckles. Her expression was mildly pained but her smile was vicious as a great white’s. “Under all the excitement and the tasty prospects of a challenge? Yeah. You hurt me. But what’s more, you hurt my partner. And nobody gets away with that shit on my watch. I’m not gonna play nice, but that’s fine. I don’t think you two even know what the fuck ‘play nice’ means. But hey, anybody can be a tough fucker when they attack from behind. So Monday, up in fucking Canada. Let’s see if you Detroit boys can pose the same kind of challenge when we see you coming. Don’t you dare fucking disappoint us.” Turning the camera off, Mike stretched and rolled back onto the bed. They were frankly sick of laying down, but they’d promised. It had been their end of the bargain, after all- John and Natalie had got them out of the hated hospital, but in return they had to stay on strict bed rest for at least a day. Despite grumblings of being bored and restless, they did as their friends asked. It was the least they could do. “...I’m freaking pissed they didn’t have any doubles free. I hate that you gotta crash on the floor. S’not fair. You got banged up too, y’know.” John stood up from the office chair and stretched. “I’ll be okay. Besides what’s the alternative? Sleeping in the same bed?” Mike gave a cheeky sort of grin and shrugged in response. John realized what he had just said. “Nevermind. Hey. I got something for you.” He moved over to the bags strewn in the corner of the room. He retrieved his, opened it, and dug through the contents until… “Here. You lost it last night.” He turned around with something he knew that Mike cherished in his hands. The precious baseball cap that usually never left their head, despite looking like it’d seen far better days. Letting out what could only be described as a delighted squeal, Mike shot forward and snatched their hat back, hugging it to their chest like a child might hug a beloved stuffed animal before tucking it back onto its rightful spot on their head. “You don’t know how much this means to me. I thought the fucking Lummox might’ve stolen it, or that jerkass Bennett threw it in the trash or something. My dad gave me this the last game we went to before I graduated high school. It’s irreplaceable.” The look they gave their partner couldn’t have been more grateful if he’d just given them a kidney. “Thank you so fuckin’ much, buddy. I mean it.” John listened intently. He had his books. But no possession held any value like they had expressed. But he enjoyed the fondness she exhibited for her family. Perhaps lived vicariously through it. Family. He would have liked the concept. And he heard a confession. Words that he had heard before certainly. This time they didn’t confuse him. Or twist his innards into knots. But he wasn’t sure if he understood. He felt the same way, too, right? “Hey. You ok?” They frowned. He was sort of staring past her for a minute or two. “Huh? Yeah.” They are partners. Partners. For the first time in his life, he played part to what he considered deception. But not for his own sake. John sat down on the bed next to them. He clasped a hand over theirs. Pushing down that aversion to it. “I’m good.” “Okay. Sometimes it kinda feels like… you’re a million miles away even when you’re right next to me. It’s really… this’ gonna sound fucking weird. It’s lonely. But it’s okay, you’re here now.” It was a strange thing to say even by their own standards, and it was dangerously close to crossing a line that, though recently revealed, they didn’t want to cross. Not for lack of wanting to, but for other feelings being involved, other people being involved, that they didn’t want to hurt either. They made a face before shrugging, sighing, and leaning back into the pillows. “...wanna watch a movie? I think this place’s got free HBO.”

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