#but so far with one piece i just get distracted by it lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sissylittlefeather · 3 months ago

Text

Heartbreak Hotel

A/N: Whaaaaaaat a smutless one-shot? Never have I ever lol. No, but really. This idea came to me and @ccab and I couldn't not write it. This is Elvis during the filming of King Creole and a very shy reader.

Warnings: kissing, an erection, some sexy thoughts, and a foot rub

Word count: ~2.7k

"Y-you want me to do what?" You hold your clipboard to your chest and shake your head nervously. Surely your boss isn't asking you to do what you think he is. You're not even sure how you ended up working on the set of King Creole anyway. Your father must've had something to do with it.

"Go to the hotel and bring Elvis back to the set. I know we told him we were done for the day but we really need him to try on his wardrobe for tomorrow and the costume people just finished it." You understand the logic behind the request. That's not the part that confuses you.

"But why m-me, sir?" You anxiously chew on your bottom lip. It's been hard enough for you to work here with Elvis wandering around. Walking up to him directly is about the last thing you want to do. It's not that you don't like him. Quite the opposite, in fact. You love him. But you've always been a little mousy and shy and unsure of yourself. The idea of talking to him makes you want to crawl into a hole.

"You're young and cute. This assignment is going to really piss him off. We figured you might soften the blow. He can't very well yell at you." You blink several times and your eyes go even wider. The fact that it won't just be Elvis, it'll be angry Elvis, really makes your heart race like a rabbit's.

"W-what if he won't come?"

"Not an option. Convince him. Now, just go." You consider quitting your job right then, but you know that's not realistic. Sighing deeply, you turn to walk from the small office.

"Y/n!"

"Yeah?"

"Clipboard."

"Oh... yeah..." You hand him the clipboard and cross your arms tightly on your chest.

"Y/n. Please try not to look like you're about to cry." You nod your head and try to rearrange your face, but you are about to cry.

******

Somehow, the next thing you know, you're in the lobby of one of the nicest hotels in New Orleans.

"Can you please call Mr. Presley down here? I-I-I need to speak to him." The receptionist nods and calls up to his room. You don't hear the conversation, too distracted by looking around at the fancy decor.

"Alright. I'll let her know." You turn back to the receptionist. "He says you can come on up. He's in the penthouse. Just push the button with the "p" on the elevator."

You stand there with your mouth hanging open and she turns away to do some other task.

No. He was supposed to come down, not you come up. You look at the elevators and swallow deeply. Then, you walk over and push the button.

Once you're on the elevator, it dawns on you that you're going to be walking into what is essentially his home. That thought hits you like a freight train and you feel like you're going to throw up or pass out or both. Just when you decide you're not getting out of the elevator, the doors slide open and there's a quiet ding. The room is carpeted and you see him sitting on a couch.

"Hey, honey, come on in." He hollers without moving. You feel like you're about to die, but you inch your way into the room anyway and the doors close behind you. He leans forward a little and gestures for you to walk towards him. "C'mon then, I won't bite."

You take a few steps into the room and then try to speak. All that comes out is a quiet squeak, though and you shake your head, frustrated with your own incompetence. He can tell you're struggling, so he stands up and walks towards you. That does not help. He's even taller, more attractive, and more intense up close than far away.

"What is it, honey? They send you to fire me or somethin'?" You look up at him and squeak again. He tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear and strokes your cheek gently. "You're a shy little thing, ain'tcha?"

"They want you back on set." You breathe a sigh of relief that you were finally able to talk.

"Back on set? No, I'm home for the night." You blink a few times, not really sure how to respond as he shakes his head.

"Please..." It comes out of you as a whispered plea and you want to scream at how pathetic you sound. He smiles softly.

"Okay. But only because you're too damn sweet to say no to." He squeezes the top of your arm and then encourages you toward the elevator with his hand on the small of your back. You really hope he can't feel how sweaty you are as he touches you.

You get back on the elevator and he pushes the button for the lobby. The elevator begins its descent and you stand next to each other in silence. A breath of relaxation washes over you. It's almost over.

Then it happens.

Somewhere between floors 5 and 6 the elevator screeches to a grinding halt. It knocks you off balance enough for him to have to catch you in his arms, your hands on his chest to steady yourself.

"Woah, honey, you okay?" You look up at him frozen in fear. He holds you for a few seconds too long and then stands you back up. His hands stay on your upper arms and you swear it's like he doesn't want to stop touching you.

And he doesn't. He rather enjoyed the feeling of you pressed up against him, your eyes wide and seeking reassurance. But he can't just move in and kiss you like he normally does with other girls. You might actually pass out. So instead, he leans his back against the wall of the small elevator and tries to smile at you in the sweetest way possible.

"Do I make you nervous, honey?" You look over at the elevator buttons like pressing one might get you out of this nightmare, but probably not. "Nobody else here. You're gonna have to talk to me."

You reluctantly look up at him and try to breathe steadily. You're finally able to whisper a response.

"Yes." His face breaks into an amused smile.

"Why?"

"Have you met you?!" It comes rushing out of you before you can stop it.

"I'm not sure how to answer that, sweetheart."

"I mean... I'm sorry..."

"Don't apologize. I'm just not sure I know what you mean is all." For some reason, it's getting a little easier for you to talk to him.

"You're ridiculously famous. You have a presence. And you're unbelievably attr-" You stop yourself and look at the floor, blushing. He steps forward off the wall and tips your chin up, so that you have to look into his face.

"Unbelievably what?" Part of you wants to slap the cocky smirk right off his face, but you'd die before you did that. Finally, you squeak it out.

"Attractive." He steps forward again almost closing the gap between your bodies.

"You know, you're not so bad yourself."

"Gee, thanks."

"No, I'm serious, honey. I'd letcha eat crackers in my bed." Without thinking about it, you burst into a fit of giggles. "It wasn't that funny..."

"I'm sorry; it's just the image of me sitting in your bed eating crackers. Like that's what I'd be doing if I was in your bed." He runs his finger down the side of your face and moves just the smallest bit closer to you.

"What else would you be doing in my bed?" All of a sudden, you're not laughing anymore. Now you're thinking of all the things you might be doing and it makes you blush an even deeper red than you have before. Your heart is going so fast it feels like it might leap out of your chest. He senses your anxiety and backs up a little. "You don't have to answer that, honey. I'm sorry."

He's not used to how delicate you are. It's endearing. Like you need him to take care of you. It's a job that sounds better and better the longer he's on this elevator with you.

You nod and stay quiet, but you kind of miss how close he was to you. His presence, albeit intimidating at first, is comforting.

He turns and slides down the back wall to sit on the floor of the elevator. Then, he pats the floor beside himself. You decide there's not much else to do and he actually seems pretty harmless, so you sit down next to him on the floor and lean back against the wall. It feels good to sit down. You wore new shoes to work today and your feet have been killing you for hours. A small whimper falls from your lips as you try to stretch your feet a bit. You're dying to take the heels off, but you don't want to freak him out.

"What's wrong, honey?" He hears you whimper and his eyebrows come together with concern.

"Oh, nothing. My feet just hurt from these new shoes."

"Take 'em off."

"Really? You don't mind?" He chuckles a little.

"Not at all. There's no tellin' how long we might be stuck in here. Get comfortable." Normally, you'd never do such a thing but your feet do hurt really badly and he's right. You're trapped. You reach down and slowly pull the shoes off of your feet, wincing in pain. Your hose make it look like you have webbed feet, but you really don't care as you gingerly wiggle your toes. He watches you, dying to kiss you. You might be the cutest thing he's ever seen and your feet are so small and pretty.

"Do they hurt bad?"

"Yeah. I shouldn't have worn these today." You tap the shoes together in your hands. "I suppose beauty is pain, though."

He laughs and then an idea settles on him. He's not sure how you'll respond, but it's worth a try.

"You want me to rub 'em?" You look up at him suddenly for three reasons. First, you can't believe he said it. Second, it sounds amazing. And third, there's a hint of something in his voice that almost sounds like uncertainty.

"I couldn't let you do that."

"Why not? I really don't mind and what else are we doin' right now?" The vulnerability on his face melts you and you know you can't say no. You smile bashfully and turn to lean against the other wall and put your feet in his lap.

"Well, alright then. Thank you." He smiles a very natural and relaxed smile and then goes to work massaging one of your feet. You'd be lying if you said it didn't feel amazing. His hands are strong and he seems to know what he's doing. You moan a little louder than you intend to, but your feet were so sore that the relief is almost overwhelming. He looks at you when you moan and bites his bottom lip, thanking God that your eyes are closed as his gaze travels down over your figure. If you weren't so shy, he'd probably already have you half undressed. But he kind of likes that you're shy. It's cute and he can't complain about the added challenge. It's almost getting too easy to get girls to say yes.

You spend the next twenty minutes or so like this. He switches feet halfway through, but you sit in silence, moaning and whimpering every once in a while. What you don't know is that you're driving him absolutely crazy with the sounds you're making. If you're this vocal with a foot massage, how might you be in bed? The thought sends a shiver of pleasure down his spine and he shifts to keep your feet away from his erection. Surprisingly, you're the one who breaks the silence. You look up at him and he's looking down at your feet while he works. You can see his eyelashes and for some reason that makes him seem more real.

"What's it like? Being famous?" He takes a deep breath before he answers, not looking up from your feet, like he's trying to decide how honest he should be. He looks up into your eyes intensely.

"Lonesome. I was trying to think of a nicer word, but that's all that comes to mind. Don't get me wrong, I'm very grateful for everything that's happened. I wouldn't change any of it. But it's really very lonely, not knowing who loves you for you and who loves you for who they think you are."

By the end of it, his voice is thick with emotion and you don't think, you just act. You move back to sitting next to him and entwine your arm with his, taking his left hand in both of yours. He looks down at you as you settle your head onto his shoulder. Something inside him flip-flops and he doesn't feel so alone all of a sudden. He presses his lips to the top of your head gently.

You feel him kiss your hair and are overwhelmed with the need for him to kiss you more. He seems to sense this and tips your chin with his other hand, so that you're looking up into his face. There's only a few inches between his lips and yours and you notice his eyes flicking down as he leans in slowly.

"Can I...?" He asks quietly practically against your lips. This time your whisper is appropriate.

"Yes." He doesn't wait another second to dive into a kiss. It's sweet at first, but before too long, you part your lips and his tongue slides into your mouth. He holds the side of your face and you both sit up and turn towards each other as the kiss deepens. His hand drifts down to your hip and he squeezes it, pulling you towards him gently. You start to lift your leg to climb on top and straddle him, but just as you do, there's a soft ding and the elevator doors slide open.

You gasp and scramble back, wiping your mouth and shoving your shoes back on your feet. He looks at you dumbstruck with how quickly you shifted gears. He's still in the mindset that you're about to crawl in his lap.

"Honey, wait?" He rushes to his feet and tries to smooth his clothing. There's nothing he can do about his massive hard-on, though, so he turns and shoves it up under his belt. He feels you touch him near his hip, but he's too focused on what he's doing to acknowledge it.

By the time the doors open all the way, you're both mostly presentable. He's ushered out of the elevator by a group of his friends and family, led by his manager. You watch as they fuss over him and he makes eye contact with you through the crowd.

He'd give almost anything to be back in that elevator with you to finish what he started. But more than that, he already misses the feeling of companionship. The heavy weight of loneliness is starting to settle in his chest again. He looks down and back up and you're gone.

******

You wipe the tears from your face as you make your way back to your car outside the hotel. If only the doors hadn't opened. What might've happened? Oh well. You'll never know. It's up to him now.

******

Elvis manages to keep it together long enough to assure everyone he's fine, do the wardrobe check, and get back to his hotel. He stands in front of the elevator when it opens and seriously considers taking the stairs to the penthouse. But he doesn't. Instead he steps onto the elevator and slides his hands in his pockets as the doors close.

He gasps softly.

Out of his pocket he pulls a small silver bracelet. It's not his. It must be yours. You must've slipped it into his pocket while you put yourselves back together when the doors opened. He turns over the little silver pendant and finds your first and last name in script.

He smiles widely and kisses the bracelet. Looking up, he whispers.

"Thank you."

He's not sure if he's talking to you or God. Maybe both. Either way, now he can find you. He steps off the elevator and heads into his bedroom.

The pieces of his heart start to come back together and he sets your bracelet on his nightstand.

Tomorrow. He'll find you tomorrow.

******

The End?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @atleastpleasetelephone @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fic #elvis fanfiction #elvis fic #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis x y/n #elvis x you #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x you #elvis presley fanfic #elvis fluff #elvis presley fluff

220 notes · View notes

vidavalor · 7 months ago

Text

Great Balls of Fire

Ok, I've got a Final 15 theory on the kiss and the elevator and... pie?

This is for-- and in thanks to-- @indigovigilance, @ineffablelunatics and @somehow-a-human, as their metas reminded me of the idea of something in Aziraphale's mouth after the kiss and their talk of ball bearings and The Bullet Catch has eaten my brain alive and so here we are. Thanks also to @kayleefansposts for drawing my attention to 2/3rds of the metas. 🤗

What, exactly, happened in The Final 15? Maybe this...

As observed by many of us and discussed in the metas of the people I mentioned above, Aziraphale visibly has something in his mouth when he pulls back from the kiss. We also see him move the object around in his mouth-- or, we do, if his expression doesn't distract us first.

Because it's on his tongue, this isn't just light being weird or showing a filling or something. This is, clearly, a piece of metallic-colored something in Aziraphale's mouth. @indigovigilance pointed out how aspects of this parallel aspects of The Bullet Catch and I would agree with that. @ineffablelunatics, off of @somehow-a-human's post on the object, said it looked like a ball bearing and that's actually when I realized that I think the show might have subtly told us over the first two seasons what it is. And if it is what I think it is? The object is the reason for Aziraphale's reaction after the kiss-- not the kiss itself.

So, what is it?

To explain that, we have to start with two scenes, one from each season: 1601 and Crowley in Heaven with Muriel in 2.06.

In the 1601 scene, we learned that Crowley & Aziraphale experimented with their powers after they got tired of canceling each other out and that they discovered Heaven's dirty little secret in the process. That secret is that basically the only differences between them are the colors of their feathers and the lack of immunity to hellfire/holy water. Heaven has been telling everyone that some magic was "demonic" and that angels couldn't do it and they also had told everyone that demons no longer possessed angelic powers. Crowley & Aziraphale realized that this was bullshit-- Aziraphale could do temptations and Crowley could still do blessings. It's this discovery that allowed them to start fulfilling each other's assignments. They didn't tell a soul because of the danger of admitting they knew, especially because admitting it would be acknowledging that they had worked together to figure it out. This means that, with the exception of holy water being dangerous to him since he fell, Crowley is effectively still an angel in terms of the power he possesses.

This would mean he can magically make just about anything he could make when he was an angel. It's relevant because Crowley, as we'll see, made the object he slipped into Aziraphale's mouth during the kiss.

When Crowley is in Heaven with Muriel in 2.06, he opens the file on Gabriel's trial, which we are told can only be accessed by "a throne, or a dominion, or above"-- further showing that the truth is that Heaven actually can't strip angels of their power to do miracles. They're just simply telling them that they have done so as a form of social control and casting some to Hell to use them as way to discourage rebellion. This scene also reminds us of Crowley's awareness of this and shows him using his "angelic" powers to get information to help Gabriel.

The same scene with Muriel and Crowley that showed us that Crowley still retains his angelic powers reminds us again of the rank of throne/dominion in Heaven. (I say "throne/dominion" because Muriel's verbal commas and the way the sentence is structured-- along with the scene in S1 when Crowley goes from his throne to dominate his plants lol-- suggests that it is possible to be both ranks of angel at once, which is another topic so we won't go too far into that right now.) Crowley was undoubtedly a throne/dominion-- and it's not even just the fact that he had that hilariously tacky throne in S1. It's relevant here because of ties of throne-related things to what it is that Crowley made and slipped into Aziraphale's mouth.

Thrones are apparently God's chariots. They are concerned with justice and reside in the areas of space "where matter originates"-- which feels very Before the Beginning, right? They are symbolized by big wheels that rotate and by eyes that change color.

Yes, by wheels and eyes that change color... seems very Crowley, no?

The eyes repeat on the symbolic wheels and are in the position of what we on Earth would call ball bearings, apparently looking kind of like this:

...and remember the interconnected, turning wheels in the scroll that Crowley had Aziraphale hold in the moment they met, at the start of 2.01?...

It could be said that Crowley... a throne, a polymath, a scientist, an inventor... a being whose signature thing is the sexiest old car on four wheels... could make ball bearings from his body when he was an angel and, since we know that he still has basically everything but the ability to make holy water from his angel days, it means that he still can make those ball bearings...

...but we also know what else he can make from his body since he's also a demon-- and not just from his hands but from his mouth...

...hellfire.

Yes, I'm saying that it really was a ball bearing in Aziraphale's mouth-- but it was not hollow or empty. Not by a long shot. It was full of hellfire. It wasn't for Aziraphale's memories as Crowley didn't think that Aziraphale had time or opportunity left to extract them.

It was a suicide pill.

The story was calling back to The Original Ineffable Divorce in 1862...

Think about what Crowley saw when he was up in Heaven in S2...

Crowley is the one who put together what happened to Gabriel. He watched the video of Gabriel's sham "trial" and he saw The Metatron basically order Gabriel killed and cast down through the ranks and he knows that Gabriel only evaded Hell because of how it would have diminished the power of the institution of Heaven to send him there. Crowley knows that Aziraphale does not have this same amount of political power. He knows that The Metatron is a shifty motherfucker and that Michael cannot be counted on. He knows how much danger Aziraphale is in.

So, he takes a page from Lord Beezlebub after seeing that they protected Gabriel with the fly... only it's not exactly the same thing.

Beez's fly was given to Gabriel to help save him. It was a place to store his memories to help protect him long enough to keep him safe until they could make sure he was safe and intact. It worked because Beez and Gabriel had time to make a plan together. By the time Crowley is in Heaven watching the video of what happened to Gabriel and then getting back to the bookshop to sort it all out, there's no time for he and Aziraphale to make a plan. They are not alone again until after "The Metatron" has already shown up and, by then, Aziraphale is already on his way to being lost.

Beez is actually the first character we ever see make their signature thing on-screen and when they do? I mean...

Evocative of a kiss, with that big closeup on Beez's mouth. We watch them push the fly gently out of their mouth with their tongue. It foreshadows Crowley making something in his mouth and ties delivery of it to the kiss. We know that Crowley knows that he can make a single object that is of aspects of both Heaven and Hell combined-- like a ball of hellfire tempered, unless consumed, by a ball bearing.

Plus, earlier in the season, there's Gabriel tying The Fly-- which came about as a result of Beez trying to help him manage his depression by helping him to feel safer-- to metaphorical suicide when he spends the scene where the angels show up chasing it around the bookshop, trying to kill it with one of Aziraphale's Bibles, symbolizing just what Heaven is doing to everyone's mental health here...

But this is just where this possibility starts, really... because why else do I think it's a hellfire-full ball bearing suicide capsule that Crowley gave Aziraphale?

Well, for starters, there is all the holy water that is all over this plot at the end of S2... At the end, Crowley stands in Whickber Street outside The Bentley right across from The Dirty Donkey in a nod to-- among other scenes-- the 1967 scene, when Aziraphale brought Crowley the holy water.

Aziraphale knew that Crowley also secretly wanted holy water as a last resort and Aziraphale initially couldn't handle the idea of losing Crowley and reacted badly before eventually coming around to the idea that maybe Crowley needed to have some supernatural cyanide at his disposal in order to feel safer and that he should have that option. Based on the holy water story, Crowley, then, would be the first person to think that Aziraphale needed a suicide pill as an option if he found himself in trouble he couldn't get out of.

In 2.06, Crowley knows how likely it is that Aziraphale could be harmed by the angels and/or sent to Hell-- which is the domain of Crowley's assailant, who is literally Satan, and who hates both of them for, among other things, turning Adam against him. Crowley knows Aziraphale is a good person who wants to believe the best is possible but he also knows how unlikely it is that this is going to go well for Aziraphale. Crowley can't stand the thought of Aziraphale suffering so he gives him a way out as an act of love because Crowley would sooner lose Aziraphale for eternity than see him suffer.

When it becomes clear that Aziraphale is going with "The Metatron" and Crowley is out of ways to convince him not to, he sees Aziraphale look away and start to cry. Crowley goes back and kisses him as a last resort but Aziraphale is initially resistant-- not because this is their first kiss and not even just because they're upset (though that's part of it) but because to kiss Crowley then would be to let him in... (after all of those symbolic doors and "let me in"s happening in the story)... when Aziraphale making the mistake of trying to shut him out.

Aziraphale eventually, though, can't help but let Crowley in a little...

...because, ya know, it's Crowley...

...and, when he does, he opens up a little, and Crowley slips a suicide pill into Aziraphale's mouth.

It's also definitely worth noting that one of the reasons-- the primary reason, even-- why Crowley kisses Aziraphale is because he needs a cover to both make and give the fireball to Aziraphale without being noticed-- and to do so in such a way that Aziraphale would be assured of the ability to have it on his person when he got to Heaven-- even if he lost his clothes in the process, as like what happened to Gabriel when he was cast out. It has to go in Aziraphale's mouth for easy consumption for it to work and kissing him is the only way to do that. What's really worth noting, though?

Crowley's plan hinged on Aziraphale eventually giving in and kissing him back. He couldn't tongue the fireball into Aziraphale's mouth without Aziraphale parting his lips and Crowley knew he would... because he always does. Not that they're regularly trying to kiss while being super miserable lol but mah point is that Crowley knows that Aziraphale can't ever not kiss him. That's not indicative of this being a first kiss-- that's indicative of the complete opposite of that.

Anyway...

Aziraphale knows what Crowley can make and what it is that he just gave him and that's why this is his reaction after the kiss:

The devastation isn't over the kiss itself. It's because Aziraphale trusts Crowley's interpretations of things more than his own sometimes and, by secretly slipping Aziraphale a suicide capsule out of fear and love and delivered in a kiss, it really hits home for Aziraphale that Crowley thinks they are now in a situation where there probably isn't going to be another way out. It's not because it's a first kiss-- it's because it's likely a last one-- and things are so dire that it came with supernatural cyanide.

It's the realization that Crowley really thinks Aziraphale has been fooled and Aziraphale can't bear it because he knows, deep down, that Crowley is probably right and he's embarrassed. 'Pride goeth before a fall' and all that... Aziraphale is lovely-- an absolute poppet-- but he's imperfect, just like us all. One of his worst traits is that he doubles down when he's been embarrassed as a way of trying to save face and retain pride. It's maybe his worse flaw and it gets very dangerous for him here. Crowley is no stranger to trying to stop situations where it could happen, like this paralleling time in 1941:

Some other reasons why it's a fireball suicide pill before we get to what then happened in the elevator...

There's the fact that the show had a scene set in S2 in The Dirty Donkey-- where the elevator is. (As the start of the scene, Crowley & Aziraphale even walk through the door where the elevator will materialize at the end of S2.) Part of their conversation is very possibly Crowley recounting their first kiss-- at minimum, it's about kissing-- and then Aziraphale makes it also about balls, combining the two to, among other things, foreshadow The Final 15:

The wordplay here is already threefold in this scene off of Crowley's joke that follows Aziraphale remembering Jane Austen's balls: balls (testicles), the phrase that x person "has balls" (is badass), and balls (of the cotillion/dancing variety). This continues into the meeting that Aziraphale hosts-- the disaster of a ball that goes straight into the end game of the season. Here's Aziraphale making yet another ball-related wordplay joke-- this one, during The Meeting Ball:

"We're having a ball" as in they're literally having a ball-- a party-- but also the idiom "we're having a ball" meaning "we're having a great time." We are now up to four different meanings of the word 'ball' in S2, stretched across different scenes, emphasizing the importance of it. One of the missing ones still needed here to complete this idea is a literal ball-- and the ball bearing would not only meet this idea but would then make all of the ball-related wordplay have had the purpose of building towards it. We think it's building towards The Meeting Ball-- and it is-- but all of it, including The Meeting Ball, would actually then be building towards the hellfire ball, which is the actual ending of S2.

Then, there's what this all has to do with the eccles cakes...

Yes, eccles cakes lol... Eccles cakes, as a lot of us already know, are popularly referred to as "fly cakes", off of how the currents sometimes look in them, but the significant thing here is that, despite their name, eccles cakes are not actually cakes at all-- they are really pies.

Ball bearings are also used in Good Omens' favorite metaphor of food to weigh down dough when baking pie crust. Pie weights and ball bearings are basically the same things, just put to different use. It means you literally cannot make eccles cakes from scratch without a jar of pie weights... which are just, structurally, the same thing as ball bearings... and Crowley can make them. You also make pie dough by first rolling it into a ball.

Which is likely why this hilarious moment exists:

Please hold The Cake-Pies of Symbolism, my pie (and Pi)-loving dear...

Crowley's face at having to stand there holding some little pies 😂...

The eccles cakes-that-are-really-pies go along with this theory as well because look how the show presented the forthcoming apocalypse to us back in 2.01:

The horse is Crowley, the rider is Aziraphale, and they're headed for Armageddon-like mental health disaster-- all ushered in by the four eccles cakes, representing Gabriel, Beez, Nina (who suggested & gave them the eccles cakes) and Maggie.

Presumably, The Lords of the Flies are the two eccles cakes that are already canoodling on the back of the plate while Maggie and Nina are the two in the foreground who are aligned but not yet together. Crowley's S2 plot is largely working at the behest of these wonderfully rebellious pies. He looks after Gabriel, finds out what happened to him and connects it all to Beez... and this is after he spent the season on his vavoomy Operation Lovebirds to get Maggie and Nina together. He's responsible for the pie crust-- the containers of the eccles cakes-- in a show obsessed with containers. Crowley is, symbolically, a jar of pie weights in being form by way of his actions-- which is suggestive of the fact that he can probably physically make them. (There's also: "Just a few million years to bake," which Crowley said of his stars-- which he made-- in the opening scene of the season.)

"Nina, what do you sell that calms people down?"

Calm is from the Greek kauma, which means the heat of the day. Heat, as in slang for a weapon. Heat, as in hellfire. Heat, as in what's needed to bake. Heat, as in passion. Heat, as in "bringing the heat." The heat of the day-- the sunny daylight of The Final 15. Eccles cakes-- really: pies-- calm people down... they bring them heat, in every possible way, and it sets them on a path down-- to Hell.

Then, there's Agnes Nutter...

When The Witchfinder Army came to kill Agnes, she hid gunpowder (a weapon) and roofing nails (the construction-related metal that enabled it) in her dress. Agnes blew up-- she became a literal. fireball. Crowley wasn't necessarily suggesting that Aziraphale turn himself into an Agnes-like bomb in Heaven when he gave him the capsule but he was giving him a weapon involving fire with which he could kill himself if he had no other way out.

Then, there's the theme of suicide in examples from earlier in the season:

Crowley saving Elspeth (on the night Crowley was dragged to Hell)... The bit when Aziraphale then calls Crowley from Edinburgh in the present and tells him that he's read that Dalrymple left in disgrace and killed himself... "The Bananafish" being a short story about trauma by J.D. Salinger which ends with a traumatized man suddenly killing himself... Crowley setting Gabriel up to jump from the window and then stopping him from doing it...

There's also the fact that the end of S1 was Heaven and Hell forcing Crowley and Aziraphale into forms of suicide (getting into hellfire/holy water) and the "Aziraphale" in the Heaven part of it was Crowley spitting hellfire-- at Gabriel, no less, whose story is what jumpstarts S2.

Then, there's that the song that is The Clue to everything in S2 is "Everyday", the significance of which is that it's a foundational song of American rock 'n roll. Rock 'n roll is a blend of musical styles that actually wouldn't exist without first the big band/swing that Aziraphale loves that came before it-- symbolizing how Crowley & Aziraphale paved the way for Gabriel & Beez. There's another song, though, that, like "Everyday", is from the pivotal rock year of 1957 that is equally influential and is enormously Good Omens-y, in the sense that it cleverly uses wordplay to the effect of barely disguising sexual euphemisms and often through amusingly church-y language:

You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain/Too much love drives a man insane/You broke my will/But what a thrill...

Goodness gracious... great balls of fire...

[Also: less part of the theory and more just a possible nod but... "The Metatron" brought Aziraphale a coffee, there's a threat of non-existence, and Aziraphale might have gotten a 'kiss of death' from a being who is, essentially, a cherry pie lol... so, those of you who know that other greatest television show to ever television show might see a bit of a nod to Twin Peaks in here as well.]

Speaking of kisses of death... the film that popularized the word "vavoom"-- and which GO S2 is homaging all over the place-- is called 'Kiss Me Deadly.'..

So, after the kiss, Aziraphale gets the capsule and keeps it tucked into his mouth and he's gone too far with the conversation and doesn't want to admit that maybe he's wrong and Crowley is right. Crowley goes out, "The Metatron" comes back in, and Aziraphale keeps looking at Crowley staying by the car out the window and he's a bit more nervous now ("what about, um, my bookshop?"). Even if he still wants to be right, he's beginning to doubt even more that he is.

He almost tells "The Metatron" to go. He almost goes to Crowley. We see him start to say that he thinks he made a mistake but he doesn't go through with it. He's too embarrassed. Fraulein Maria can't face The Captain and is trying to run back to The Abbey over here.

Aziraphale goes out with "The Metatron" and the significant moment is this revelation: "We call it 'The Second Coming'."

This is the moment that Aziraphale realizes for sure that he's been tricked and there is no Supreme Archangel job for him. The Metatron doesn't want to change Heaven or save anybody-- he wants to destroy the world, same as he always has-- and there's no way that he'd ever trust Aziraphale to carry that out when Aziraphale is who stopped the first round. Heaven will never admit they did wrong by Crowley-- to do so would be to collapse the system because then every demon would want to appeal their own status and demand justice and the Heaven/Hell regime would fall, in the sense that their little supernatural empire would crumble. The Metatron would never allow that and Aziraphale realizes in this moment for sure that he has been played for a sucker.

It's still possible that, at this moment, Aziraphale might still believe that this being who has tempted him with the possibility of the justice he wants for Crowley more than Crowley actually wants for himself-- and with false reassurances that he and Crowley could be together forever-- actually is The Metatron. Or, Aziraphale might be starting to get the sense of what's actually happening but, either way, he now knows that he's been fooled. He knows now that while he and Crowley both got some things wrong (suggesting they run off and proposing suddenly were not great moves on Crowley's part)... about this bit anyway? About being in danger if he believes the being who came to the door? Crowley was right.

So, Aziraphale has a choice: does he go to Crowley or does he get in the elevator, knowing now that to do so is to go to a form of death?

He can't face Crowley. He knows Crowley would forgive him and just wants him to be safe but, in the moment, Aziraphale is too ashamed and too embarrassed to admit that he was fooled and to deal with how awfully he just behaved. He's also exhausted from being hounded by the weight of his halo and Heaven for thousands of years. Negative thought cycles in overdrive-- he's never truly believed that he deserves Crowley and he has convinced himself that maybe Crowley might be better off without him. Maybe they just don't get a happy ending and maybe Aziraphale is so tired and can't run and hide anymore and just wants it to end.

Imagine spending thousands of years in service of an organization that also doubles as family and who abused you and abandoned you and who now wants to kill you... and you so hoped that change was possible that you clung to the idea beyond a point of reason-- to the point of hurting the one you love, with whom you have the only real love you've ever known. And you know he'd forgive you in a heartbeat because he loves you and he just wants you to be safe but you can't face him because you can't yet face yourself... that's Aziraphale deciding between Crowley and the elevator.

Aziraphale can barely glance over at Crowley and when, he does, it's also The Bentley he's looking at because he's telling the car to play Crowley their song. Crowley said "no nightingales" but Aziraphale says, in response: "A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square." His last moment on Earth and he uses it to basically leave a suicide note for Crowley that says nothing but I'm sorry. I love you.

Their song plays when Crowley starts the engine of The Bentley, which calls back to the first time they met in the Before the Beginning scene that began the season and showed how they started the engine of the universe together.

Aziraphale might be trying to warn Crowley about Armageddon by sending an "engine trouble"-type of message or he might be calling back to when they first met or, as I suspect, he might be doing both but the show, at least, is referencing Before the Beginning here with this, whether or not Aziraphale intentionally is.

So, Aziraphale? He makes his choice. He gets into the elevator...

...and he swallows the fireball. Which we can see him do here:

Or, as this was foreshadowed in S1 by the being whose own fall and subsequent arrival at the bookshop door set all the events in this season into motion:

(The eerieness of the fake grin on Gabriel after seeing how it foreshadows S2 ending with Aziraphale's mad grin...)

Because, when all is said and done, this poor bastard really would have a death-by-swallowing-something story over here, wouldn't he? Can they just hurry up and destroy the Heaven/Hell system so Aziraphale can have food and sex in peace already, please? 😄

Aziraphale knew he'd been played and he didn't want to go through whatever came next. He didn't want to reach the top floor of Heaven because he knows that only forms of death await him there. They'll take his memories. They'll cast him to Hell. Being a demon is no picnic and Aziraphale has seen that in being with Crowley for so long. Satan is not exactly the biggest fan of Aziraphale and Aziraphale, better than most, knows what Satan is capable of. He doesn't want any part of that. He ingested a suicide pill to avoid being captured by the enemy.

Crowley gave him the pill because angels are not immune to hellfire. That's what made it a suicide capsule, right? It was supposed to kill him within seconds. It was supposed to be quick and relatively painless-- a way to escape the horrors that might await him. Even when Aziraphale is at his worst-- as Aziraphale was in their last scene in bookshop-- he is still a pure-of-heart, lovely being to Crowley because Crowley loves Aziraphale as he is-- imperfect. Just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing. It never occurred to Crowley that the capsule might fail. Why? Because Aziraphale is, always and forever, his angel.

Both Crowley and Aziraphale thought the fireball should have protected Aziraphale from pain and suffering by killing him almost instantly once he ingested it.

By that measure, Aziraphale should have burst into flames in the elevator, seconds after he swallowed the pill just after stepping inside.

But he did not.

We watch as the seconds start to tick by... and we see the realization play out on Aziraphale's face as each second that passes is another one where he's still here...

...the look gets more and more unhinged as the elevator keeps climbing until we get the slightly mad dark grin as the last shot of him before a fade to a deathly black... with Aziraphale having spent the final splitscreen since he got into the elevator on the other side of Crowley, symbolizing what's happened.

In the elevator scene, we are watching the dawning realization play out on Aziraphale's face as the fireball doesn't work and there's only one reason why it wouldn't-- because he's no longer an angel.

Aziraphale has been sauntering vaguely downward for the season and maybe for awhile before then. He's been letting the darkness in, more and more, throughout all of S2. We have been watching his fall happen. The 'falling from a great height into a pit of boiling sulphur' part of falling? Ceremonial. An aftermath of sorts-- an additional punishment. It awaits Aziraphale when he gets off the elevator in Heaven but it's something we likely don't really need to see and never have seen in the show yet because that's not actually the main point of a fall. By the time you're literally falling from a great height, you've actually already fallen.

Aziraphale's determined-- but also just really half-mad-- final grim smile in the elevator over his understanding of what's happened is both the pain of thousands of years of religious trauma and abuse-related misery and a bit of completely unhinged I'm gonna burn this place to the fucking ground fury.

Aziraphale swallowing the capsule also parallels Gabriel having to "consume" The Fly to open it. The Fly went through Gabriel's eye and allowed him to "see"-- it give him realization and understanding by returning his memories to him. For Aziraphale, he swallows the fireball and it also gives him a kind of sight-- realization and understanding of what's happened and what's to come... all of this also in the moments before his memories (and, so, his sense of self/his life) will likely be taken from him.

(For a time-- he'll be fine eventually. *mantras* South Downs Cottage, South Downs Cottage...)

"And from his mouth go burning lamps and sparks of fire leap out." The Job quote on the matchbox. The matchbox contained the fly-- it's the equivalent to the ball bearing containing hellfire. Works now on several different levels but one of them then is: And from his mouth (Crowley's mouth/the kiss/the fireball/Aziraphale swallowing the fireball)...

...go burning lamps (the light that goes out in the bookshop when Aziraphale is in the elevator)...

...and sparks of fire leap out. Several meanings:

Literal sparks-- in that Aziraphale can now spit hellfire, like how Crowley did in his body in Heaven in S1.

Sparks of fire leaping out, in the sense that Aziraphale has made the leap-- he is a demon now.

Lastly, though... sparks of fire leap out... as in, Hell (and Heaven) hath no fury like this very, very, very pissed off Angel of the Eastern Gate whose whole thing is freeing those imprisoned by corrupt systems...

Visually paralleling the elevator with a grey wall behind him and light/darkness alternately striping Aziraphale is the 'Aziraphale and God' scene in 1.03, setting up its sister elevator scene in 2.06, where Aziraphale realizes that he has been tempted by Satan and has fallen. (Ironically, a realization about having fallen that happens while going Up in an elevator.)

God: "Aziraphale. (dryly) Angel of the Eastern Gate. Where is the flaming sword I gave you, Aziraphale?"

Aziraphale, unintentionally foreshadowing the fuck out of the plot:

"...must have put it down here somewhere."

Yeah. 😉 Give 'em hell, Aziraphale.

Bonuses:

The awning of a new age/Dawning of a New Age joke. An understanding/a daybreak that begins a new era...

"Oh, listen, I think it's about to happen-- the 'awning' of a new age." Yes, indeed, Crowley. A dawning of a new age was imminent...

...and, finally, if you substitute 'Aziraphale' for his parallel of 'Job' in these sentences, Bildaddy summarized the season endgame quite nicely in 2.02:

#ineffable husbands #good omens #good omens meta #crowley #aziraphale #good omens 2 #good omens theory #aziracrow #good omens speculation #good omens clues #good omens analysis #good omens parallels #long post but worth it #tw suicide #tw depression

304 notes · View notes

colonelarr0w · 7 months ago

Note

Hey hi hemlo

Love your writing style so much, that asshole Gojo fic made my heart squeeze like you wouldn't believe

Can I make a request?

A foreign Jujutsu Tech teacher/sorcerer struggling to do paperwork in Japanese. Satoru and/or Suguru try to help, but end up a distraction instead lol

A Welcome Distraction

Sypnosis - Working is already grueling enough, made worse only by the human-sized distractions that are ... the loves of your life.

Warning(s) - None, this is really just pure fluff.

A/N - This really just spiraled into Gojo being an absolute distraction, but I hope y'all enjoy nonetheless!

! PIECE BEGINS UNDERNEATH THE CUT !

"There she is!"

"Satoru … restrain yourself, even if it's just for a second."

With a smile already curling the corners of your mouth upward, you turn your head to your classroom door – which had been swung open by Gojo, a wide smile already plastered onto his face. Not too far behind him was Geto, whose apologetic eyes flicker to you and whose lips quirk upward in an equally as apologetic smile.

You say nothing as Gojo enters your classroom, beelining to where you sit behind your desk and wrapping his arms around you. His chin lowers to rest against the top of your head, a content hum rumbling in his throat when you lean back in his arms.

“Hello sweet girl,” Gojo says with a wide smile, tilting his head to press a gentle kiss to the top of your head. You hum, then turning your head to watch Geto as he approaches.

“Hi. What brings you both around here?” you inquire with a tilt of your head, turning in your seat to get a better look at Gojo. He peers over your shoulder, glancing at the unfinished paperwork that you had been tending to for the better part of two hours.

Geto leans down, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head and sneaking a glance at your paperwork. “Hi honey, we just wanted to check in on you.”

You smile, accepting the kiss that Gojo leans in to steal from you, his hands holding either side of your face as his lips curl into a boyish grin against your own.

Geto rolls his eyes, reaching out to grip the collar of Gojo’s shirt and lightly prying him away from you; though he couldn’t deny the warmth in his chest at both of his lovers doting on one another.

“That’s sweet of you both, but don’t you have physical training with your students today?” you tilt your head, remembering how Gojo was supposed to tend to the first-years and Geto the second-years.

At the mention of fulfilling his teacher duties, Gojo groans childishly, hanging his head so that his forehead hits against your shoulder. His back arches uncomfortably, but his discomfort is lessened by the sound of your sweet laugh.

“I let them have a small break, I couldn’t let Satoru run rampant,” Geto replies teasingly, grinning down at you. You set down the pen in your hand, lifting a hand to Gojo’s hair and scratching at his scalp — which he doesn’t hesitate to purr at.

“Not true!” Gojo murmurs against your shoulder, removing his head from your shirt and turning to glance at Geto with a dramatic pout, bottom lip jutted out like a child who had been denied a snack before dinner.

"It's entirely true love," you nod in agreement, chuckling breathily to yourself. Gojo huffs, this time completely disconnecting from you and taking a step away from your desk. He crosses his arms over his chest, still pouting.

"You're both just so mean to me, and for no reason," he complains loudly, borderline stomping his foot against the ground as his gaze flickers between you and Geto. You turn to your raven-haired lover, both of you sharing a knowing smile just as Gojo grows annoyed with being ignored.

Geto once again sneaks a glance at the paperwork scattered about your desk; ranging from mission logs given to you by Ijichi to student papers that you had procrastinated grading. His eyebrows furrow at the notes that you had scrawled into the paper's margins, but he doesn't bring any attention to it.

"It's not being mean 'toru," you try to reason with your childish lover, but he merely presses his palms against his ears and hums obnoxiously. You sigh in exasperation, rubbing your temples before turning to Geto – your only saving Grace.

Geto chuckles, catching Gojo as he dramatically falls into the former's arms, head knocking against Geto's broad shoulder.

"Come now, you know she didn't mean it that way," Geto says, voice shaking as he struggles to hold back the chuckle that rises in his throat. "There isn't any reason for you to be this dramatic."

It's your turn to chuckle now, the noise making both men smile lovingly at you. You half lean over your desk, arms covering your now abandoned paperwork as you turn your attention to both Gojo and Geto.

"He's right, I don't mind that you both came to visit me," you say truthfully, lips still curled upward in that smile that your lovers could spend hours admiring. "I appreciate it actually."

Gojo immediately disconnects himself from Geto's arms, beelining for you once again and wrapping you up in a bone-crushing embrace. You laugh heartily in his arms, squealing as he effortlessly lifts you from where you sit behind your desk.

"'toru! I have work to do!" Your plea to return to working goes completely ignored by the snowy-haired man, who only tightens his grip around you and proceeds to spin you around. Geto joins in on the laughter, his chest warm and his eyes crinkled in a loving smile.

Even with your complaining, and even with your pleading, you truly do love the distractions provided by not just one … but both of the loves of your life.

#colonelarr0w #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #satosugu #satosugu x reader #jjk fluff #jjk drabble

316 notes · View notes

oleander-nin · 5 months ago

Note

For the sentient bot au (rottmnt)

How would they react if their darling was able to crochet? Like every time they we’re watching the show, they’d be a little distracted with making a plushie or a piece of clothing. Would they be jealous that they aren’t paying attention, or if they bring them to their universe would they ask them to make something for them?

A/N, not important: This was super cool to write because I do a *lot* of needle work lol. I knit, crochet, sew, embroider, etc. I did headcannons for this, mostly because I didn't know how to write this as a proper fic and it's easier to get back into the groove. Apologies for my absence(and the fact this was requested back in September of 2023). Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me. - Ollie

CW: Stalking, being watched without your knowledge, sentient show characters, obsession, yandere themes, dark themes

Words: 849

Summary: You crochet, oblivious to the constant eyes on you.

Mikey:

He thinks what you do is absolutely charming. Whenever the screen flickers and they can gaze back, he loves to watch you work. He admires the deftness of your craft, even going so far as to see if he could pick it up too. He sees it as a great way to bond. Whether he succeeds or not in picking up the needle work as well doesn’t matter much to him. He’s just delighted you’re a fellow artist in your own right.

He loves to design patterns for blankets or create his own unique stuffies for you to bring to life. He wants to bring his own touch into your work, to try and intertwine the both of you as much as possible. What better way than to combine your hobbies?

Obsesses over what you make to see if he can figure out what you like. He’ll take note of the colors you use, of whether you kept what you’ve been working on or gave it to a friend, or even sold it. He’ll see if you make more stuffies or sweaters, whether you prefer blankets or hats. He’s internalized every choice you’ve made, from the yarn fiber you prefer to where you most often work on your hobby.

Donnie:

Watches you in interest. He finds your hobby interesting and calming. He loves seeing your fingers curl around the yarn and how your hook moves so smoothly. It’s almost soothing to him, so much so he’ll do anything to keep watch. Home security system? Donnie can find a way to weasel his access from just your streaming devices to every electronic in your vicinity. He wants to keep an eye on you, and see what else you create.

Keeps a lot of knitted and crochet works for you to try and match what you have in your home. He’ll collect sweaters, blankets, stuffies, pillows, and anything in between that happens to be made via needle craft. He wants to make the lair seem more at home to you, and what better way then to find every sensory pleasing work he can?

Glad you have a hobby so you’re distracted while they work on bringing you ‘home’. Having you so focused on your work, while at times hurtful, makes their plans to cross the interdimensional barrier a lot easier. The less you pay attention to them, the more they can plan. Of course, once you’re actually in his arms that’ll change. He’s not fond of being ignored.

Raph:

He’s ecstatic about it. He thinks it’s incredibly cute and uses it to solidify his image of you being some soft, fragile soul. He’ll internally coo and croon over you whenever they’re able to look back at you, eyeing your newest project with interest.

Raph has a lot of respect for your craft, especially since he’s tried to knit before. He hopes you’ll be able to teach him and let him work with you. He can hardly wait to snuggle next to you while you explain the steps to him.

He can’t help but hope for you to make him something when you’re finally able to come ‘home’. He wants to add your personal handiwork to his collection of stuffed animals. He’ll put it on his top shelf where no one can mess with it, only taking it down to cuddle on special occasions. It’ll be his pride and joy, something for him to treasure immensely.

Wanting to make it easier on you, he’ll start looking for patterns to give to you, some for when you’re finally with them and some for Donnie to nudge in your direction online. He’ll find yarn and hooks, creating a giant collection just for you. He wants to show you his love, show you that he can give you everything you need and more.

Leo:

Thinks it’s sweet. He can’t help but view it in a cutesy way, no matter what you make. He sees it as part of your charm, knowing you at least have a hobby to keep you busy when he’s away. He just can’t help but wish you wouldn’t do it when you’re supposed to be watching him.

Leo wants you to pay more attention to him. As much as he adores your hobby, he despises how you only seem to do it when you’re watching them. You never give him your full attention, never have your eyes on the screen for the entire time he is. It makes him seethe inside. He’ll make sure to fix that habit once he has you in his arms though.

He always feels a bit bitter when you give something away in front of them, knowing he’d never be able to hold that piece himself. He wants nothing more than to hoard what you make. He can’t help but assume whoever you gifted something to is taking advantage of you. You shouldn’t give away your handiwork, especially when you could save it for him! He plans on finding everything you’ve made when they’re finally able to break the barrier between worlds to take you.

Tag list: @f1oricide @itsyagurlchip @lordfreg @acutiewithagun @rottmnttmnt2012 @lixnininotnay @lexiechr @ssak-i @rottmntsimp

212 notes · View notes

lovsalvatore · 2 years ago

Text

You’re a mess

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!reader

Summary: Natasha tries to tell herself that she’s not jealous, but it's obvious that's the way she feels while looking at you talking to your friend across the room.

Warnings: +18, Minors DNI! smut, Nat has a penis, unprotected sex, bathroom sex, breeding kink, degradation, praising, hair pulling, spanking if you squint, age gap, infidelity, no aftercare as usual lol, fingering, a bit of edging, marking, choking, rough sex, jealousy and possessiveness.

Word count: 6.5k

a/n: after 3 weeks… here u (finally) go ✰ series masterlist, main masterlist

Natasha tries to pay attention to whatever her wife is saying in front of her, but the way your friend touches your shoulder and sits so close to you distracts her. You haven't noticed yet, but she's been looking at you all night.

Tonight's performance — the one in which you've been rehearsing for weeks — was simply amazing, your first time being a soloist couldn't have been better. However, the absence of your parents in the audience made you a little upset, but you're already used to it, and with all the applause at the end you felt for the first time that you didn't need their approval to do what you like. You just felt proud of yourself, knowing that you can play such a difficult piece so easily, and even better, for hundreds of people and without missing a note.

And of course, there's her. The look she gave you when the last note of the symphony was played is something you want to keep with you for a lifetime. She was also proud, and that's enough for your heart to warm even more with all these emotions you've been feeling lately. Emotions that Natasha feels too, but in a very different way.

As a tradition, every time there's a big orchestra event there's also a celebration dinner, and today was no different. You're sitting on a sofa in the house of one of the producers of tonight's event, listening to your friend chatter about all the tourist attractions she wants to visit during tour.

Meanwhile on the other side of the room, the Maestro is trying not to break the glass of champagne she's holding in one hand, watching you smile at a girl other than her. She's trying to tell herself that she's not jealous, that wouldn't make any sense. But it's a fact that she's hating every second of this interaction between you and your friend. Kate. If she'd known you were that close, she wouldn't have put the violinist's name on the list. She thought you were just friends for convenience, not that outside the auditorium you had a friendship too. She thinks about how you're going to travel the world together, and that the plans she had with you might be interrupted because of your friend. She could even take Bishop's name off the list, but now it's too late, and she knows you wouldn't forgive her for that.

"Natasha?" the redhead takes a deep breath, and closes her eyes for a few seconds before turning her attention back to her wife. This is the first time Maria has appeared at one of the celebratory dinners, and everyone seemed surprised to finally see Natasha's wife. Because she rarely wears a wedding ring, there are people who didn't even know she was married, Maria noticed all the stares and whispers her way, but she decided to ignore it. "Did you hear what I just said?" the brunette asks with worried eyes.

"Hm? What?"

"My god, where did you go?" she giggles, but her wife remains serious, looking your way again and noticing that this time you're the one with your hand on your friend's thigh. What the fuck is wrong with you? Why do you have to put your hand there? Can't you keep a distance while talking? The Maestro clenches her jaw, starting to get annoyed by it all. She's been holding back for weeks now, trying not to get too close to you so she doesn't end up doing something stupid in front of everyone, she was planning to be with you again only when you guys were far away from this country as it would be safer — not that she minds that much — but she's starting to think that waiting that long isn't the best idea. "I said I think I'm gonna go, I'm kind of nauseous."

That's enough for Natasha to pay all her attention to her wife. "What? Do you want me to take you home?" she's worried, she really is, it's her wife after all. "Did you eat something that made you feel sick? Did you drink something?"

Maria smiles when she sees her wife's concern, and thinks that the Maestro could be like this all hours of the day if she weren't such a busy woman. "Oh no darling, I'm fine, I think it's just tiredness." Natasha nods, but her worry doesn't completely evaporate. "And I'll ask Martin to come get me, I don't want you to leave without even eating the dinner they cooked just for you."

"It's not just for me..."

"Still, you're the conductor, you play the most important role in the orchestra, I'm sure they'll want you to stay even after dessert."

Natasha smiles weakly, and nods her head again. For a few seconds she just focuses on her wife's well-being. They've been married for four years now, not a long time, but not recent either. They've been through a lot together, and even though the marriage is good at times, most of the time they're yelling and throwing all sorts of curse words at each other. Yet, the Maestro sometimes feels bad knowing she's cheating, but it's happened so many times over the years that the guilt just seems to not be a problem for her anymore. She knows it's wrong and she also knows her wife isn't the most faithful woman in the world either, so that makes things less worse. She thinks about what it would be like if she tried to fix her marriage, try to make it work, but as soon as Maria says goodbye with a quick kiss on her lips, and finally walks out the front door, those green eyes end up landing on you again, and she realizes that even if she wanted to she wouldn't be able to stop wanting you. She's fucked, she knows it, but unfortunately for her she's not tired of you yet.

You're laughing out loud at something Kate said, resting your forehead on her shoulder as you try to wipe away the happy tears. Natasha just stares, waiting for you to notice. And that nagging feeling in her chest just grows by the second watching you look so happy without her.

"We could even go to the Eiffel Tower, but everyone goes there, we have to be different from the others, don't you think?" you just nod, trying to forget about the joke your friend told you a few seconds ago, and straighten up on the couch. "But like, if you want to go..."

"I mean, I always wanted to go there to be honest." you look at your phone screen, seeing images of the various places you two can visit in France. It has many interesting museums and beautiful parks. You also think about where you're gonna get the money to be able to do all the things you want during this tour, you expect your parents to support you at least in that. "Hmmm... there's this museum-." you start to speak but frown your eyebrows when you see a message from Natasha appear at the top of the screen. She hasn't texted you since you two exchanged phone numbers a few days ago, you thought she would never send you anything, you're not complaining either.

Maestro: Need to talk to you.

You lift your face trying to look for her among the other guests, and it doesn't take long for you to spot her across the room, already staring at you. You can tell just by looking at her that something is wrong, or at least that something is bothering her. Her gaze shifts quickly to your friend sitting next to you, and for a moment you think that might be it, but of course she's not jealous of you, right? You, on the other hand, couldn't contain that feeling when you saw her wife walk through the front door. You know it's pointless to be jealous of the woman she's literally married to, but you can't help but wish you were in her shoes.

Noticing your delay in responding, Natasha just sends you one more message, telling you that it's really important, and without wanting to keep her waiting, you just excuse yourself to Kate, saying you have an important call to take. As you make your way down whatever hall Natasha is taking you, you pray that this conversation won't take too long, that you'll still have time to eat the dinner they're serving later. Adjusting the hem of your dress you start to feel a little nervous when she stops in front of a door, one of the last in the hall, before grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you into a bathroom.

It's completely dark for a few seconds before the Maestro locks the door and turns on the lights. You lean your body against the wall, waiting for her to start saying something, but she stays in complete silence, staring into everything but your eyes. She hates herself for being like this, she doesn't understand why she can't say what she's feeling. Natasha doesn't want to see you smiling at other girls, but she also doesn't want to admit that she was uncomfortable watching your interaction with Kate.

She doesn't want you to know about this effect you have on her, an effect that even she doesn't fully understand yet. The silence starts to get awkward, and you wish you had the courage to do something, say something, touch her, especially make her feel good since you know that's probably what she wants right now, but you can't do it without her having the initiative. She plays with the lapel of her suit, feeling her heart pounding with all the thoughts she's having right now. She wants to curse you out for sitting so close to your friend, she wants to show you how much she hates the fact that you make her feel this way. But she can't find the right words without her sounding like an obsessed madwoman.

But if she knew that's really all you want to hear, she'd probably say it without a second thought. You want her to show how much she wants you in words, but as proud and selfish as Natasha is, she might never say out loud how she really feels. "So... are you gonna say something or..." you say in a low tone, and seem to try to sink even deeper into the wall behind you when she takes a step forward. She's looking down at your exposed legs as she takes off the top of her suit before throwing it on top of the toilet. She's angry, and she knows that talking about it would be better, but she thinks it's easier to show it with actions. "I..." you swallow hard, feeling her delicate fingers brush over your thigh. "You... I thought you-."

"Shut up."

The words come in a whisper from her lips before you feel them on your neck. She wants to mark you, she needs to know that when others look at you, they'll know that you already have someone. Even knowing that you're not exclusively hers, she kinda feels that way, for her no one but her deserves to touch you, and it may be hypocritical of her to think that way when she literally has a wife, but she doesn't care. Her hand starts to move up between your legs as she moves her mouth to your sweet spot, sucking on your skin with the intention of leaving a mark there. It feels good, but then you remember the way she was looking at you and how something is bothering her, you would even try to talk but you never talk about anything when you're alone, and it's also hard to formulate words when she sucks so hard on your neck, throwing every possible shiver down your spine. "Nat-." you try to push her away realising what she's doing, but she just presses her body even harder against yours, moving her face to the other side of your neck.

Natasha closes her eyes as she works her lips on your skin, marking you without even caring if you would want this or not. She's just thinking about what she wants now, how obsessed she is with your body, and how she wants it to be full of marks made by her. She gets lost in the way your perfume invades all her senses, lifting her hand high enough to get it playing with the lace of your underwear. "I want you." she whispers softly against your neck, trying to tell herself that that's all it is, that she just wants you, not that she needs you. You have to close your eyes tightly as she sucks your skin hard, grinding lightly against your leg for you to feel how hard she already is for you. "Are you gonna let me play with you for a bit, hm?" you're already a mess before you nod, feeling her stop sucking the skin on your neck to just spread kisses, moving up to your jaw, to your cheek, until she pulls away to look into your eyes.

It's strange how her gaze can change so much from one moment to the next, and how each one of them makes you feel something different. You start to remember all the times she looked at you like this even before the first time you were together, and you wonder if she always looked at you with ulterior motives. You feel small around her, and you think that feeling of inferiority you have in relation to her will never go away, but that is not a problem for you either, you even like it.

Biting your bottom lip hard and looking down as she starts circling your clit through your underwear, being able to feel the way your wetness spreads over the fabric. You love the way she doesn't even have to look to know the right place to touch you, knowing that either way she's always gonna take a reaction from you. You don't want to take too long not to look suspicious, but you know you won't be able to stop yourself once she starts. You keep looking down, noticing the bulge that starts to appear in her pants, arching your back in anticipation, but then you feel her fingers squeezing your jaw, making you look at her again. "Eyes on me." she says, wanting you to see that the only one who can make you feel this way is her, she wants you to see the desire she has for you, knowing very well that you feel for her too.

She starts by slowly sliding the fabric of your underwear to the side before you finally feel her fingertip teasing your entrance. She groans at how wet you are, and that only makes you even more aroused. You exhale heavily as she rubs her finger across your slits a few times until reaches your clit, her cold fingertips bringing you to literally heaven. "I love how wet you always are for me." she admits, making slow movements while all you can do is just look into her eyes. She wants to tell you that she doesn't want to see you with anyone else but her, only her can make you feel this good, she also needs to hear you saying it, she needs to be sure of that, or else she'll start going crazy. "You're always so needy." she laughs dryly, putting more pressure and speed on your bundle of nerves. You press your lips together, resting your head against the wall behind you, finding it increasingly difficult to keep looking at her. "Tell me, can anyone else make you feel this way hm?"

You immediately shake your head from side to side, thinking she already knew the answer without even having to ask you. Like, who else could? She was your first, and right now you're not attracted to anyone but her. "Only you." you reply in a breathy voice, gripping her shoulder and unable to contain a moan when she surprises you by sliding two fingers inside you. It really feels like you'll never get used to it, the pleasurable pain whenever you have her inside you is a feeling you can never seem to get enough of. "Fuck Nat-." she lets go of your jaw to press her palm against your mouth, not waiting a second to start fucking her fingers fast into you.

"Shhh, don't make too much noise." even though she would love for everyone to hear how good she makes you feel, she knows the timing isn't the best for her to let that happen. "You'll be nice and quiet for me okay?" you just try to nod your head, the heat starting to build each second with her so close to you, and her fingers feeling so good in your cunt. The way your walls squeeze her fingers just makes Natasha even harder, something her wife can never do that easily. The only way she's been able to have sex with the woman she's been married to for four years is by thinking about you, she wasn't lying when she admitted it to you. And it's not like her sex life with her wife is very active, she always ends up just touching herself thinking about you, and how she didn't want you to be the only person she thinks about at times like that. But that's what happens, and she can't do anything to get you out of her head.

You whimper against her hand, moving your hips forward to match her movements. The way her pupils dilate when looking at you just makes you even more mesmerized by her green eyes, and how you think about them almost every hour of your day. She just really knows how to make you feel like you're in another planet by using literally anything, any way she touches you makes you feel inexplicable things. You feel her pumping her fingers into your cunt, and how her palm slams against your clit with her every movement. You want to move your hand from her shoulder and slide down her body until it stops at the bulge you can feel against your thigh, but instead you just dig your fingernails on her skin, the fire in your abdomen growing by the second with an embarrassing speed

Her cheeks are flushed as her gaze locks on the expressions you make for her, pushing her fingers inside you down to her knuckles. She keeps her movement fast, increasing the pressure of her hand against your mouth every time she senses you're about to moan loudly. "Fuck." she groans at the wet noises, wanting to be inside you so badly, wanting to ruin you like she always does. The Maestro feels her cock pulsing inside her pants, and it’s good but very uncomfortable at the same time, while you roll your eyes, feeling her curl her fingers upward, hitting your weakest spot and bringing you incredibly close to the edge.

“Fuck… I love your pussy.” she gasps and brings her face down to your neck again, leaving nothing but light kisses. “I just love how tight you are and how you clench around me… so fucking hot.” she presses her thumb against your clit as she continues to sink her fingers into you, smiling at the way your sounds are muffled by her hand.

It really takes moments for you to feel the bones in your body losing strength, the way her gaze burns into you leaving your head totally empty. "Hm- Nat-." you mutter against her hand, holding her wrist to slow her movements down a bit, but that's no use, you know if she wants to slow down, she's the one who's going to make the decision, and you're already so close that you actually don't really want her to stop now, your mind is just all blurred that you don't even know what you're doing anymore. It's even getting hard to breathe, but you try to hold it for a few more seconds, something that's practically impossible to do.

She decides to leave one last mark on your neck, flicking her tongue at your pulse point slowly. You're hers, that's what she means when she again pulls away, seeing the red and purple marks on your skin. “You look so beautiful like this.” she wants to push your hair back so she can see her work better, but instead she just keeps stifling your moans, pulling her fingers in and out of your pussy feeling your juices wetting most of her hand. “So fucking pretty for me detka.”

Natasha notices how you start breathing harder through your nose, squeezing her shoulder tightly and moving your hips forward. So she just keeps going until she feels like you're almost there, she feels the heat spreading through her body as it spreads into yours, but as soon as you're ready to come all around her fingers she quickly stops, leaving you totally frustrated and wanting more. She wants to laugh at your disappointed expression, knowing she can do whatever she wants to you, and in the end you'll still thank her for it. "Aww, did I ruin your fun baby?" she smiles, taking her hand away from your mouth, and you finally manage to take a deep breath, feeling her slowly slide her fingers out of your pussy. It's as if she intentionally wants to tease you when she roams her fingers through your folds, avoiding touching your clit as much as possible. She spreads your slits, teasing your entrance and watching as you try to move your hips to get more of her. "Sorry... it's just... I want to have a bit of fun too, you know?"

She looks at you with a pitying look, and when you realize she's going to walk away, you hold her by the shoulder, not wanting her to stop touching you. It just feels so good, and you're practically begging her to let you come. "Oh detka, you're so cute." she gives a sardonic chuckle, finally pulling her fingers away from you and leaving you completely craving for more. Your clit is throbbing, and the emptiness that remains is screaming to be filled again. Taking a few steps back she unbuttoned a few buttons of her white shirt before rolling up her sleeves. You're still leaning against the wall, breathing hard as you watch her lean against the sink. Your eyes get lost in the way only a bit of her chest is shown, and how her skin shines with sweat.

"Come here, why don't you help me with this hm?" she says as she grabs her cock over her pants, you follow the action with your eyes, seeing her fingers still glistening with your wetness. Natasha looks with pride at all the marks she left on you, wishing there were even more, she doesn't know where all this possessiveness came from, but she's not willing to change her mind about the fact that she thinks you're just hers. You flash an innocent smile before taking a few steps towards the Maestro — feeling like you could trip any second because of how your legs shake just from the bit of what she already gave you — replacing her hand with yours over the hard bulge.

She sighs and throws her head back when you gently squeeze her cock, playing with it a bit before moving to the zipper of her pants. Natasha just stares as you pull her shaft out, pressing your thumb into the tip and feeling her pre-cum wetting your fingertip. Her size feels even bigger when you close your hand around her thickness, your whole body reacts just by looking at it, and how much you love when she's using you to relieve herself. You're so needy because she didn't let you come seconds ago that you just want her to use you as soon as possible, you've stopped caring if people will think it's weird that you two disappeared out of nowhere, all you need now is her. When you're about to stroke her length, Natasha holds onto your wrist, and you don't have time to ask her what's wrong before she changes your positions, pressing your front against the sink, while standing behind you, moving the hem of your dress to the height of your hips.

You can see it in the mirror's reflection as she looks down at your body, and you try to prepare for what's about to come before you feel her entering you all at once. Maybe you'll never get used to her size, or maybe it's normal and it will still take time for you to be able to take it without feeling any pain. All you can do is grip the edge of the sink as you struggle to stay upright, feeling every inch of her stretching your cunt. "Oh fuck-." it comes out louder than you wanted, and as expected Natasha goes back to pressing her palm against your mouth while keeping her hips still, just feeling the way your walls tighten around her, and how good she feels inside you.

"Shhh, what the fuck did I ask you huh?" you whine quietly as she moves her hips back, only to move them forward again with a force that seems to make all the walls shake. You're just a squirming mess, not being able to look at her in the mirror's reflection as you feel her body heat burn you inside out. Your breath is already hitching by the time you feel your wetness run down your thighs, while Natasha stays still for a few seconds, before again letting just the tip inside your tight hole, this time using her hand to push your hips back, making you feel her cock entering you all at once again. You grunt against her mouth, but she wants to see you struggling to keep quiet, she wants to see you trying without her help. "I'm gonna put my hand down now okay? But you'll remain quiet, or else I'll have to stop."

She actually lowers her hand to your neck, tightening her fingers around your throat as she finally starts to move inside you. You have to concentrate really hard not to make any noise, gripping the edge of the sink so hard it feels like you're gonna break it at any moment. "Oh look at you." the Maestro says in a husky voice close to your ear, each time your hips meet making a loud noise echo in the bathroom. "You always take me so good, don't you?" her hand goes up a bit on your neck to make you look at her in the mirror's reflection, and you wish she hadn't, because now it just gets harder not to show with your voice how good she makes you feel.

As she looks at you, she remembers the way you were smiling at Kate, and how irritated it made her. She chokes you hard with that thought, as she thrusts deep inside you. She fucks you merciless, just wondering if you're ever gonna leave her for someone else, she squeezes her fingers tight around your throat like she doesn't want you to go anywhere but her arms. "You're only mine to use." she whispers more to her than to you, you're so focused on not screaming with pleasure, not releasing everything inside of you, that to you it's just another thing she says while she's so worked up, with no meaning behind it. "No one else can touch you like this, understand?" the words gets stuck in your throat as she doesn't ease her fingers around your neck, and as soon as you keep silent and don't answer her a loud smack noise invades your ears as you feel your skin burning from the slap she just gave you. It hurts, you never thought she'd really hit you like this, but it really felt better than you could ever imagine. "Do you understand?" she asks again, and you just nod your head, moving your hand up to her wrist to pull it away from your neck, not being able to breathe properly anymore.

It's no use, Natasha just uses even more force, making your vision completely blurred. “Hmmm fuck, you feel so good.” the way she pounds on you makes her shiver at the thought of you taking all of her thickness, how it's so easy to sink everything inside you because of how wet you are. She ends up gasping quietly, slowing down just to feel her sliding inside you, while you just dig your nails into her wrist, asking her to ease her fingers around your throat.

It works this time, at least, but then she switches between gripping your throat to wrapping the strands of your hair around her fingers, tugging hard. The maestro also has a hard time containing her moans, but unlike you, she manages to have more control over it. "Then you better not flirt with other people." now it's just jealousy talking, while Natasha rests her other hand next to yours on the edge of the sink. You don't know whether to focus on how good her cock feels abusing your cunt, the words coming out of her mouth, or how painful is the way she pulls your hair. "You don't want them to know what a slut you are, do you?"

"N-no." you look at yourself in the mirror, and at how your cheeks are smeared by the mascara that runs down your face along with the tears. You also see all the marks she left on your neck, and how ironic it is that she tells you not to show what a slut you are when she makes that obvious to everyone by marking you like that. You feel embarrassed about your state, but even more embarrassed about how close you are. Walls fluttering around her cock, which slips in and out of you with ease. You two are so lost in your feelings that you don't hear Natasha's phone ringing, so focused on your own pleasure that you don't even realize that enough time has passed for them to serve dinner. "Fuck, don't stop, please." you say in a breathy voice, the relief washing over your body when Natasha finally lets go of your hair. You feel her hot breath against your ear as she guides your hand to your own sex, pressing your fingers against your clit, and encouraging you to play with it.

You sloppily try to rub your nerve, feeling like every moment you could collapse with the way her thickness slides through your walls, but after a few tries your hand stops, unable to continue because of the way her cock makes you feel. That also causes the Maestro to stop, and you see the evil smile on her face and how she looks so innocently at you at the same time. "Go ahead, keep going." she asks you gently, her dick twitching inside you as she does her best to keep still. She lets out a shaking breath while resting her forehead on your shoulder for just a few seconds before looking back at you, waiting for you to do as she asked to get back to using you the way she wants. You take time, but also wanting her to fuck you again the way she was doing, you end up sighing heavily, clenching your jaw while you go back to stimulating yourself. It's hard to do though, but even so you make circular movements on your clit, even feeling sensitive you keep going, moving your hips to try to relieve yourself on her.

You thank the universe as she slowly moves inside you again, and you realize she's mimicking your slow rhythm, and you hate yourself for not being able to increase the speed. "Really?" she mocks you, smiling as she looks at you through the reflection. "Gosh, what a pathetic slut you are, don't even know how to touch yourself." she takes your hand again, but this time to press it against your lower back. Even if she wanted to tease you a little longer she wouldn't be able to, so she just pounds back into you hard, sinking her entire length with no care at all.

"Fuck... I bet you can at least come, can't you?" you nod frantically, feeling your body slam against the sink with every thrust she takes inside you. You try to move away a little by the way it hurts to feel your body colliding with the furniture every moment, but Natasha holds you tighter forcing you to stay still. "Yeah of course you can, just a needy fucking whore aren't ya?" you agree with her, didn't even know you get so turned on by those kinds of names until she started calling you by them, and especially now this is just the last straw for you to feel the climax building.

"Please..." you beg her with your eyes, finding it the hardest task of all to hold on for one more second because of the way she fucks you so hard, and for the Maestro is no different, she feels the first drops of her cum starting to release inside if you, and that encourages her to keep going. “Please Nat-.”

"Please what?" she purposely breathes heavily into your ear, feeling the way your walls spasm and contract around her dick, and how she knows she won't last much longer either. "Do you wanna come?" you nod, muscles tensing unbearably. "Fuck baby... want me to come with you hm? Want me to breed your pussy so good? Fill you up with my cum?" you just keep nodding over and over again before the orgasm slams against your body, Natasha following you right after and emptying herself inside you. “Fuck… that’s it baby.” you feel all the strength you had in your legs fading away, and the only way you find to stay on your feet is the way she holds you. She bites your shoulder to stop her moaning too loudly and you also have to control yourself not to make any noise. You feel it until her last load is released into your pussy, and how she just stands there for long seconds trying to pull herself together.

“You’re always so good to me, you did so good baby.” she praises you, slowly moving inside you, fucking every last drop of her cum inside your pussy. You feel like something is burning between your legs as she stops completely inside you, breathing heavily against the curve of your neck.

When the two of you finally come off the peak you take a moment to return to your normal breathing as you feel the discomfort that is when Natasha pulls out, her cum dripping down your thighs as she fixes your underwear and drags the hem of your dress down. She looks into your eyes through the mirror, and then gently cups your chin to turn your face to the side. "I'm the only one who can make you feel like this" you feel her breath hitting your lips, and how close her face is to yours. "You'll never let anyone touch you like that, only I can do it." it's not a question, more of a warning, and you as usual just nod whatever she says as you lower your gaze to her lips. You always think how soft they must be, and how good it must be to kiss them, and Natasha notices the way you tilt your face even further, making your lips just inches apart, and with that just completely pulls away from you. "Fix your makeup."

You take a deep breath, coming back to reality, wetting your hands with the water from the sink to clean your mascara-smeared face. You look at her in the mirror's reflection, and see the way she also fixes the wrinkles in her clothes, sighing heavily as she looks at the ceiling. You wanted to know what she thinks after you guys have sex, and why she never wants to talk to you properly after that. For you it’s something really complicated, but for Natasha it's an easy answer, she doesn't want to get attached. You also have to get some paper towels to wipe the mess on your thighs, while the Maestro just puts her suit top back on, and close her shirt buttons. You place your hand on your hip bone, feeling the sore area from the way it kept hitting against the sink, and think of all the bruises it could leave the next day. "Fuck." she murmurs looking at her phone screen once she finishes looking presentable. "Uhm... you need to go."

"I'm sorry?" you turn to face her, finishing arranging a few strands of your hair.

"They started serving dinner a few minutes ago, you should go, it will be suspicious if we show up together." she speaks casually, tucking her phone back into her pants pocket.

"But I... Nat I'm hungry and... Kate was gonna give me a ride back home." she rolls her eyes when you mention your friend's name, while you tell the truth, you were waiting all night for this dinner, having sex in the bathroom of a stranger's house really wasn't in your plans, but now you don't want to go before at least eating something. "You can go ahead, I'll wait a while and-."

"No." she interrupts you. "You can eat at home, take a taxi or something." she's trying not to sound too insensitive, she really doesn't mean to. But between letting you stay and maybe ruin her career and sending you home, she prefers the second option. "What do you need? Money?" she sighs heavily and impatiently, pulling her wallet out of her pocket and scoffing in disbelief when she notices that the only thing she has is a $100 bill. "Here."

“Natasha…” you stare at the bill she holds out to you, refusing to take it. “I can't I-.”

“Gosh just take it.” she grabs your wrist, and places the bill in your hand before tucking the wallet back into her pocket. She sees the expression on your face, and how hurt you look about it, but she can't throw years of career in the trash. “Look… I'm sorry okay? But I really need to go now, just make sure no one sees you when you're leaving… you… baby… you're a mess.” she moves closer to you to adjust the hem of your dress which is still way above your thighs, before lightly caressing your cheek with her knuckles. “Just, text me when you get home, right?”

You don't look at her before you hear the door close, you just play with the piece of paper in your hands. It's like every time she gets what she wants, you just become her apprentice again, not someone she shares such intimate moments with. But at the same time she makes you feel so important that you’re starting to accept this kind of relationship that you two have. Even deep down what you really wanted is for her to look at you the same way you look at her.

taglist: @eliii1sblog @florojas @wannabe-fic-reader @supaheroine @kksalexa @madelineleong @chibilauren @smromanoff @chiar4anna @cl-e @wifeofnatasharomanoff @ccinnamongrl

#my pianist series #wlw #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha #natasha romanoff x fem reader #marvel fanfic #natasha romanoff fanfic #wlw smut #istg if it flops……..

2K notes · View notes

bakugoushotwife · 1 year ago

Text

kinktober day nineteen: hate sex

>>> i’m really taking some liberties with this prompt LMFAOOOOO listen. y’all should just be thanking me this wasn’t a gojo kinktober. leave me be. also this is the first piece since my laptop kicked the bucket so PLEASE ignore the UGLY formatting i will fix it as soon as i get a new laptop.

>>> starring: satoru gojo x curvy!f!reader >>> cw: ghostie gojo jdjdfkgk, bestie nanami, uhh spankings, choking, doggy, prone bone, cream pie, pet names (sweetheart) and mean names (dickhead, asshole) >>> wc: 4.5k >>> event masterlist

everything was perfect. he was a great partner despite all the people that warned you that the special grade sorcerer was incapable of it. he was wonderful and sweet and considerate, even. he brought you lunch at work and took you on wonderfully lavish dates. he texted you constantly and showered you with gifts. you had only been together for a few months, though almost a year of history had led you here. you were happy, proving everyone who doubted your relationship wrong. until you realized that they were only trying to keep you from this reality.

“i love you, you know.” you told him, swinging your intertwined hands between you as he walked you home. this was a truth you’ve known since the relationship was too fresh to say such things, but a truth nonetheless. he hid it well in the moment, but that was the death sentence to a man like satoru gojo. he knew it was only a matter of time—yet his heart stopped in his chest, turning to steel before falling out of his ass. but he made sure his smile never faltered.

“oh yeah? i’ll add you to the list.” he chuckled, poking your side to make you laugh at the stupid taunt. it worked well enough, you didn’t seem to catch on to his avoidance. you didn’t chastise him for not saying it back, at least.

he walked you to your front door like normal. he gave you a goodbye and goodnight kiss like normal, he even smiled so genuinely and told you he’d call you in the morning—just like normal.

but when morning came, his call didn’t. no big deal, you thought, he’s a very busy man. once he gets some free time, he’ll call. but hours pass, and you don’t get so much as a text to apologize or let you know he was going to be late. you keep staring at his contact, debating whether or not you should bother or not for an hour or so. but a text couldn’t be too distracting, so you type something up.

‘good morning! or afternoon now, lol–i missed ur call, i hope ur having a good day!! call me when you can xx’

it doesn’t deliver. you furrow your brows and try it again, but it still doesn’t go through. you move to a different area of your house, thinking it was spotty reception in your bedroom. you try to send the text again—but it still doesn’t send. you try to call, your heart now pounding in your ears. something must have malfunctioned, right? after all your years as friends and these brief months exploring more—he wouldn’t just block you, right?

the phone call doesn’t ring, just an automated voice telling you that that the call couldn’t be completed as dialed. he blocked you. without so much as a hint to why. everything was perfect last night, he was all smiles and laughter, what could have changed? you want to call the only mutual connection you have—ieiri shoko—but decide it’s best not to involve her in the matter between two of her friends. it’s not tasteful and if there’s any chance of this being a misunderstanding, then taking it to your friends is the last thing you want to do. you could maybe ask nanami for advice at work in the morning—you wouldn’t go so far as to call them friends, but he’s how you met the strongest man alive. so he has to have some tips! yes, you’ll talk to nanami about it first thing tomorrow.

talk his ear off about it is more apt if you ask the grade one who merely dabbles in business work. he tried to be polite and listen to the tale—but your first mistake was in dealing with gojo in the first place. there was no advice in the world to fix that amount of stupid, especially if you were looking to get him back. but nanami catches the issue as soon as you recount the tale of your last conversation with the special grade.

“you told him that you love him?” he clarified with a raised brow. based on the judgment that flashes in his eyes, you know that was the wrong move. you huff in frustration.

“you introduced me to him—why would you set me up like this nanakun??” you pout, angrily folding your arms over one another. it’s a shitty attempt to take the heat off yourself, and nanami can appreciate it.

“hardly. he shoved his way in my office and you happened to be in there already.” he rolls his eyes. trust him, he did not want to see more of gojo—and dating his workplace’s secretary only meant that the annoying presence followed him even here. “i strongly advised against it. i knew we would end up here.”

you shoot him a glance, but his unamused face remains unchanging. you ignored everyone’s warnings, choosing the results he was giving you as reason enough for them to be wrong. did he enjoy leading you on and wasting his time? what was the game in all this?

“you shouldn’t have gone after him at all. but you definitely shouldn’t have told him you love him first.” nanami nearly seemed horrified. or what you imagined he would look like when horrified, eyes slightly widened and jaw dropped partially.

you bite the inside of your cheek. you didn’t think it would be that big of a deal. maybe it’s because you knew how you felt for so long. maybe it was just because satoru put you at ease—none of the reasons matter now.

“it’s hard for him to do serious. love is as serious as it gets.” nanami sighs wistfully. you were a nice girl who didn’t deserve to be another name on the list of hearts broken by satoru gojo. for your own good, you should forget all about him and sorcerers as a whole. you would be much better off. but something about that look on your face paired with the fact that he knows satoru has never been happier in his miserable existence makes nanami sigh. “he’s just afraid of committing. the only person he ever loved just up and left him one day. so just…try to let him go. let him come back if he wants—if you want. maybe then he’ll be ready.”

your heart warms at your friend’s words. it was clear he couldn’t care less if things worked out or not, but he wanted you to feel better. you smile softly at his words, “thank you nanakun, i’ll try to…let him go.”

you think you did a pretty good job of that. as time went on, you think you even managed to convince yourself you didn’t want him back at all. if he could just flake out on you—look you in the face and lie—you didn’t want him. no matter how sexy and sweet and strong he was, trust is the most important thing. you keep your head down and work hard, catching up with nanami and learning any updates on your sorcerer that way.

apparently he was casually dating around, but nothing nearly as serious as you. he made sure of that. he hadn’t heard an ‘i love you’ in years, and while he may have thought it at different times throughout the past couple of dates you’ve been on, he hadn’t said it. even thinking it was bad enough. that meant you held an unimaginable and concerning amount of power over him. that meant you could crush his soul into a million pieces. that meant you could ruin him—and he can’t go through that again. the possibility of handing himself over to deep and passionate love was beautiful in theory but terrifying in practice, and the thought of giving in just to lose a second time were odds he just wasn’t willing to gamble with.

so he did it first. if he broke your heart you couldn’t break his.

so why does he feel so bad? so empty? every pretty girl he carted around after that was a weak competitor. they were nice enough, but so shallow and boring—they treated him like everyone else. you were special. you treated him like a person. someone with feelings and dreams and regrets. you asked him questions. real questions that made him think about real answers, nothing surface level like his favorite color or movie. you wanted to know him. and he let you learn just some of his darkest days and you told him you love him anyway. and he ran away from you. goddamn. he’s his own worst enemy.

he shows up with flowers one day, six weeks after you’ve broken up—or he dumped you. it was a normal day until then, but it certainly wouldn’t be after. it was laughably large bouquet, it almost looked like he was struggling to hold it all. your eyes must look like two full moons based off of his amused yet apologetic smile. you have to make yourself stop your smile before it spreads.

“hi…” he said nervously, shifting his weight foot to foot. he messed up—how could he make up for it? “i was wondering—“

“leave.” your shaky voice manages to croak out, quickly looking down at your paperwork. you had to avoid his stare, surely he would figure you all out if he looked deep enough. nanami said to make him work for it.

“flowers aren’t your thing, huh?” he seems undeterred—in fact, he seems emboldened by your reaction. “that’s fine. i’ll leave them here…” he styles them on your desk, sweeping your stapler and pencil sharpener and organizers to the side to accommodate the large vase. you watch him carelessly move things about, forcing you to accept his gift.

“you’re annoying.” you groan, though the flowers are gorgeous. they’re the same kinds you pointed to when you went on a nature walk one time—something he swore he was going to hate but ended up being one of his favorite outings with you. you seemed to have that effect on him.

“i know! one of my better qualities, i think.” he hums happily, chlorinated pools of crystal blue stare at you over the lenses of his casual sunglasses. he traded in the blindfold in hopes of winning you back—he wasn’t above playing dirty, even if he was the reason he had to play at all.

“as opposed to? ghosting?” you raise your brow. he sighs. he doesn’t know what he expected. he knew you wouldn’t fall right back into his arms, but that biting look in your eye makes him wonder if he’s messed things up beyond repair. either way, he won’t go down without a fight.

“yes—that’s one of the bad ones.” he scrunches his nose in distaste. he bends at the waist to lean his elbows on your desk, propping his face up in his hands. “look sweetheart—“

you scoff, leaning back in your office chair with something akin to amusement. you fold your arms over your chest and arch your brow, and even though you are absolutely pissed, you still manage to make his heart skip a beat. “don’t call me that, you fucked me up. or does that it make you happier?”

“you think i’m bringing you flowers for my health or something? i’m trying to apologize!” he whines, tugging a lone flower out of the bouquet and extending it toward you. “i’m an asshole, i know, and i don’t deserve to call you sweetheart—“

“i don’t accept.” you tilt your nose in the air. he swears he can see the hint of a smirk on your lips, and he sighs. you hold the power yet again, but this time he’s going to allow it.

“what can i do to make it up to you? it was a mistake..i see that now.” he frowns, looking down at the pale pink petals brushing against his fingers.

“mm, yeah? i’m sure fucking a bunch of other women helped clear that up.” you look at the flower in his hand too, examining the brightness, the absolute perfection of the petals. it almost withers with the man holding it.

“wh-what?” he blinked rapidly. he hadn’t had sex with anyone—god no, he can’t do fleeting connections, and in his heart of hearts he knew that none of them would fill the void you left behind. but your jealousy…now that he could use. “aw, baby, just say you missed me. i could clear up some things for you too.”

you snarl at the insinuation, even more annoyed that he didn’t deny romping around with other women after dropping you like it was nothing.

“i’m sure you wish you could, baby, but i’m not sloppy seconds.” you take the flower and snap the stem, tossing it on your desk without second thought. he pouts at the gesture, deciding that words were no use on you, he hums. he knows how to handle this.

“no, but you are more delicious the second time.” he sings, and you get up from your desk in frustration. he was so irritating. did he think that he could just disappear on you like that and you’d just forgive him like nothing? you huff up at him, gathering all your stuff and shoving it into your office bag. nanami watches from the stairs—and he’s proud that you’re making gojo work for it, at least.

you stomp out of the office building with all the theatrics at your disposal, and it only makes satoru smirk as he walks after you. god you want him so bad, he thinks. he catches the office door before you can slam it closed behind you, sliding his palm across the wooden panels with a suave coolness. it’s like he has the situation completely under control, strolling leisurely after the little lady stomping and yelling at him over her shoulder. he knows he fucked up, and if you wanted to blast him through the city on your route home, then he’d smile and walk dumbly after you.

your heart was racing. he was still following you—and you knew if he cornered you alone, there would be no denying him. your brain was fighting hard enough to deny him back in the office already. your blood is boiling. why do you want him back so bad? he left you—is sleeping with other women, even, and you're letting him tail you to your house. you shut the door on him, but he just teleports into your living room anyways. you give him a look—not sure what else to say. ordering him out would be futile—as you didn’t want him to and he clearly wouldn’t obey.

he’s smug, sitting on your couch with one long leg crossed over the other one, his arm stretched across the back of the couch like he’s just waiting to put it around you. he stares at you knowingly, but that smirk is driving you insane.

“stop looking at me like that—and get out of my house.” you try meekly, at least you could say you could. your eyes narrow at his unmoving form and he can’t help but chuckle a little bit.

“you’re trying so hard to be mad at me, sweetheart.” he hums, arching a brow in amusement. he bats those long white eyelashes at you like he’s just ready for you to admit the truth and come crumble in his lap.

“i’m pissed, not trying that hard at all.” you scoff and shake your head, tossing your bag on the floor so that you may properly cross your arms at him. “you lied to my face, ghosted me, and now you’re acting like i’m being ridiculous for not accepting your flowers and taking you back?”

he shakes his head, a little nonchalant frown on his face. “you aren’t ridiculous for that—“ he stands and makes his way to you, not even bothering to hide the way he eyes you up and down. “you’re ridiculous for pretending you don’t want to. i could make this allll better if you’d just let me, sweetheart.”

his breath is as icy as his eyes when he leans down, brow arched like he’s asking a question. he is, you realize, he wants to know if you’ll let him.

“i never really slept with anyone, sweetheart. promise. was just trying to get you off my mind. didn’t work—made everything worse, actually. i got what i deserved.” he sighs softly, noting the hesitation on your face but the want in your eyes. he reaches a tentative hand to your face, giving you a soft smile when you let him touch you. “i’m sorry…you’re all i can think about. i just got nervous—i’m so stupid. beyond stupid—“

you smash your lips onto his to keep him from yapping. all he had to do was apologize. really apologize and mean it—but you would still punish him for walking away. you would make sure he could never do it again, lest he’ll never be able to get you out of his head even in death.

his hands grab at your dress, pulling you against his body in one fluid motion. the kiss changes moods entirely. the room feels like it’s buzzing now, his passion felt through the way he moves. he slides over your ass, kneading and fisting the fat with a groan into your mouth. you step into him, backing him to the couch. he grins against your lips like always—his kiss was warm and apologetic, lips hurriedly slotting over yours in an effort to make up for his transgressions.

he falls into a seat, pulling you into his lap with him. he sees your plan, and won’t go down without a fight. he promised to straighten you out after all. but letting you think you’re in charge was adorable, so he didn’t mind to indulge in it. you push his chest back with your own, grabbing his chin in your hand roughly. his back hits the couch and he can’t hold back his little giggle as his hands follow the paths of your body, though a satisfied hum follows at the feeling.

“you are sorry—a sorry piece of shit.” you huff, repeatedly kissing him over and over with all the anger you’ve been pinning up for the past few weeks without him. he grunts lowly, opening his mouth to invite you deeper. you take his willingness as a gift, plunging your tongue in his mouth and making sure yours stays in control. he tastes like honey and cinnamon, and it was a taste you missed more than you let yourself believe.

“pieces of shit must be your type though.” he sasses, standing up with you on his lap. he knows where your room is based on his extensive stays over, it’s nearly muscle memory for him to kick your door open with the point of his shoe, smiling up at you like no time had passed —like no bad blood had resulted from it. he throws you down like you weigh nothing, though he takes a seat on the side. upon hearing you gasp at his words, he scoffs and shakes his head. “don’t even think about it. i’ll fuck it out of you anyway.”

you can’t deny the way your body tingles and warms at his command. he’s usually soft and sweet, just rough enough to satisfy any cravings of yours—but he never struck obedience into your soul. your mouth closes, and he chuckles a little bit at your change. “that’s better. now if you wanna keep poppin’ off with attitude, i’ll get nasty instead of the sweet apology i planned for you.”

you roll your eyes, he was testing it. “don’t tempt me—“ you huff, a little annoyed at how easily your body gives up. you didn’t want to give him the ego boost of obedience, so you give him the attitude requested. “you messed up—i’ll talk to you however I want—“

he sighs and tugs at you, pulling your body at will. he splays you across his lap—long legs hanging over the edge of your bed. your dress is shoved up over your ass, and the tiny string of your thong is drawn back and snapped against the flesh. it makes you squeal a little in surprise, but you would be lying to say you didn’t want more.

“oh i’m a piece of shit, who are these for, nyeh?” he flicks your panties again, the sensation a small pleasurable sting.

“you dumped me—they’re for whoever i want.” you huff at him, even if his jealousy makes your heart warm. he slaps the fat of your ass lightly, humming at the way you jolt.

“yeah?” he smacks your other side, “i didn’t fuck anybody though. knew i needed you.” he spanks the same spot, the sting intensifies so wonderfully and makes your head spin. you can’t help the little moans that leave you with every slap.

“didn’t fuck anybody either, dickhead.” you pant, tossing him a glare over your shoulder. his free hand comes to grab your throat, sinewy warm and soft fingers wrap around your column with a tight grip—though not enough to restrict any airflow, of course. his cock stabs into your side at the sight. he grins brightly, almost sadistic in nature.

“you’re silly.” he hums, squeezing your throat until your eyes cross a little. he hums at you, the vision enough to make him painfully hard, but he always knows when to let up. he slaps your ass in conjunction with his little squeeze. he knows how to keep your eyes on him— repeatedly shaking his head, like he disapproves of you. “so pretty though. but mouthy.” he tsks, giving you a punishing spank to your tender skin. he hums pleasantly at the way your skin breaks a little, his red handprints making their way to the surface. “can’t even accept an apology. what do you want me to do, sweetheart?”

you can’t deny the wetness pooling in that skimpy thong. the stinging through your ass only makes your brain fog worsen, need was the only thing on your mind. he was so strong and sexy, and he was trying to make it up to you. you suppose you could…hear him out. that didn’t mean you were back together.

“fuck me—i’ll make my decision based on your performance.” you purr in his lap, wiggling your branded ass. he groans, you’re going to tease when you look like this? he woulda proposed if you asked him to if it meant you were all his again. commitment didn’t scare him so much anymore. you were as angry as ever and you still smiled when you saw him. you still let him follow you back home to plead his case. even if you didn’t have much a choice, you hardly even put up a fight. and he knew what that meant: you weren’t nearly as angry as you were trying to be.

“oh i’ll fuck you, sweetheart. let’s see if you can take it.” he hums so innocently, scooting you off his lap and onto all fours. he slides your thong to the side, laughing giddily at the sight of your soaking cunt. you definitely weren’t as mad as you were trying to be. “god look at this ocean—i almost feel bad for ya. trying to be such a meanie t’me when i’m the only one that can make it better.”

he wrestles with his pants, pushing them to his knees with haste. precious time was ticking, and stripping completely was a waste of it. he nearly sighs in relief when he frees himself, pumping his length fluidly. you whine at the time it’s taking him to fuck you, wiggling your cute rear and huffing.

“takin’ too long—“ you can’t finish your sentence before you cry out, his cock splitting you open just as you asked for. your walls felt like coming home, and every squeeze you give him was like a warm hug. he can’t believe he denied himself this for weeks just because you said something he’d been dying to hear from someone who meant it his entire life.

“better?” he asks, using your plush hips as his handlebars. this was why you would never be able to move on from him no matter the advice and warnings and every sign in the world telling you ‘no satoru gojo!’ he was just too good, he knew you all too well and your body craved and needed him like water. he fit in your cunt like he was built to, every pump of his cock left you gripping the sheets in an effort to hold yourself up, which you can only do for a few more seconds. “what, too hard? i thought you wanted to be fucked, little one?”

you’re stuck in a silent scream, unable to answer him. you feel like you can feel him in your lungs, his hips absolutely bullying yours. he admires your deep arch even though you’ve fallen forward, your ass rippling into his pubic hair so perfectly he had to reward you with some grunts and groans of his own. he lays over your back, cooing his praises in your ear.

“there she goes, now she’s taking good dick. can’t believe you almost wasted a thong like this— good thing i stay around, yeah?” he shoves your forward just a bit, off his cock and face first into your pillows. you whine at the loss, but he flattens your legs and sits on top of them—squeezing his cock between your thighs and ass, guiding his dick back in. you mewl at the new sensation. how could he possibly be deeper? “awww, that’s a good girl. letting me fuck ya like i hate ya when i’m just trying to prove that i love you too.”

you clench when he says it, moans intensifying as he uses you in this new position. he smirks, you’re adorable. laying there screaming for him with a gorgeously painted ass and a perfect body taking all the force behind his thrusts. “you still love me, sweetheart?”

you nod eagerly, your moans borderline animalistic. “yes—fuck, yes i do, i love you satoru!” you feel him so deeply in your stomach that you can’t keep holding back. it felt like a rubber band snapped as you squeeze around him and cover him with your essence. he keeps going, eyes trained on your recoil and the white ring you left at the base of his cock. your confirmation only drives him crazier, your limp body beneath him taking his increased pace like a champ—little overstimulated moans the only sound he can hear.

“gonna cum in this pretty pussy to show you how much i love you.” he groans, picking your body up in one strong arm to hold you down on his cock. you feel the rush of heat and shudder, the fact he was willing to deal with the consequences of cumming inside alone made you want more of him—until he couldn’t cum anymore. he holds you up, luckily enough— you wouldn’t be able to do it yourself—and places soft kisses to your neck. he hums, enjoying the taste of your skin slightly sweaty and warm from his love. he stays inside you, he can’t bring himself to move just yet, but he sighs in content.

“so…we back together?”

#jjk x reader #gojo x reader #kyleewritesjjk #Kylee’s kinktober event #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut

416 notes · View notes

gatitties · 1 year ago

Note

Hiii! Can I please get a s/o who has a big butt, but she’s naturally oblivious about it unless she’s in battle? Like she knows her butt is big but she doesn’t know it’s THAT big, (p.s.: she likes wearing wearing regular shorts!)

─Strawhats, Heart Pirates & Kid Pirates x fem!reader

─Summary: you have a big ass, nothing more, nothing less

─Warnings: none

This is so unserious lol, sorry 🤣 oh and I assumed this would be for one piece bc of your profile since you didn't give any further indication 😅

─ Everyone knows it, you are semi-conscious, it's not a big secret that you have more meat on your buttocks, it's obvious just like Zoro's tits are bigger than Nami's or Robin's.

─ It's not something that affects the rest since it's something normal, they are used to it, however you can get different types of reactions from other parties.

─ You're a total distraction to the most shameless people, but at least you can hit them for being distracted.

─ And you'll just make the situation worse if you wear those jeans, you didn't know the power that 'mom' jeans have over some people.

─ Seriously, you wouldn't think it was that exaggerated, you are aware of your body but not to that level, you could really kill someone if you fell on your ass on that person.

─ Sanji probably made some comment about that before…

─ You'll have to hit Brook more than once so he doesn't bother you with your underwear, he's more persistent with you because he wants to know what size you wear.

─ Nami will hit your butt when you're off guard, you know, girly things, you'll have time to hit it back when she's focused on working with her oranges.

─ Once you played guess who and Luffy put a pillow on his butt to imitate you.

─ They try not to look seriously, but Shachi and Penguin's eyes go away accidentally, you don't blame them, you look at the butt of every person you meet, the problem is that yours is not small by any means.

─ Law will probably scold them just like Bepo because doing that is impolite, but his eyes will also take a look, it's okay Ikkaku will be the one to hit them.

─ You are still a distraction for the most morbid people when you wear those tight jeans, Law probably uses you to distract enemies on more than one occasion without you knowing.

─ He also gives you scientific proof that you could suffocate someone with that.

─ And you tried it on your next mission, yeah, you killed someone with your buttocks.

─ You were more aware of the power you carried, whether hypnotically or as an oxygen-depriving weapon, you were a complete danger.

─ Sometimes you have competitions over offensive comments with Shachi and Penguin and they are definitely using your trunk as insult artillery.

─ You get a lot of praise from Ikkaku and comments that you should share some ass for her.

─ Bepo uses it as pillows, please.

─ It's not a mystery, it's something shouted out loud and admired here.

─ Get ready because if you weren't aware of the size of your ass you will be after spending half a day on this crew.

─ No one wants to offend you, far from it, but they will let you know that you have a couple of generous weapons with you.

─ You won't be saved from the stares, but you also have eyes and you observe too…

─ In fact you have a podium for the best ass of the crew and you and Killer always compete for first place.

─ They definitely use you as a distraction for the nastier guys, but they'll be the ones who take the worst beatings.

─ You will also receive a lot of praise from Heat and Wire, they look like two proud moms seeing how you are not ashamed of your body and you continue wearing those pants that enhance your figure even more.

─ You and Kid have a little competition about who hits the other's ass the hardest and you go completely wild.

─ You've suffocated more than one person and the others time it to know what your best time is.

#op #one piece #one piece x reader #reader insert #fem reader #request #sfw #crack fic #strawhats #heart pirates #kid pirates #strawhats x reader #heart pirates x reader #kis pirates x reader #kid #law #luffy

421 notes · View notes

ughgoaway · 1 year ago

Text

playing on my mind

content warnings: swearing, referring to Matty as tall (look we all lie for plot purposes okay), dilf Matty and rushed writing... i think that's it? word count- 3.3k ish

a/n: woah this was quick but I am nothing if not impulsive!! this is just a one-shot but if y'all want a series I might do one?? idk it depends on how inspired I am lol. but yes this is just my little blurb-thing from yesterday fleshed out into an actual story!! I'm so glad people liked the idea, I hope this doesn't disappoint <333

(I didn't proofread this so I apologise if its utterly shit </3)

“And off you go! If you need your pencils sharpened or help, make sure you raise your hand! I’ll come to see you!” You say to the group of 30 little balls of energy in front of you. 60 eyes looking up at you might seem intimidating to most, but when it's a hyperactive group of 5-year-olds; the fear wears off slightly.

It was family tree week in your classroom, and you had given your little ones the usual task of drawing their family, each set up with pieces of paper and various pencils and pens to create their masterpieces. Seeing them smile and talk about their older sisters and brothers or how much they love their parents always warmed your heart.

You originally got into teaching with every intention of working with teenagers. You were sure you shouldn't be moulding such young minds - you were never sure your mind was a very good example. But one test week in a year 1 classroom changed your outlook entirely. Seeing the pure, unadulterated joy on a young child's face was something beyond comparison.

Getting to watch them grow and develop into little people brought you so much happiness that it could never compare to standing in front of a group of grumpy teenagers. Each teen boy clearly trying to get you over to their desk to “flirt” with you, well as much firting as a 15-year-old boy can do.

Seeing a child come out of their shell, make friendships, and discover their passions made your heart warm in a way nothing else did. So as soon as you qualified you jumped at the opportunity to teach these little ones, this class might be your first but you are sure it will always be your favourite.

And of course, despite what every teacher tells you, they have a favourite student. You were adamant when you began that you really wouldn't have a favourite but then little Annie Healy came bounding into your classroom with a mop of curly hair, untamable energy and the cutest slightly wonky smile you've ever seen.

She very quickly stole your heart, always wanting to tell you stories and going off on tangents rather quickly, organising tea parties but soon getting distracted leaving you at a small table surrounded by teddy bears giving a toast. Her little body seemed to be filled with enough energy to power the world 3 times over, and you couldn't love her anymore. The idea that she would be leaving your class broke your heart every time you thought about it, despite people telling you not to get attached - you did,

You had just settled at your desk after explaining for the 4th time to Zach that sticking pencils up our noses isn't a very good idea. You ended up telling him if he pushed too far, he'd touch his brain, and soon after that, the pencils stayed firmly in his hand rather than up any nose. If any student was the problem child, it was him. You couldn't hate any student, but let's just say he's given you one too many impromptu haircuts this year to be in line for your favourite.

Soon your real favourite student stuck her arm into the air and wiggled it around in an attempt to get you to see her sooner, little Annie Healy was ever impatient- a trait that is only endearing on her. You quickly nodded and started wandering over, trying not to laugh at her large toothy grin back at you.

“Hi sweetheart, do you need some help?” you say, crouching down to her eye level, flashing a sweet smile.

“Hi miss y/n!” she began, her eyes flittering around your face before landing on your hair, and soon, her hands were stroking your head.

“Wow! I like your hair! It's got sparkly clips in it! You know I asked my daddy for some like that, and he said-” you gently placed a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to stop the tangent before it started. You knew she'd somehow end up keeping you there for 20 minutes, giving you a detailed list of all of her Barbie dolls and their jobs if you didn't redirect her quickly enough.

“Thank you, Annie! I saw your arm wiggling in the air earlier. Did you need some help?” her eyes light up as she remembered why she called you over here.

“Oh! Yeah, I want to write what's in my daddy’s hands, but I don't know how to spell it. Will you help me?” she says, bringing her attention back to her drawing and grabbing the black pencil to continue her work. It's the first time you actually looked at her drawing, and to say you were concerned would be an understatement.

Most drawings of family consist of the same basic elements; a mum, a dad, a sun in the corner, and a house that is wildly disproportionate to everything else.

So imagine your surprise when you look down to see 4 men in what seems to be leather jackets, holding various musical instruments, and a very tall dog next to them.

You blink a few times. Just checking what you're seeing is right. The lineup starts with a tall man holding a guitar, next to a slightly shorter man also holding a guitar with a mess of black scribbles on his head. Next up is a very tall man with drumsticks in his hands and a kit behind him, and finally another very tall man with a beard and a bass. The concern briefly melts away as you consider how impressive it is she knows the difference. In the bottom left corner is a black dog with very long legs and a big pink tongue sticking out, the dog was almost as tall as the first man but you're aware kids aren’t known for their skill with proportion.

No one had prepared you for this in teaching school, there was never a lecture about what to do if one of your kids does a mildly troubling family drawing of 4 men in leather jackets and a horse dog. You try to stutter a response to Annie, but no real words are leaving your mouth. Just a jumble of sounds, each one sounding more confused and stressed than the last.

You flash a look at her only to be met with a confused head tilt and sad eyes. Oh god. She thought you hated her drawing. Shit.

Time for damage control.

You make the decision then and there not to ask her about the details of her drawing, desperately trying not to make her cry.

Maybe you could go and see her mum in the playground? Yes, that's what you'll do. You'll walk her out, have a brief discussion with Mum, and make sure Annie knows her family isn't 4 men in a band and then leave her be. That sounds like the professional thing to do.

You take a deep breath and smile at Annie, and soon her downturned lips flashed that cheesy grin you knew so well. You tighten your hand on her shoulder and grab a pen, ready to help her any way she needs.

“Do you mean the word ‘guitar’ Annie?” she gives you an excited nod as you continue speaking, “Ah yes, that's a really hard word for even grown-ups to spell. Let's work it out together, hmm?”

With your mind racing you help her sound it out and label her drawing, even stopping to sharpen her black colouring pencil for her- there's a lot of black for young girls drawing but she's committed to an aesthetic, and part of you respects that.

On the walk back to the desk, you begin practising your speech in your head, trying to figure out how to ask why she’s drawing a band as her family without unknowingly offending mum. Maybe she just really likes music?

You run through your memories trying to think of her mentioning a band before, but nothing comes to mind, Annie doesn't even stay on track long enough to talk about her family. Always seeing something shiny and discussing that instead.

You flick your eyes to her one more time just to see her animatedly talking with another little girl on her table, her hands gesticulating wildly and her curls bouncing as she tells her story.

The sight calms you slightly, seeing the little girl you know so well acting exactly as she should be. You have the fleeting thought that you might be overreacting, but eventually, you collect the drawings to see Annie had dated her work “1975”. Yup, that discussion with her parents was definitely happening.

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

The bell rings, and you manage to catch Annie just before she runs off into the playground without you, “Hi Annie! I have your drawing from today. Should we show it to mummy and daddy together?” her eyes light up as her curls bounce from her excited nods.

You walk hand in hand out onto the playground, crouching down you make eye contact with Annie before asking, “Can you point out your mum or dad Annie?”

She nods and begins scanning the playground. You stifle a laugh at the look of concentration on the young girl's face. Her nose is scrunched along with her eyebrows, one hand pulling at a curl by her ear and the other holding yours. Soon, you see her face brighten, and her eyes fill with joy.

“DADDY!!” is the scream that comes from the little girl as her hand shoots from her head to point to the corner of the playground, she starts dragging you before you even look up but as you do, you feel your heart drop.

As a student teacher, you'd definitely seen some hot dads, but they were still dads. Most were slightly creepy, partially balding, and talked about nothing but golf and their “annoying” wives. You were used to that kind of dad, not exactly this kind.

Standing nonchalantly in the corner of the playground was a tall man. A pile of salt and pepper curls sat on top of his head; untamed but effortlessly and obnoxiously cool. The white t-shirt he was wearing did nothing to hide the patchwork of tattoos that snaked up his arms. The low neck of the top even teased the top of his chest tattoo. Sunglasses sat on his face, they gave him an "I'm too cool" rocker vibe that, for some unknown reason, made you dizzy.

In one hand, he had a lit cigarette, something that was not allowed on school property, but the way his cheeks hollowed as he took a drag had you forgetting that rule completely. He dropped the butt of the cigarette to crush it with his heavy boots before taking a sip of the can of coke that was in his other hand.

As he noticed you coming over, a dazzling smile broke out on his face. You felt your knees weaken as you tried to brush off how hot he was.

You then realised you actually had to speak to this man. Fuck. You're not sure you even have a voice currently. If you opened your mouth, you're sure incoherent noises would come out, followed by wild hand motions trying to explain your insane behaviour.

The closer you got, the less you stared at him, feeling too intimidated to keep looking in his direction. This did mean you almost tripped 3 times, but you would rather fall than risk making eye contact with this intimidatingly attractive man.

Annie dropped your hand as you finally reached the man, and she jumped into his arms. He grunted at the force but soon began pressing kisses all over her face, smiling at her uncontrollable giggles.

Quickly, the man noticed your presence and stuck a hand out to introduce himself, “Hi! Sorry about that, you know what it's like when kids miss you. I’m Annie’s dad, Matty.”

And this is where a normal person would introduce themselves, stick their hand out, and shake Matty’s. Maybe even say their name and start talking, but oh no. Not you. You stood there motionless and just said “Matty” breathlessly to yourself 3 times over.

Time dragged on in the 10 seconds Matty stood there with his hand out. If you weren't aware of how time worked, you would swear you stood there in stilted silence for 10 minutes.

By some grace of god, little Annie Healy saved you and introduced you, “Daddy. This is Miss y/n. She wanted to come and show you my drawing."

Matty retracted his hand and pushed the sunglasses that sat on the bridge of his nose up to his mess of curls, just as wayward as his daughters. His deep brown eyes met yours as he tilted his head questioningly at your behaviour. His smile remained wide at you, his tongue swiped over his bottom lip, and you felt your heart stutter. A litany of inappropriate thoughts swirling through your mind.

He quickly diverted his attention back to his daughter, “Oh really munchkin? Is your drawing just that amazing? Is Miss y/n going to send it to all the museums?” he said whilst tickling her sides. You smiled at the pair of them watching Annie throw her head back with erratic laughter.

Finally, you manage to right yourself and begin speaking, “Right. Sorry about that, long day,” you explain, looking apologetically at Matty, who only nodded and tried to hide his widening smile at your flustered state.

“I'm just here to talk about Annie's drawing,” you pause briefly and look at Annie in her dad's arms. Not wanting to disappoint her, you form a plan in your mind. “Hey Annie, why don't you go practise some hopscotch! I'm just going to have a quick chat with your dad, okay?”

Before you’d even finished your sentence, Annie was wiggling out of her dad's arms and running off.

“She's got endless energy that one hasn't she?” you say wistfully, staring off in the direction she ran, watching her jump around and giggle with some of her friends.

“Ah like father like daughter, I suppose” Matty says, grinning at your clear love for his little girl. He feels his heart warm at your caring eyes. “So what seems to be the issue? I'm sure you're not over here because the Louvre has asked for Annie’s drawing?”

You laugh at Matty's joke, perhaps a little too hard. Nervous laughter was one of your less attractive traits, but you try to shake it off and have an actual adult conversation with Matty.

“Ah no, no phone calls from Paris yet,” you begin laughing lightly, you pull out Annie's drawing and pass it over to Matty and start to analyse his reaction as you finish speaking, “I was just coming over to ask why Annie's family portrait is seemingly a band? I wanted to make sure she knows her family isn't 4 tall men in leather jackets and a surprisingly tall horse dog.”

As you finish your sentence, Matty bursts out in hysterical laughter, folding over as his chortling laughter takes over his whole body. Your face scrunches up at his reaction, your eyebrows are pinched, and a small frown overtakes your features.

Eventually, Matty catches his breath and looks up at you only to realise how strange his reaction appears. His hand shoots up to your arm and begins to stroke it lightly as he attempts to explain himself.

Each featherlight stroke of his fingers made your breath hitch. You felt your eyes fogging over, and your ears felt as if they were stuffed with cotton wool, the surrounding sounds suddenly becoming muted.

A shake of your head brought you back to earth as you fought to focus on the words Matty was saying.

“Oh I'm so sorry, once you know the story you’ll understand my reaction” Matty began explaining with wide apologetic eyes, “basically Annie's mum isn't in the picture, it's just me and my 3 best friends,” he said smiling.

You lightly laugh and say, “Ah I'm assuming they are the man with the guitar, the one with the bass and the other with the drumsticks?” You finish with a teasing tilt of your head.

Matty's fingers encircle your wrist as that smile you've quickly grown to love appears on his face once again at your teasing.

“Yes those are the ones. You see we’re all in a band - hence all the instruments. I always tell Annie that Uncle George, Ross, and Adam are our family. So when you asked for a family drawing...”

“She drew her family!” You finish his sentence for him, staring at his hand and holding your wrist as you do. He quickly drops it, and you curse yourself for bringing it to his attention.

You wrap your arms around your stomach protectively in an attempt to hide your mounting embarrassment.

Matty smiles and starts to speak again, only to be interrupted by you, “Wait I understand that, but why did she date it ‘1975’?”

Somehow, Matty's smile grew again, “Our band is called the 1975. Weird, I know, but it comes from me being young and pretentious with a Jack Kerouac book.”

Before you could respond, Annie came bounding over and wrapped herself around her dad's leg, “Dadddd” she complained, pulling out the last letter to announce her annoyance to the world.

“Annieeee” Matty teased back in the same tone as her, picking her up as he did.

“Can we go home now? I want to see mayhem!!” she said, excitedly clapping her hands as she finished.

You shoot Matty a questioning look, and he quickly answers your silent query, “the horse dog” he says teasingly, parroting your earlier words back at you.

“Okay darling, let's get going then,” Matty says with a grunt, putting Annie down, grabbing her hand, and taking her backpack from her.

“Say bye to miss y/n Annie,” he says, smiling sweetly at you, but you can see the mischief brewing in his eyes.

His eyes keep your attention so long you almost miss Annie's sweet goodbye, “bye miss y/n! See you tomorrow! Can we talk about your sparkly clips tomorrow?” she asks with a tilt of her head.

“Of course, little miss Annie!” You say smiling at the young girl. You focus solely on her in an attempt not to get lost in her father's eyes again.

You watch them walk away but after a few steps they pause, Matty turns over his shoulder and waves with his free hand, “Bye miss y/n” he says with a teasing lilt to his voice and a flirty wink.

Before you can even process what just happened, he's strolling away casually, and all the mums in the playground are silently lusting after him.

A heavy breath leaves your chest as you start to watch him leave.

“Isn't he gorgeous” a voice behind you whispers, causing you to jump and let out a small scream. You hold a hand to your chest and look at your colleague with wild eyes.

“Oh my god, Amanda, please do not sneak up on me like that! I'm fragile” you say, now laughing at your ridiculous reaction.

“Sorry, sorry,” she begins giggling, “but isn't he just so hot? Annie was in my class last year, and I used to count down the days until parent’s evening! I mean, who wouldn't want to sit across a desk from a man who looks like that?” Amanda says, wiggling her eyebrows flirtatiously.

She begins to teasingly poke your sides at your awkward silence, and you quickly brush her off and straighten up, “Amanda! You can't talk like that about a parent!” You say, trying and failing to have any conviction in your voice.

“I can when the parent looks like that!” she says, smiling and watching Matty stroll away.

You huff at her behaviour and walk away, desperate to sit down and process what just happened.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your desk chair squeaks as you sit down behind your desk. You spin the chair and pick up a pen to begin marking some spelling tests from last week, but before long, you give up.

Staring off into space with endless thoughts poisoning your mind, only one thing can come out of your mouth.

“fuck."

#matty healy #matty healy fanfic #matty healy fic #matty healy fluff #matty x reader #matty healy x reader #the teacher reader obsession was too real #once again an obnoxious number of hashtags but we move #i hope you dont all hate this #unsurprisingly i do hate it <3 #teacher au!

416 notes · View notes

abnomi · 2 months ago

Text

random assorted headcanons for Turbo because I like thinking and having fun !!!! 🎉

Read More to Find Out...or are you too scared?... i bet ur too scared ahaha youre too scared Lol! Hahaahaaa!!!

The steering wheel of his kart is covered in bite marks, similar to how one would bite their favorite pencil. he bites things to mark his territory because Nobody is gonna touch that unless they want all of his diseases (150+).

i just know he was fighting to restrain himself not to chew on any of the candy civilians

when it comes to music, he doesn't see the point of listening to it. he doesn't have enough patience to really take it in; to him, it's just a thing that exists and not much more than that ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ ∵⁠ )⁠_⁠/⁠¯

adding onto that point, this guy listens to metal clanking sounds and loud engine roaring for entertainment because he likes things that would overstimulate any normal person. turbo is incredibly sensory-seeking and will do anything for The Sensations

someone should take him to a heavy rock concert i think it would change him a little. keep that thang on a leash

related to being sensory-seeking, i think he would absolutely love running his hands over random textures. if anyone has run their hands along a wall while walking alongside it...He does that...If u know u know... he is SO stimmy its unbelievable. Unreal.

very pain-tolerant. he'll whine and complain about it for attention, but physical hurt really doesnt bother him much until it gets in the way of what he wants to do.

funnily enough, he is very picky when it comes to temperature. he can handle getting ran over but if its 1° too hot or cold he'll start nagging and nagging for it to go back to normal. turbo really needs his own enclosure i think it'd do him a lot of good

this is a more popular headcanon and its canon-leaning, but he's an artist :-] he usually sticks to graffiti art because its generally considered more "rebellious and cool" but he also sketches cars, design decals, and other stuff when hes alone!

i would love to see his process of character designing king candy because i dont think he really knew what he was doing

he was just like "ok what does a generic king look like. uhhhhh.... 1, old and jolly like santa claus.... 2.... uhh crown..... 3......... purple.... FUCK YEAH im so good at this!!!!🔥🔥🔥"

i just noticed how his design has like 0 actual candy motifs aside from his bow being a candy wrapper and his shoes having those little gumdrop end pieces. what was he THINKING

while King Candy has a lisp, i think it's a coverup for his actual voice because of how goofy and recognizable it is. Overall its the same as his regular voice, he just gets silly with it. i noticed that he still does retain some of his lisp when hes screaming his lungs out at Vanellope, however, so maybe he genuinely does have a lisp that makes itself known when furious :3

another thing i noticed is how he hisses his S's. very cool very cool the reptilian

@/tasticturbo made a post abt how he has tinnitus from the constant noise in his game and i couldnt agree more

AND THE PRESCRIPTION GLASSES. where did he get those...he needs to See

side note, the aforementioned account has made so many interesting analyses on turbo and theyre all so insightful. i recommend u check them out

i think he gets migraines from stress. constant buzzing or pain flood his head but hes like "IDGAF i need to DO something at ALL TIMES no matter what"

hes like a shark in that way. if hes not moving he'll die instantly. idk a lot about sharks or if thats how it works srry but im going off of what the Worms are saying to me and i dont have much to work with

i think a really big contributer as to why he lacks in the self care department is because he fails to notice that something in his body is wrong. hes far too distracted on something he thinks is more important than remembering to Eat Food or Drink Water or Wash Himself or

he's like "WHY DO I FEEL LIKE SHIT ALL OF THE TIME!!! I HATE MY LIFE" and he hasn't slept in 4 days

hes so me. Sorry.

i dont think turbo is necessarily suicidal, but the way he behaves shows a clear disregard for his own safety and wellbeing. he thinks that he knows what he needs but he really doesnt :-[ i think he has some kind of immortality complex, feeling untouchable and like nothing could get to him. as scared as he was when ralph was about to turn him into sloppy mush, he didnt take the threat very seriously. like it was some kind of joke

his kart regenerates every time his game starts up, so what if he smashed it into buildings for fun. He's the number one fan of car accidents. he is all about that shit

i think his living space would literally be a garage btw. its a place to sleep and a space for his car all in one!! he thinks its very convenient and awesome but i think he is coping. he has some old dingy stained sheetless mattress that he has never washed in his life and its covered in dirt and smoke particles. no wonder he has such heavy eye bags Dude Please

the turbo twins have a garage used in a similar way, and while its still pretty shitty, they still at least TRY to maintain it. they just fight a lot over who has to care of it. nobody taught them how to take turns ever

but this aint about them. maybe another day

i think that turbo would find comfort in garbage and keeping it around because its familiar to him. a big clean empty space would make him so mad and if anyone moves even an inch of scrap off to the side he will throw a fit. he generally doesnt pay attention to his surroundings but when its his personal space he is 1093 times more neurotic

i think the big empty castle he stole wouldve been a big transition for him. maybe it helped him clear his mind a little more to practice his tricky schemes...it helped him get more subtle

thats all i have for nowww ty for reading ^_^ if anyone else has any wacky ideas pleeeease tell me i would love to hear them!!

#tw suicide mention #its very brief but still #also little edit but i changed my mind a little on the music thing...he listens to it sometimes just not actively --#-- he needs stuff that immediately hooks his attention and relates to his interests #side note i really want to talk about the turbo twins bec i fuckin love them but then i remember they have no personality in the movie--#--so id be making analyses on other peoples interpretations of them HAHA. EVERYONE STOP BEING CREATIVE NOWWWE!!!!#turbo wir #turbo #king candy wir #king candy #headcanon #analysis #<- ??#wat ever #i like little details that dont impact the story at all whatsoever. it just makes the characters feel so much more lively #like i could have full conversations with this guy in my head (normal)#love for ever #wreck it ralph

90 notes · View notes

solardrop · 3 months ago

Text

I wanted to post some excerpts from two of my Hotch wips to see which one people find more interesting! I included a poll at the bottom because I know a lot of people don't like commenting but I'd appreciate comments, asks, etc about the one you like more as well! There are a lot of typos and issues in these but they are just first drafts!

Both of these will end up being nsfw stories so minors please do not interact with this post (because you won't be interacting with the actual fics anyway)

this one is the first hotch fic I ever tried to write. I abandoned it because I felt like my first fic being a smut was too horny (only for my first posted fic to still be a smut...lol). But rereading it I actually still really like the idea I just need to actually figure out where I wanna go with it. Its currently very lovingly titled: "A sad attempt at a hotchner fic". WIll definitely be changed before I actually post it LMAO. Maybe to "strawberry salt" or something

He grabs you by the hips as he leans against the headboard. Sliding you until the soft curve of your belly meets his, and the swell of your breasts push against his collarbone. The wiry hairs across the top of his legs tickle your inner thighs. His eyes drift downward for a brief moment, distracted from his original mission, before he places a quick kiss on your sternum. “What was that again baby?” He smiled up at you. An absolute shit-eating grin if you say so yourself. Trying to sweet talk and ‘baby’ you out of this wasn’t going to work. Neither was the mischievous hand sliding under your robe towards the curve of your ass. “Aaron,” you swat his hand from below you, “how many times are you gonna use my body wash and leave me with nothing!?” This makes him grin wider, his dimples teasing and tempting for a kiss. Your belly warms as you look at him beneath you. How could a man so damn infuriatingly be so annoyingly sexy? His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, it takes all your self-control to stop from moaning at the sight. You force yourself to look up from his lips and raise your hand to lightly pinch the very tip of his nose. A soft blush forms on the skin there when you remove your fingers. “Not funny Aar! Now I smell like Alaskan sea salt and thunderstorms instead of Strawberry sugar.” “Well. I think you smell amazing.” He buries himself in your neck, inhaling deeply. “If you think so, then use your own body wash!”

This second one is just called "shower" it's my longest wip so far and I like it a lot but I need to rework a lot of things about it because its a lot of word vomit right now:

Your thoughts are interrupted by Aaron reapproaching you, still dressed in his button-up, the sleeves now rolled up his thick forearms. He tries to get the detachable showerhead when you reach up — with your good arm— and stop him. “What are you doing?” you question. “Getting the showerhead so I can help you shower?” “Your clothes are still on.” “Yes? What’s wrong—” He pauses, face marked with confusion until he slowly pieces together your meaning, “Honey, you’re injured. I’m showering you, not showering with you.” He laughs reaching for the hose again before you stop him. “I’m not a patient. I’m your fiancee,” you seethe, “You’re not gonna scrub me down like I’m some sweet little old lady. Get in here, Hotchner.” His arms cross over the expanse of his chest, staring you down like he was giving you a field order to comply to. Too bad you weren’t scared of him. You stare back at him, the water streaming down your body as the moment passes. He breaks eye contact and begins unbuttoning his shirt. “Alright,” he sighs, “but we’re just getting clean and getting out.” He shrugs off his shirt, revealing beauty of his broad body to you. You eyes travel, admiring the way the muscles move under his skin as he scratches the soft pudge of his belly. He unbuckles his belt and pants. You bite your lip as he finally hooks his fingers in his pants and boxers, sliding the fabric down, slowly exposing the hair lined down his lower belly before his hands just stop. Your eyes flick up to his at the clearing of his throat. He raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “No funny business. I promise,” you whine.

#aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch #both of these will be written #and again ill probably post whatever i want regardless of results #but i need motivation

76 notes · View notes

itwasthereaminuteago · 9 months ago

Text

|| The Distraction ||

Matt Murdock x female reader

🚨🚨🚨 LOVE CONFESSIONS, IDIOTS IN LOVE, ITALICISED OH, AWOOGA AWOOGA! I made Frank a himbo sorry lol 🚨🚨🚨 IF U LIKE PLS REBLOG

You nonchalantly slink into the near-deserted bathrooms where Matt is waiting for you, holding out the passcard with a huge pleased smirk on your face, the music of the party fading as the door closes behind you.

“Piece of cake!” you say, but you don't miss the terse look on his face as he takes it from you. “What's the matter, Murdock? It's going to plan.”

Matt huffs out a short, strained laugh. “You were getting pretty friendly with that security guard.”

“Uh yeah, I kinda have to Matt, that's how I get the goodies, you know that.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, and then with a slight hesitance, “but did you need to fawn all over him so much? It could have drawn unwanted attention. You could have been caught.”

You raise a brow. “I ‘accidentally’ bumped into him and apologised while i unclipped the pass, I wasn't fawning,” you hiss quietly in response. "Don't be so dramatic."

Matt rolls his eyes and leads you out of the other door at the opposite end of the restrooms, both of you quickly making your way towards the office you were intending to break into before the admittedly hot security guard realises that he's been duped.

“You were practically hanging off him, and you called him ‘big boy’…”

“You heard that? Well, did you see him?! He was massive!”

Matt grits his teeth as you both climb the back stairs, trying to hide the green seeping into his eyes. “You were squeezing his bicep, sweetheart. He liked it.”

“I was distracting him!”

“He was more than distracted by what you're wearing… I thought I said pick something simple.”

You shrug your shoulders, glancing down at the black sheath of close fitting fabric with strategic slashes and cutouts that clung to your body. “It is simple!” You defend as you near the room you're looking for. Matt listens for a moment, checking there’s no-one nearby and then swipes the card in the access panel, allowing you entry.

“He gave you his number…” he continues with a whisper, as you start searching the place for where the ledger might be.

“Yeah, well-” They usually always did.

“You put it in your purse.”

Your mouth opens wide at his accusing tone.

“Yeah I did, It's just for show, Matt! I'm not actually gonna call Frank!”

“Oh, it's Frank now is it? Why not? You seemed pretty into him.”

You stop feeling around the wall panels for any secret buttons and face up to Matt. This was nuts. You'd had enough of his ridiculous behaviour. He'd never acted so bothered before now.

“Fuck Matt, what the hell is with you tonight? You're never usually like this on missions!”

“Nothing, I'm just- it's nothing.” He bites his tongue and changes the subject. “Lets just find the book.”

You halt him, your hand firmly on his arm, turning him back to you as you step up closer. “Are you jealous?”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Jealous? No… not-”

“Matt…” you jibe, a little smile on your lips as you see his neck flush with pink. “Aww, are you? That's so sw-”

You're cut off as Matt's hands reach past your waist, stepping in so close your noses are almost touching, almost taking your breath away with the sudden movement. Your ribcage rises and falls as your breathing becomes extremely shallow as you feel like you're waiting for a bomb to drop.

Matt lets out a sharp breath, tilting his head the tiniest amount to the side, his lips are mere millimetres away…

“Here.” He says flatly, lightly tapping the wooden paneling behind you. You swallow as he pulls his arms back but stays close.

"So..." You begin to say, but he cuts you off.

“Look, maybe… yeah, I am a little jealous,” he admits, and it's your turn to feel hot and bothered. “but we make a good team, and I don't ever want to compromise that if me having… feelings for you isn't something you're happy about.”

Your eyes flicker as you look at his face. He's entirely serious as far as you can tell, waiting for you to say something in response. There were a million things you could say, you had always had a little hidden flame burning for Matt but he had always kept your team ups so professional you never thought there was a chance that you could ever actually date. Yeah, there was the occasional sassy or silly banter you shared and adored, you loved his sense of humour, but you never dared hope that he might feel the same way towards you as you did for him. But now this thing, tonight, was a complete revelation. A bolt from the blue. You didn't think you had ever seen him so nervous confessing to you.

You have to say something, anything.

“Matty,” you breathe in a whispered tone, “we have to get the ledger and get out of here before someone finds us!”

Fuck. You feel so awful. This was completely the wrong moment for confessions and realisations that you might just be each other's lobster but you really had to hurry the fuck up and get gone.

Matt's shoulders slump slightly as he backs up, and you move to give him room to open the safe behind the secret door and retrieve the thing you came for in the first place.

“Alright, hide this in your purse and let's go.” is all he says.

The two of you casually walk out of the gala with no-one any wiser. Your arm is hooked around his and you pull him sharply into an alleyway once you're a couple of blocks away.

“Hey! What are you-” Matt starts, but you shh him.

“Matty, listen to me. I don't want Frank the security guard or the beautiful Elektra who works at the bar,”

Matt lifts his head, slightly confused as to where you're going with this. “Uh, okay…”

“because I'm glad you're jealous, I'm actually fucking ecstatic because when you flirt with other people I'm jealous too!”

“Oh.” he replies, "Oh..." the corner of his mouth tugging up into that familiar smile that always makes you melt inside.

“Matty, I have feelings for you too. I just never thought that in a million years you'd ever be interested in me that way!”

Matt can't help bursting out with laughter. “you'd think us working together for this long we'd be a lot better at communicating.“ he jokes.

“Yeah, just a bit.” you chuckle in response.

You're both standing so close together again, your fingers brushing the lapels of his coat, but you're not gonna let the moment get away this time.

“Can I-” Matt starts to say...

“Kiss me?” You finish for him. He immediately swoops forwards, his hands coming up to frame your face as soft lips press against your own, his thumbs stroking and caressing your cheek and jaw as you experience something that never thought would happen between you. Your own hands snake around his shoulders and neck as he kisses you deeper as your nails scratch at the shorter hair at his nape as you grab for him. The tip of his tongue teases along the line of your mouth, and you open to let him in, a soft moan escaping as he probes deeper, tongue dancing sensually with your own. You press up against him, the sculpted muscle that you had only ever seen from afar now right beneath your fingertips, Matt seemingly feeling the same excitement at being able to touch you as one hand holds you at your waist under your coat and the other comes up gently behind your head to pull you even closer. When you finally break for breath you're both grinning like idiots.

“Maybe we should get back to mine?” You suggest, panting ever so slightly, your eyes dilated and almost as black as the shadows in the alley around you. “We need to get this book somewhere safe, and uh, yeah, I think my place is pretty safe.”

Matt gently leans his forehead against yours, an exhalation leaving his nose in an amused puff of air. “Yeah, totally safe, that's uh… a really good plan.”

You can't wait. You want to get him back to your apartment and kiss him some more, and... maybe other things...

You can't help yourself, angling your head and kissing him again. He's such a fucking good kisser. It's starting to rain. You should really get a cab.

“We should get a cab.” Matt eventually says for you, still focussed on kissing along your jaw to the spot just below your ear and then making his way down your neck as your legs feel like they're about to give out from the bliss you're feeling.

“Mmhm!” is about all you manage before he's guiding you back towards the wet main street and hailing a taxi. Once you're in and it pulls away, you put your hand into your purse, rummaging around and then winding down the window to throw something out.

“Hey, what was that?” Matt asks as you roll the window up and lean into him in the back seat.

“Frank's number.” you reply.

“You sure you don't need that?” Matt checks.

“Yeah, I'm pretty sure.” you smile.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x fem!reader #i want to take him home and kiss him silly

171 notes · View notes

adnauseum11 · 9 months ago

Text

Unexploded Ordinance (John Price x Reader)

You and John navigate the process of moving in together. John is pleased you are home.

1.4k words

CW: swearing, explicit sex MDNI

If the end of this chapter feels a bit abrupt it's because I split it in two to keep it from being a ridiculous length. You can expect the next chapter to pick up where this one left off.

Still not completely happy with this chapter but in the interest of not circling the drain forever and moving forward I'm posting anyways lol yolo

feedback welcome!

When John hasn’t returned from his call before you are done eating your breakfast - and polishing off the last of the raspberries - you take yourself to the bathroom to shower. He’s waiting for you in the living room when you finally emerge, feeling a bit more like yourself. He’s clearly lost in thought, your hand on his shoulder finally knocking him back to the present.

John is easy to talk into moving more things today, on your impromptu day off. When you arrive back at the apartment, he checks the door before he lets you enter, satisfied it’s been undisturbed. You immediately bicker with him about your furniture and what pieces will stay or go. You can tell he’s pleased when he wins the debate between the couches, you being partial to your vintage re-upholstered and wildly heavy chesterfield sofa. It’s too short for John to lay down on, forcing him to bend his knees and isn’t very comfortable, truth be told. It’s a gorgeous deep green velvet that draws the eye but otherwise isn’t overly practical. You pout about having to give it up until he gives over on your books entirely. He’s consistently bitched about moving your personal library, filled with heavy anthologies from your university days. They’ve been dragged from pillar to post over the years and you’ve refused every less than subtle suggestion to sell them. He doesn’t even try to make you choose which ones to keep, sighing deeply in resignation and asking how many boxes you think it will take to pack them all. This earns him the hardest hug you can muster and a rain of kisses he has to crouch for, chuckling lowly.

You make a trip back to his place with your clothing, the colourful array of fabrics making John’s limited selections seem all the starker by comparison. It brings you up short, seeing your things beside his in the wardrobe. You get caught up wondering what the hell you are doing, agreeing to this. You don’t get very far in your spiral before John finds you, kneeling surrounded by folded t-shirts. You’re jealous of his ability to seemingly pick a course of action and execute it without the self-doubt that swamps you occasionally. If you hadn’t known him as long as you have you would say it’s something he learned in the military, but you’re pretty sure that’s all John.

His presence steadies you again and you end up making another trip to collect your hairdryer and various other products needed to make yourself presentable for work tomorrow. Most of your everyday use items and valuables are safely rehoused in John’s flat by the time you are ready to throw the towel in for the day. You agree to go to the pub around the corner for dinner, neither of you feeling like cooking. On the walk down, John’s big hand stays on your lower back, keeping you close as you wander down the street together. It’s quiet at the pub, early in the week meaning the clientele are mostly regulars. You get your choice of seats and John steers you to a booth against the back wall, tugging you to sit on the same side as him.

He questions your half-baked plan to quit your job while distracting you from giving an answer, his hand creeping over your thigh and shoulders, bracketing you against him. You finally cross your legs, pinning his warm hand between your thighs so you can formulate a coherent response. He presses a smirk against your temple and listens as you complain of your treatment this morning, and then just in general. You've had a volatile few days and vent your spleen accordingly.

He removes his hands from your body when the food arrives, creating a tiny sliver of space between you on the bench seat. John hums sympathetically at your complaints but finally convinces you to get through the rest of the week before you submit anything in writing, pointing out you should probably update your resume first at minimum. You grumble but reluctantly agree, his even-keeled approach to the situation a better tactic than your instinct for dramatics.

John’s level head only seems to extend to your choices because by the time you’re out the door and on the way home he’s truly unable to keep his hands to himself. Twice on the short walk back he’s pressed you up against the wall of a nearby building, his hands cupping your face as his eager mouth finds yours. You make out like teenagers until you can feel the cold creeping into the tips of your ears, a gentle push against his chest enough to back him off temporarily. You’re getting better at reading John in this state, how his eyes glaze with want and his focus narrows. You finally resort to threading your fingers with his to keep his hand from constantly drifting over your ass, wrapping yourself around his arm to make him behave.

You open the door using your key, John too preoccupied with working his hands under your jacket and shirt. His big body corrals you against him, kicking the door shut after wrestling you through it, almost not giving you time to get your key out of the lock.

“Fucking hell John.”

You breathe out as he spins you around, your arms going around his neck automatically. He kisses you hungrily, his palm cupping the back of your head. You feel the thump of the wall at your back, his hand leaving the back of your head to shove your coat off your shoulders. You wiggle out of it and push at the thick lambskin jacket he’s wearing, slipping your hands under it to grip his shoulders. He shrugs out of it, his lips finding yours again almost immediately. You can feel desire vibrating through his frame, his thigh working its way between yours. Before he can overwhelm you completely, you push back against his chest.

He's breathing hard, confusion mixing across his face as you flatten your palms against his chest and push, reversing your positions by backing him up against the opposite wall. You have to go up on your tip toes, gripping the back of his neck to tug him down to kiss you again. He’s got his hands full of your ass, too preoccupied to catch on to your intent until you're slipping out of his grasp, sliding to your knees in front of him. Your nimble fingers have his belt undone and his jeans open before he can process and stop you, hissing out your name as your fingers wrap around his twitching cock.

You smirk to yourself and wrench a deep groan from his chest as your lips close around the flushed head of his cock, your eyes locking on his face. His cheeks and throat are flushed with the same shade of red as his cock, his blue eyes now nearly black, his pupils dilated with desire. He looks so intense it sends a thrill through your belly that you’re capable of affecting him like this. You swirl your tongue over the head, tasting the salty pre-cum and slide your palm up the wiry hair of his firm abdomen, pushing his shirt up.

John growls lowly, his fingers burying into your hair, gripping close to the roots. He doesn’t try to direct your movements, content to let you work him over however you see fit but the gentle pull on your hair sends flashes of sensation down your spine. The muscles of his stomach jump at the drag of your fingers on his cock as you squeeze the base, sucking on the tip deeply, making John’s fingers clench in your hair. You lift off him and press his erection against his belly, running the flat of your tongue over the underside before teasing his balls with the tip of your tongue.

That has John rocking up onto his toes, hissing your name again followed by a curse. You can’t stop the pleased smirk that slides across your face and wrap your lips around the tip again, focusing your tongue on the sensitive spot on the underside. You can feel his cock twitching, the tension in his body ratcheting tighter with a moan. You let his shirt drop and cup his balls, lapping at the tip intently.

That seems to finally push John beyond his limit and he firmly tugs your hair to pull you off him. Your scalp tingles and you hum in disappointment but John’s already got a hold of your arm, lifting you to your feet again.

“C'mere love, I want to be inside you when I cum.”

He growls lowly, making you shiver, backing you down the hallway to the bedroom with predatory intent. The look on his face makes your stomach quiver in anticipation, your insides going molten.

Next Chapter

Tag list:

@deadbranch @cadotoast @beebeechaos @syoddeye @writeforfandoms @itr-00

#fanfic #call of duty #captain john price #john price x reader #john price cod #john price #friends to lovers #john price x f!reader #john price x you #moving in together #falling in love #fluff and smut #this work has smut

182 notes · View notes