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lymtw · 6 months ago

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A continuation of You'll Be Waiting A While

Description: It doesn't matter that you're in love with Toji's son. He can still take care of you in ways that you can only dream Megumi will ever be able to.

(Part one does not need to be read to read on)

"Ugh, I can't see," you reach for the blindfold that is veiled snuggly over your eyes, only to receive a less than soft smack on the back of your hand, ending any attempt to remove it.

"Quit messing with it," Toji's deep voice intrudes.

"Why do you want me to wear this? I can't see your stupid face." You sigh, aiming your face to the ceiling in frustration.

"You can't see me, so follow the sound of my voice, kid. Come on, you're smarter than that." Toji lays on his stomach beside you, watching the way you idly move your head in an attempt to see through the blindfold. He likes the way you look kind of scared and lost.

"I miss Megumi," you mumble, licking your lips afterward. "Just wanted to see his handsome face one last time before the world went dark," you say, dramatically, as if you didn't study with him just yesterday.

Toji snickers, his hand coming up to rest on your stomach. "You really can't go a day without talking about my kid, huh? You know, each time we've met up, you've mentioned him."

You smile, the gesture progressing to a chuckle. Something about it makes Toji's dick twitch. "You jealous, Mr. Fushiguro?"

"Pfft, what of? The kid's got the personality of a wet towel."

"Yeah, I wonder who he got that from..." Your lips curl into a grin. You enjoy the playful banter that comes with being around Toji.

"Whatever you say." He chuckles. His hand slowly starts moving up towards your chest, going under the cup of your bra to palm at your breast.

"So, what's with the getup? You don't want to see my eyes?" You grin, slyly, anticipating his answer. "You wanna picture someone else, don't you?" You ask, enthusiastically.

"Calm down, brat, it's for you." He scoots over until he's laying between your legs and kisses just below your stomach, where the elastic band of your shorts roll down. "Want you to fantasize for a bit."

"About who?" You say, patting around in search of Toji's head.

He grabs your wrist, placing your hand on top of his head. "Anybody." He releases your hand, and rolls your shorts down, allowing you to kick them off once they meet your ankles. "Just don't be surprised when you actually get in bed with them and it's not as good as you imagined. It's my only warning," he murmurs, massaging circles into your hip with his thumb.

It goes quiet for a little, only the sound of your quiet breaths and gasps as he touches you like no one before him. He's not meticulous at all with the places he touches you because he knows that your senses are heightened, and any touch will manage to overwhelm you.

Toji hates to admit that the preference he has to you over other women has to do with your age. You're just so bright and enthusiastic over everything, open to anything because you haven't roamed the earth as long as he has. Yeah, you're not a Mary, but after every session with Toji, it seems like he was the first to deflower you. In your defense, you don't go sleeping around with the first man to call you 'pretty girl'. Strangely, that's exactly how Mr. Fushiguro got you...

"T-Toji?" You call, gasping sharply at the feeling of his tongue lapping between your thighs. You pull lightly at his hair, a response that doesn't faze him.

"Mm?" He hums in response, his mouth very much busy between your thighs, teasing your panty-clad cunt with his warm tongue.

"Do you do the same?" You ask, squirming beneath his touch.

"Gotta give me more, sweetheart. Do the same in what aspect?" He looks up at you, his forearms resting on your thighs.

"Do you close your eyes to fantasize about other women while you fuck me?"

He laughs. It's a strange question given how many times you've expressed disinterest in his private life, but he sees no need to tread around you. You're not his girlfriend. He hasn't cuffed you, nor you him.

"Rarely. It never lasts longer than a few seconds when I do." His lips press against your inner thigh, creating a trail of kisses until he reaches the crease between your pelvis and thigh.

"Why is that?" You ask, running your hand through his locks.

He pauses again. "Is this doing anything for you? Is it getting you off, asking me this?" You can hear the teasing lilt in his tone. "It's like you're trying to get to know me."

"Not really. Just wanna empathize with you, sir." You pull your hand away from his head and allow it to roam along with your other hand over your stomach, gradually raising them towards your chest. He likes the feeling of you pulling his hair when he eats you out so he brings one of your hands back to his head before he continues playing with your panties.

"You're a pretty girl," Toji murmurs, planting kisses on your clothed slit as he massages your thighs with his palms. "There's no need to think about someone else while I fuck you. You're enough of a visual," he assures. Maybe returning the question to you would be crossing the line, but whatever you and Toji do when nobody else is home is way past the line, anyway. "And you?"

"Gotta give me more than that, Mr. Fushiguro," you respond. Your sassiness lures a grin onto Toji's face. He loves that you can take what he dishes out and you can also return it in your own special way.

"Alright, then. Who runs through your mind when we fuck?"

Your lips curl upwards before you let out a bubbly giggle. You don't even have to say anything for Toji to take the hint.

"Don't," he says, in a deadpan tone.

"Don't what?" you ask, your lips twitching with more stifled laughter.

"You know what. Don't play dumb with me, little girl." He bites your thigh as punishment, which lures out a squeal from you.

"Hey, you didn't even let me answer. You just said 'don't', like you were disciplining a dog instead of talking to me."

"So answer," he says. You can hear the smirk in his tone, something that brings an unnecessary load of awareness to what is going on. You lost the timidness towards Toji long ago—the moment you started addressing each other by first names, to be exact, but his voice was really starting to bring back some of those nerves you felt at the start.

"Who do you fantasize about when I touch you?" As if he wants you to say him, he starts playing with you again, thumbing at your slit through your panties. He watches you from between your legs, adding more marks to your thighs as he awaits your unformed response. He can see the way your chest rises and falls with deeper breaths. Your hand goes up towards your face, aiming for the velvety texture that veils your eyes. You want to see him as he touches you, but that thought is swept away when you feel another dash of pain. Toji pinched your outer thigh, which made your body jolt at the sudden sting. It hurt, but it put a halt to your hand's movement.

"What did I tell you about the blindfold, huh?" He rubs the slightly reddened area on your leg with his warm palm.

"Don't... touch it," you respond, your nose slightly scrunched in pain.

"So, don't touch it. What do you need to see, right now? 'Cause I promise there's not much for you to look at here."

"Yeah, sorry. I'll leave it alone." Would he understand if you told him you wanted to see his face? It's not romantic at all. At least that's what you think.

"Good girl. Now, answer the question." He pulls down your panties, having lost the patience to continue teasing you through the spit dampened garment. "Who do you think about when I fuck you?" He asks, again, before running his tongue through your folds. You're as sweet as the sound of your moans.

"N-No one." A breathy moan is ripped from your throat at the feeling of the tip of his tongue focusing on your clit. He lets out a breath before latching his lips onto it, sucking while his middle and index fingers tease your already drooling hole. With a wet pop of his lips, he releases your needy bundle of nerves and looks up, just in time to catch the way your mouth gapes to release the softest moans and how your free hand paws at your chest. It's definitely a sight to behold.

"You're telling me you start off with static in your head and that I'm not the one who brings it on?"

"Yup." You giggle, sweetly, at the tsk that comes from Toji. "I'm joking. I guess..." you start, your tone making it sound like it's a burden to admit what you're about to say. "...my answer would be the same as yours."

"Which is?" He hums, diving right back in to your cunt. The sight of your drooling arousal makes him feel confident that you can handle one of his fingers. He times it perfectly, too. Just as you begin to answer, he starts easing the digit in, the act making you abruptly stop talking. He's in a trance, watching in complete awe as his finger disappears into you. "You were saying, doll face?"

"F-Fuck you," you say, through a broken moan.

"Oh, I plan to, pretty. I'm just getting you all nice and ready for me." He nearly groans at the sight of your slick clinging to his finger, the glossiness further amounting as he glides the digit in and out of you, smoothly. "Shit... look at that. Oh, wait. You can't."

"You're not..." you whimper, feeling the curl of his finger, deep within your walls. "You're... not funny."

"Damn, you're really struggling with just a finger today, huh? Has it been that long?" He smirks, knowing it's only been a few days.

"I can stay away for longer." You laugh at the brief pause in his movement. "Much longer."

"And you say i'm not funny," he says, low, as he leans down to coat his tongue with more of your taste. "You're not funny."

"Fuck, Toji..." you moan, at the low vibration of him humming around your clit.

"Mmm... love it when you say my name like that. None of that 'Mr. Fushiguro' bullshit, like when you acknowledge me after showing up here with my kid."

"M-Makes you feel as old as you are, huh?" You laugh, breathily.

"As if you wanting to jump my old man bones doesn't heal that jab to my ego, silly girl. Now, be a doll and lay still for me, yeah?" He says, taking his own jab at you and your composure. He gives you one more good curl of his finger before pulling it out.

"Toji..." you whine, frustrated by the vacancy in your cunt and loss of stimulation.

"Oh, quit fussing. This isn't just for you," he chides, bringing the digit up to his mouth and sucking it clean of your nectar. "God... I gotta hand it to you, doll. You're the sweetest."

"The sweetest?" You repeat, obliviously, waiting for him to elaborate.

"You can't be serious. You don't really think i'm talking about your attitude when my face is buried between your thighs, do you?"

"Who knows? Maybe i'm growing on you." You smirk, knowing he probably has the most perplexed look on his face.

"Heh, that's cute," he says, eyeing the strings of arousal that connect your sticky folds as he spreads them with his fingers. It wasn't a highly unlikely possibility. He wasn't seeing anyone, and you devoured each other often enough for his sexual needs to be satisfied by you alone. He can't lie and say he doesn't look forward to your illicit meetings. Those bright eyes of yours express so much, even when his view of them blurs with his hastiness as he pulls you into the house and drags you to his room. What he can admit is that this little dynamic you and him have built is tragic. You want his son, and based on the very brief and misleading conversation they had about you, Megumi wants you, too. Even so, he doesn't regret any of the things that have gone on between you two, and clearly he doesn't feel bad enough to stop seeing you.

You're falling apart on two of his fingers, now. Your chest heaves as he collects more and more of your slick with every plunge of his fingers into your walls. "Fuck, doll," he hums, amazed by the way your juices drool out when he drags his fingers out even slightly.

"T-Toji, fuck. Fuck..." you whimper, tugging harder on his hair. Toji knows you're about to cum. He can see the quiver in your stomach, and he can hear the way your breaths double, so he pulls out the soaked digits and allows his mouth to take over.

His tongue quickly catches onto the pace necessary to bring you over the edge. The muscle laps rapidly through your slit, luring more of those pretty sounds from you until they come out sharp and flow nonstop. When you cum, your cries are airy and your voice occasionally breaks from the frequency. Toji groans at the rush of your essence on his tongue and continues eating you out to his heart's content as you ride out the pleasure. He looks up to see your head pushed back into the pillow, your jaw hanging as moans continue to spill from your chewed up lips. You look like hell in all of the best ways. He loves the way your hips lift before rolling against the mattress, like you're trying to grind against his face.

You look and sound adorable when you ask him to stop. Your trembling thighs clamp around his head, and you're letting out the smallest whimpers. His tongue runs through you one last time to coat it with your taste before he lets up on the borderline overstimulation. "There, there. I'm done." He pats your cunt three times, relishing in the small whines and the twitching and jerking of your legs when his fingers make contact with your over sensitive clit.

"I almost kicked you," you say, through a laugh. Your breathing still isn't entirely steadied, but within seconds of hearing you talk again, Toji's hands are on you.

"Wouldn't be the first time. I thought you knew that I can handle your kicking, by now," he says, feeling up your thighs, while pressing kisses to your hips. You wish you could see him.

"That doesn't mean I want to kick you."

He laughs. "I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me. Looks like i'm growing on you, too, huh?"

"Stop..." you groan.

"You really are the sweetest altogether, aren't you?" He teases on when he spots the pout on your lips.

"You don't actually mean that, so the words sound annoying coming from you."

"Aw, does that hurt? Well, stop overthinking it, 'cause no one said anything about me not meaning what I said." He kisses his way up your body until he's face to face with you. "You're a nice..." He kisses your neck, sucking yet another mark onto your sensitive skin. "... and very sweet girl." His tongue comes out to lick the side of your neck, the gesture transitioning to a kiss beneath your ear. He cracks a grin at the sound of you gasping. "Oh? You never told me you got a thing for being praised."

"Everyone likes being told nice things," you respond.

"Don't redirect this. I'm talking about you," he murmurs into your jaw. "You like when I call you a good girl and tell you that you're perfect for my cock?"

You sigh, not able to stand behind your denial when you can feel yourself getting wetter with every word he says.

"If only you could see the way you're blushing, right now." He chuckles when you tilt your head, as if you're debating on whether you should turn away from him or not. "It's all good, pretty girl. There's no room for judgement between us." His hands go beneath your back and reach for the clasps of your bra. He swiftly unclips them and pulls the straps down your arms, smoothly removing the garment. It's tossed aside and forgotten about when he sees your bare chest. He wastes no time in taking one of your breasts into his hand, rolling the bud between his fingers while the other one gets sucked and mouthed on.

You run your fingers through his hair, soft moans and airy sighs leaving you as he licks and sucks on your nipples. You gasp when you feel the unmistakable sensation of him sucking marks onto your chest. You can feel him grinding against you, groans that he doesn't even bother trying to hide, vibrating against your skin. "You wet enough to take me?" He hums, concealing his own desire to be inside you.

"Y-Yeah, I think so."

He finishes off your other breast, latching onto and covering the sensitive bud with spit as he sucks on it. He releases the hardened peak and sits back to work his boxers off. He hisses as his painfully hard, leaking cock springs out and taps against his abdomen a couple times. "It'll be as good as the times before," he utters, spreading the beads of precum over his length to act as more lubricant. "Just relax for me, pretty girl."

Those were his final words before he started gliding his blunt tip between your folds. The contact made your heart beat a little faster, mainly because normally, you would be faced away from him. You're still wearing the blindfold so you can't see him, anyway, but this was off.

He taps your clit a couple times with the tip, smirking at the way you squirm. "What did I just say?"

"R-Relax? I'm relaxed. Just like always."

"Mhm," he hums, spotting the way your fists clench around his sheets. He disregards your sudden awkwardness and begins working his throbbing length into you. "Fuck, doll..." he groans, going really slow for his own sake. "How is it that you're still so tight, even after all the times i've gotten into your guts?" It's a rhetorical question, one that he knows that even if it wasn't, you wouldn't be able to answer. The stretch was as intense as ever, a sensation that you needed a quiet second to yourself for.

Soon enough, his cock is completely buried inside you. "Holy shit." He sighs, and smoothly rides his hands over your waist. He watches your chest rise and fall steadily, quiet labored breaths leaving you as you adjust to him. On the outside it seems like you're taking this better than he is, but on the inside, you're all over the place. You're way too focused on how his fingers, his palms—his hands— dig into your sides when he starts thrusting. You're all too aware of his skin against yours and his body heat and the sounds he makes.

"You like that? This is what you come back for, huh?" He grunts, picking up the pace of his thrusts when he notices your chest losing its calm and collected rhythm. He loves how small you appear in comparison to him and his hands and that all of you is so reactive to him. Despite him not being able to see those expressive eyes of yours, your mouth does plenty to communicate how you feel. From the weightless panting released from your quivering lips and the melodic sound of your moans, to the manner in which you verbally confess to the crime of your recurring return to him.

"Mhm... love how you fuck me, Toji," you babble, twisting the sheets in your hands. They're already messed up and splayed in every direction, so you have the liberty to pull them around.

"Yeah? Nobody satisfies you the same way, huh?"

You shake your head. "Mm-mm, nope."

He leans forward, and plants his forearms beside your head. You can feel his body pressed against yours as he picks up his pace again with this new position. "You know why you're not satisfied by anyone else?" He mutters into your ear. He doesn't even wait for you to respond. "It's 'cause you're a greedy girl, and they can't keep up because you need someone who is just as greedy. Maybe even more." He dons the most wicked smirk, like he's proud of himself for being the one who set the bar so high and ruined you for the rest of them.

He had to see the defeated look on your face. It's got to be priceless. He pulled the blindfold off, and was immediately met with your shut eyes and a small crease between your brows at the sudden brightness behind your eyelids. You didn't expect to be so turned on when you finally opened your eyes. You were met with bright green eyes staring hungrily at you. You looked far from defeated, and he looked like he wasn't going to leave you alive.

"What?" You, emptily, question the sudden lack of darkness.

"What?" He returns, groaning at the feeling of your cunt fluttering around him.

You just shake your head and try to stop getting in your head about the situation. Something about it seemed intimate. Very much so with how he wouldn't break eye contact with you as he continued to rail you. Those eyes conveyed desire that was amplified by the pace of his hips and the vulgar sounds that radiated from the moment.

Toji couldn't stop thinking about what was going on. This isn't how it normally went. Normally, there was a lot more dirty talk and ass slapping and marking, but this wasn't that, at all. Did it become strange the minute he decided to keep you in this position? Was he in the wrong for furthering the damage by uncovering your eyes so he could look into them? He had no regrets about what you and him got up to when left alone together, but maybe this was going past the makeshift line designated for people who fuck outside of relationships.

Regardless of those mind plaguing thoughts, he couldn't stop. It was unbelievably good. His eye contact was unwavering, and you looked right back at him. Whether the twinkling in your eyes was on brought on by him or you were just getting teary eyed from how close you were to your climax, didn't matter. He had only done it in this position with you once before, and it was a game. He just wanted to get you back in his bed and you just wanted your bra back.

This was not that.

You had the prettiest look on your face and the sweetest voice as you told him you were about to cum. Normally, he would be an asshole about it and kill your orgasm, but this time it would be at his expense as well, because he was right there with you.

His heart was racing and he felt so, so foolish, but none of it stopped him from leaning down to kiss you. He swallowed your moans and whimpers, and fed you his share of pleasured sounds through the intensity. You don't know what compelled you to pull him in closer, but in the mix of all the heavy breathing and the lewdness and messiness of your combined releases, you found yourself cupping his jaw and kissing him back. He slowed down the movement of his hips until they were steady against yours, but the kissing went on. You were stealing each other's oxygen, going back in for more every time it seemed like the kiss was going to break. With one last brush of your lips, the moment came to a standstill. Neither of you knew what to do or say as you just breathlessly stared at each other with slightly reddened lips and warm cheeks.

"Sorry," you both say at the same time, which made you chuckle. The sound made some of the tension disappear, which allowed Toji to breathe a little and grin at the way you laughed at the sound of your layered voices. Your hands haven't moved away from his jaw, and he hasn't leaned back to where he started.

Your laughter stopped and once again it went silent, save for the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. He doesn't know what's the matter with him, but within seconds of resolving the tension, his lips are back on yours again. Softer and slower, but equally as good as the first time around. You're the devil for not pushing him off of you and being the voice of reason in this situation. You could be yelling at him, telling him that it's wrong and reminding him that you're in love with Megumi, but no, that's not what you're doing. You're keeping him close with your fingers threaded through his hair and your other hand is on his shoulder blade, and you're kissing him back.

He's moving his hips again, rolling them languidly into yours and eliciting the quietest moans from you until the kissing is one sided.

"T-Toji, Toji- fuck, fuck..." Your nails dig into his shoulder blade, bright red strikes decorating the surface of the top right half of his back.

He groans, his warm breath fanning over your chin as he trails his kisses lower and lower down your face, until he reaches the column of your neck. "Yeah? Gonna cum, already? Gonna make a mess on me, again?"

All you can do is give him a small nod and a needy hum in confirmation, before he's picking up the pace and rocking into you with more force behind his thrusts. He's prodding at that sensitive spot within you with so much precision that your toes are curling and you're positive you've torn the skin on his back from how much you've clawed at it.

"F-Fuck, fuck... come on," he grunts. "You're gonna be a good girl and cum for me, right?"

"Mhm, y-yes! Yes, Toji!"

Within a couple more thrusts, you're trembling as you gush all over his cock, again, arching off the bed as the pleasure courses through every sinew of your being. "Yeah, give it to me, sweetheart," he groans, voice somewhat strained as your cunt violently spasms around him, effectively working to lure another load out of him. His hands go to your hips, pulling them in time to meet his thrusts. You can see the sweat beading on his forehead and his temples, the pinch in his brow as he teeters closer and closer until his cum spurts into you. "Shit..." he pants, as he spills everything inside. "Oh fuck."

He released the iron grip he had on your hips and pulled out of you. He sat back and watched as your chest inflated and deflated through your heavy breathing as he himself also worked to level out his own breathing. You were glowing, a light sheen of sweat layered over your chest and neck and forehead. You were downright ethereal in his eyes and he said this to you. It was coded, but he said it.

"God, you're a mess." He chuckles, breathily, as he stares at his cum oozing out of you. He runs two fingers between your slit and collects enough to show you how it drips down his fingers and onto his knuckles.

"That's mostly your mess," you say, chuckling at the look of disbelief on his face.

"I think it's a fifty-fifty," he counters.

"Mhm, whatever you say." You stretch your arms above your head, getting a good stretch in for your back at that same time. You sit up and start looking for your scattered clothes.

"Megumi won't be home until tomorrow," Toji says, watching as you sit on the edge of the bed and start picking up your clothes. This is how your time together always ended.

"Yeah, he texted me about it yesterday. I figured i'd go home and take a bath since i'm such a mess." You grin at the annoyed click of his tongue.

"I've got a bathtub and all the essentials for a bath."

"That's nice. You should put them to use, you're looking pretty messy yourself."

He's trying to get you to stay longer. Maybe you aren't thinking about those kisses, but he can't get them out of his head, regardless of how juvenile it may seem for a man of his age.

"You don't have to go if you don't want to," he tries, again, watching as you search for one last garment—your bra. It's on the opposite side of the bed where Toji tossed it aside earlier.

"I don't wanna overstay my welcome. Where the hell is..." you trail off, frustratedly rummaging around through places you've already searched for your forgotten bra.

Your focus is redirected when you feel him tracing your spine, from the bottom to the top. "Do it. Overstay your welcome."

You smirk when his hand slides its way up from your shoulder, to your neck, before caressing your cheek. "Don't tell me you're feeling lonely, Toji."

He brushes his knuckles over your cheek, as if the gesture is a method of softening you up. Luckily for him, it was working.

"I'll keep you fed and clean."

You snicker and gently push his hand away. "Once again, you're talking to me like i'm some dog."

"You know that's not how I meant it. Don't twist my intentions, brat."

"Well, is it so hard to say, 'I'll buy you dinner' and 'You can wash up here'?" You smile at him, showing that there is no bite to your words.

He takes in the sweetness of your smile and drops the edge to his words. "I'll buy you dinner and you can wash up here."

You grin and playfully pat his chest, before standing and wrapping yourself up in the sheets so that you can migrate to the bathroom with more modesty. "Yeah, I got it the first time," you say, and Toji swears you'll be the death of him with these little jokes of yours. You drop the sheets when your body gets between the door frame and the door. You peek your head out and watch as Toji organizes your clothes for when you get out. "Hey, uh... do you mind helping me find my bra? It's gone missing. Again."

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hotheadedhero · 8 months ago

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Think You're Cute

'Like 'em Big Series'

AN: I have so many stories to write but I had to do this. Blaming being sick, m'kay? Fever has got me bad and these meds got me loopy. Thinking we need some good, silly fun in our lives, right? Plus, now that I've watched Rise, I'm hungry for some big Raph appreciation. I know I ain't the only one

Part 2

All characters are aged up

Raphael x Reader

Warnings: near peril, easily smitten, possible errors due to fever (what kind of fever is up for deliberation🥴)

Cutting right to the chase. You like big dudes. That doesn't necessarily mean muscles, either. You just love you a big man - someone with a bit of something-something to them. More to love, you know? Given your track record with the greater world, it shouldn't be all that much of a mystery. Cats? Get yourself a tiger that you can cuddle into. Jumpers? Comfort central, baby. Beds? If you can't spread eagle then you see no point. The old-age saying does declare that the bigger the better, so who are you to disagree? How true that is may be up for debate but it’s merely as simple as understanding what your preferences are.

However, this makes dating a difficult ballpark to play in. No matter how tall, jacked, or voluptuous someone is, it never feels like enough. Human biology and genetics can only go so far in the conceivably possible sense. You just want to be absolutely engulfed when you get a hug. Is that such a crime? Apparently, it is. Unfortunately, you also seem to come across the worst jerks when you attempt to date within this set of criteria. One might argue it's your karmic justice for being so superficial and picky but a woman has needs. Not those kinds of needs, either. Get your head out of the gutter.

All hope seems lost and after yet again, another failed date, you decide to call it in for the evening and make your way home. A fresh failure and another wonderful outfit gone to waste. By no means is it anything flashy but you put a lot of work into it: pencil skirt, turtle neck sweater, and a nice pair of boots to compliment the look. The whole shebang! All of that effort for nothing. This is the last time you spend three hours doing your hair and makeup. Block after block, your feet grow heavier with every step. What you would give to come across a mountain-like man you can climb who is also a kindred spirit. Perhaps this dream guy will forever be that - a dream. Men like that don't just fall out of the sky.

"Look out!!"

The sudden shout almost scares you into tripping over and you look behind yourself, wishing you hadn’t. Two very large, very dangerous-looking figures entangled in battle, those of which are approaching your helpless little self. You quickly duck as the giants hurdle over you. One falls on its side whilst the other claws and skids against the ground, regaining its balance. It shakes its head and locks onto you, a guttural snarl rumbling past its jowls. Such a creature is surely from the stuff of nightmares. An indescribable nightmare whose sights are set on you. The smart option would be running away but it's as though your shoes have melted into the pavement. Pawing into the tarmac, the beastly thing growls and lunges for you. Great. This is how you die: torn limb from limb by a demon dog. Well, assuming your clothes join you, at least you’ll look like a total babe in the afterlife.

"Oh no ya’ don't," the other one yells from behind the predator, grabbing it by its tail. “Pretty ladies are not food!”

With a mighty tug, he pulls it back and swings it as far away from you as possible. You release a shaky breath, legs trembling beneath you. That was far too close for comfort. The fight isn’t quite over, however. Just as it approaches him, the green goliath swivels on his feet, full 180, and whacks the creature's jaw with a closed fist. His speed alone has you in awe but the force is astounding, practically earth-shattering. It completely knocks the air around you and pushes you onto your backside.

When the dust clears, the first thing you see is your saviour panting, his spiky shell(?) pointed towards you. Just past him in the distance, you notice three more figures in blue, purple, and orange taking a closer look at the unconscious tyrant. You swear one of them pokes at it with a stick. Witnessing strange beings such as this isn't entirely new. Anyone who's watched Chateau Pretenche knows about the celebrity chef turning into a grotesque pigman. To describe it in one word? Horrifying. It's just whether people choose to believe it genuinely happened or if these bizarre entities exist. Being up close and personally observing it now puts your scepticism in check.

As the humanoid turtle calms, he turns to face you, recapturing your attention. A red mask sits over his eyes and there’s a noticeable snaggle tooth poking past his upper lip. Typically, the prerogative is keeping out of sight but it’s much too late for that. He gradually advances towards you. You watch him warily and he keeps his movements slow for that very reason. It wouldn’t be a shock if you were to try and make an escape. He wouldn’t blame you. Currently, all he wants to do is make sure you weren’t hurt during that fiasco provided you don’t suddenly come out of your bewilderment and run off. You have good reason to but he just saved you. Either that or he’s as ravenous as that beast and wants you all to himself. The irrational conclusion remains as such - irrational - when he descends to one knee and outstretches a hand. There’s an irrefutable kindness in his eyes; a caring nature that can’t be replicated in the face of savage brutes.

"You okay?" he asks.

You continue to gawk without a word but, bit by bit, you reach out for his offer. Your fingers lightly trace the centre of his palm before comfortably trusting the proposal. His hand engulfs yours completely and Raph hopes to mercy that you don’t realise how sweaty he’s getting. He can feel his heart beating like crazy. He wonders how much of that is the adrenaline from the fight and how much of it is being in the presence of such a beautiful gal. As he helps you to your feet, he rises to his own. Someone of his stature shouldn’t be capable of being this delicate but he is. It has you running through a loop and you unintentionally stare at the remarkable behemoth.

Quite pathetically, you nod, unable to verbally respond to his question. How can you? You are effectively starstruck. Once you gloss over the turtle-y features, all you see is the sheer size of him as he towers over you. Height, width, the magnitude of those arms! All of it is glorious. You can hear the universe asking, “You want a big man, huh? How about one who isn’t human?” to which you answer, “Who gives a damn?”. If the only way a man can be this big is not to be human, so be it.

Amidst a whisper, your mouth moves on its own, "You're beautiful."

"What?"

"Huh?" Blinking out of your trance, you realise what you’ve said and giggle sheepishly, "I mean, you're be... ba... booming! Totally awesome with the whole- uh... saving thing." Nailed it.

He blinks right back down at you. This is certainly a first. He can feel his face heating up and he withdraws his hand lest you endure the wrath of his bashfulness, opting to hold the back of his head. At this moment, he seems to look anywhere but you.

"Heh. Gee, thanks." His humility is adorable and you’re glad he doesn’t question your initial statement. He turns to you once more, regaining some composure. "You sure you're okay, though? That thing was pretty scary looking."

It’s clear that you haven’t sustained any physical injuries but even bearing witness to something so unsightly can have lasting effects on one's mind. His brows furrow gently in concern down at you and it occurs to you that there’s a soft heart under all of that shell and muscle. Bonus points. This makes you smile for the first time in front of him and Raphael is sure that the streetlights got brighter.

You laugh fondly, “Yeah, I’m okay. Thank you.” Twiddling your fingers, your lips purse up in his direction. “Is there any way I can repay you?”

He places his hands on his hips and chuckles cutely, “Just doing my duty, ma’am.”

He may be indulging in his alter ego - the Red Angel of Preventing Harm - but it’s not every day he gets paid thanks when he saves someone. It’s also not every day he gets to save such a pretty woman, either. You, however, can’t just leave it at that. There must be some way in which you can properly thank him. Ulterior motives include getting to know this already loveable lug better but shh. It feels like the odds are finally turning in your favour and you won’t let this slip away from your grasp. That’s when it hits you.

Muttering under your breath, you erratically search through the confines of your little handbag. You are certain that you had one in here somewhere. In the spare pocket maybe? Ah! Found it. Fumbling to take the lid off of your pen, you hold out your hand, gesturing for his. He slowly complies, to which you jot down a series of digits on his palm accompanied by your name and a tiny 'x'.

"Gimme a text sometime," is the last thing he hears before you disappear around a corner.

Oh? Oh. Ohhh. Wow. Getting your number is the last thing he expected. Did he get hit on the head during that scuffle or something? Was everything from the last few minutes a dream? He bores holes into the writing on his skin, scanning it over and over, scared that it’ll disappear if he so much as blinks. A dumb, wobbly smile not so gracefully decorates his lips as he trudges back to the turtle tank. He takes his seat but it’s obvious that he isn’t all there. Being so caught up in his rose-tinted bubble, he doesn’t register his brothers' voices. In an effort to gain his attention, Michelangelo jumps onto his shoulder, partly intrigued by what their leader is so absorbed by.

"Oh me gosh!” the young brother screams in shrill excitement, “Raph's in love!"

Careful not to smudge the neat ink, he’s quick to hide his hand against his chest. "That's crazy talk!”

Donatello sniffs the air and mockingly covers his nose. "The overwhelming manifestation of your nervous stink indicates otherwise, dear brother."

"I got a girl’s number!” he continues to defend, feeling his face go all kinds of red. “'Course, I'm nervous but that don’t mean I’m in love."

Lies and slander. It was practically love at first sight. He just doesn’t like the idea of his brothers knowing that. It’s easy pickings to be made fun of.

"Don't worry, Big Red. Lucky for you, you got a guy who knows all about the charm." Leonardo points both thumbs at himself as he falls back into his seat and props his legs up on the dashboard. "First, you just need to..."

The "helpful" advice drowns out as the large snapper opens and gazes at his palm again. He just can't comprehend how a gorgeous individual such as yourself could take one look at him and give him your number. It's puzzling but he supposes there’s a first for everything? That also doesn't mean he won't text you. The only thing getting in the way of that is fear. Raphael thinks he’d rather go toe-to-toe with that mutant dog again than have to face the risk of embarrassing himself. To anyone who knows him, it’s no surprise that he caves under pressure. No. He will do it! A chance like this is one in a million.

Oh boy. What could possibly go wrong?

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izzyy-stuff · 26 days ago

Note

congratulations on 300 followers!! this is a bit of a wild one but reader is working as a stripper whilst in 3rd year of college to earn a bit of extra cash. the strip club is outside the city where she goes to college just to make sure she doesn’t run into anyone. but one day beomgyu’s friends drag him to the strip club and ofc he ends up seeing reader who is his academic rival. reader is forced to give him a lap dance upon his request just for the sake of earning some extra tips but eventually things get out of hand and they start fucking in front of everyone else. if you’re not comfortable with any of this pls feel free to ignore :)

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐏 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄 - 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈 𝐁𝐄𝐎𝐌𝐆𝐘𝐔

classmate!Beomgyu x fem!reader

in which Choi Beomgyu can't miss out on having his way with you, even if it means looking pathetic when he begs you to grind on him

wc 1.6k

warnings strip club setting, nipple play if you squint, dry humping, beomgyu cums in his pants, exhibition I'm pretty sure, lmk if I missed anything!

↪ izzy speaks... okay, I LOVED this request. Even though I changed up the last part and they didn't exactly fuck in front of everyone else, I still enjoyed this :3

this is not proofread!

event post | event masterlist

“I’m sorry! It won’t happen again!”

You’re not sure anymore what you were doing. How low did you have to fall to be on your knees, begging not to get fired? “Yeah, yeah. Alright, get up,” your boss sighs, looking at the clock on the wall. “There’s a group of college kids in room four. Lea is there alone now, so go join her. Don’t be late again, though,” she warns you, and you immediately nod, promising it won’t happen ever again.

You swallow hard as you close the door behind yourself, closing your eyes. No matter how filthy the job is, you need the money to pay for your studies. You can’t get fired. Not now when you finally learned the trick of how to get bigger tips.

Whenever you were failing a subject in high school, you used to joke about becoming a stripper or finding a rich husband so you could drop out, but you never actually thought those thoughts would come to be your reality. Sure, you never dropped out and now do this just so you can stay in school, but it feels bizarre.

You fix your top, making sure it still does its job and holds your breasts in place while showing enough skin. Your outfit is ridiculous, revealing more than you would want, but it does what it should.

You take a deep breath before opening the door of room four, putting on a smile as you walk towards your coworker, who is currently dancing around the pole placed in the middle of the table with all five of the guys in the room having their eyes glued to her body.

“Mind me joining you?” You speak softly, tracing your fingers along your coworker’s ass, slowly moving down to her thighs. “Oh, wow,” one of the guys breathes out, and it makes you roll your eyes. You just hope they don’t notice it. You glance their way, your eyes immediately widening when you notice the little too-familiar group of boys. Shit.

How unlucky do you have to be? You made sure to choose a strip club in a town far enough so it would be impossible to meet any of the people you see every day in classes, so why on Earth is Choi Beomgyu sitting in room four with his friends? And what the fuck is he doing in a place like this in the first place?

“Angel, are you okay?” Lea asks you quietly, making sure to use your club nickname so she wouldn’t give out your personal information. But it’s too late for that because you know damn well Beomgyu knows who you are. “I know them,” you admit, mentally slapping yourself to get professional again. “It’s fine, though,” you say, stepping back and turning to face them. “Do you think we can switch?” You try to be as quiet as possible when you speak to her, but Beomgyu seems to catch your words as he pulls out his wallet. “How much for a lap dance?” He wonders. Lea opens her mouth to answer, but before she can do so, he already has some money out, asking if it’s enough. That’s more than enough, you gasp, and Beomgyu scoffs when he sees your jaw practically on the floor.

Lae takes a step back from the pole, about to get down from the table and do as he asked for, but he stops her. “Not from you,” he shakes his head. “But from her,” he points directly at you, making the guy–that you recognize as Choi Yeonjun–beside him laugh. “I definitely won’t mind a lap dance from you,” Yeonjun smirks towards your coworker. She sends you an apologetic smile before making her way to the redhead, leaving you to take up on Beomgyu’s request.

You grit your teeth, walking to him. “Hi,” Beomgyu smiles, spreading his legs apart and leaning back so his back touches the couch. “They can call another girl here, right? Wouldn’t want to keep them all alone while I have my fun.” You frown, letting him know you’re not looking forward to this. “You can have your fun, and then I’ll move on to someone else,” you smile back at him, but your smile is as forced as it can be. “Don’t think so,” he proclaims, pulling you onto his lap. “What do you mean?”

“I’m keeping you all to myself tonight.”

He’s weird. Choi Beomgyu is a weirdo. For the first time since you got to know him, he isn’t showing off or trying to get a better grade than you, but he is still as annoying as ever. You glance to your side where Lea is, watching her do her job on Yeonjun’s lap while his three friends watch them, Huening almost fisting himself through his pants. “You want me to do the same?” He nods, grabbing the money he took out of his wallet before and sticking them between your boobs with a smirk. “That’s what I’m paying you for.”

If your boss saw you, you are sure you would get fired on the spot. You keep trying to keep your distance, unable to look as sexy as you usually do when you know who your client is. You try to step back and think of it as finished, but Beomgyu holds your wrist, giving you a warning look before he pulls you back onto his lap, making you sit down. “I want a proper one. I’m not settling for this shy version you just did.” You gulp down, trying to find an excuse for yourself. “I can’t–” Your name leaves his lips, and you close your mouth. “I wanna see you do it properly.”

You sigh, positioning yourself again. You take a deep breath and close your eyes, doing your best to forget that Choi Beomgyu is under you as you start your dance. This time, just like they taught you to.

And that’s how you got yourself into the situation you are in now. You’re not sure how it all happened, honestly. You were just doing your job, a silly little lap dance, so how did that turn into rubbing your closed pussy on his boner?

“Wait,” Beomgyu’s breath shakes as he looks around to see if his friends weren’t watching. He sighs when he sees them too busy with the pole dancer and another one of your coworkers that joined after Soobin’s request. “For what? Hm? Weren’t you the one humping the air seconds ago? Asking me to sit down and feel you?” You tease him, your hands on his shoulders. The material of your panties is thin, so there is no surprise your dripping cunt leaves stains on his pants, too. He doesn’t seem to care though, thrusting his hips up.

He wouldn’t have ever thought he’d get himself into this situation. Being dragged to a strip club by his friends was one thing—but finding you there? Oh, was he in heaven? The look on your face when you noticed him, the way you refused even getting closer to him—all that was making his pants tighter already. He couldn’t let his chance go to waste, could he? His long-term crush in front of him, able to give him a lap dance, what better thing was there? So he took his chance, but he didn’t expect you to get his dick hard so easily. He didn’t think you’d get him so worked up or that you’d actually do as he pleases when he asked you to sit on him so he could feel you.

The feeling of your wet panties on him, with your already-short skirt rolled up, and your boobs practically shoved in his face, he just couldn’t help himself and hump against you. He needed you. In every and any way he could get.

“Can I touch you?” He whines as you grind on him again. You nod, not caring anymore what could happen after tonight with the two of you. You moan out when Beomgyu squeezes your breast in his hands, leaning closer to you so he can lick your nipple through your top. Your fingers wander on his chest, pushing him back against the couch as your movements get faster. You know you shouldn’t be doing this with a client of yours, especially with so many people around, but you can’t help it, knowing this is the only chance you’ll ever get to do anything like this with him.

His hands move down to your waist, controlling your movements as he makes you grind on his lap, trying to stimulatingly thrust his hips against you. “Shit,” he groans out, his pace slowing down as he feels his dick twitch in his pants. He’s close, too damn close. But he can’t stop. He needs to feel you on him more. “Beom?” You speak up softly, but at that moment, his hands fall from your waist to his side, his head thrown back. You move back, glancing down at your bodies, and scoff. Choi Beomgyu just came in his pants because of you.

That sounds like something you should write in your diary.

“Do you work tomorrow?” He asks, trying to recollect himself as he brushes his hair off his face to see better. “No,” you shake your head, taking a moment to breathe. You don’t want to get up from him. “Do you know where I live?” You frown. “No?”

“Can I come to your house then?” The puppy eyes he gives you make you even more confused. “Why?”

“I’ll pay you. Just let me do this again naked,” he pleases, looking around the room. “With less people around.”

Your eyes widen, trying to make sense of what he is saying. You don’t understand him, but you nod either way. You want to know where this goes.

⋆✶ izzy's tags @beomiracles @seoulzie @adel222 @inkigayocamman @flowzel @love-be0m @virgo-and-libra @hwanghyunjinismybae @liaatiny @minaateez @bamgeutsz ✶⋆

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andypantsx3 · 8 months ago

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balm — todoroki shouto x reader

summary: you help rub down your boyfriend's muscles after a grueling shift. and then a little more.

contents: established relationship, pro hero au, gn pronouns + afab reader (reader has breasts + vagina), emotional intimacy, aged up characters, nsft, riding, nipple play; mndi please! (2.2k)

You find Shouto face down in bed when you get home, handsome and adorably sleep-rumpled.

He's stretched out on his stomach in only his underwear, his hero uniform discarded unceremoniously across the chair in the corner. His bare back and broad shoulders span nearly the entire width of the bed, and one long leg is bent at the knee. One of your pillows looks like it's being suffocated between his bicep and face, bulging from being bunched up so tightly.

You smile, stomach fluttering with the sight of your pro hero boyfriend the way it always does.

Shouto blinks sleepily over his shoulder at you as you set your work bag and keys down on the dresser, his hair ruffled and face pillow-creased. He looks simultaneously like a model laid out for a magazine spread and a baby kitten awoken from a nap.

You are immediately drawn to him like a magnet, leaning down to kiss him. He makes a low noise in his throat like he's pleased, leaning up to give you easier access.

"Rough shift?" you ask when you separate, petting a hand through that split-toned mop of hair.

Shouto nods, long eyelashes fluttering. "I was pulled into a rescue effort. It took a long time. But all is well."

You let your fingers trail from his hair down to his back, tracing lightly over a shoulder blade. Shouto makes a sleepy noise of appreciation, rolling it out in a way that lets you know he's a little sore.

"Can I do anything?" you ask.

Shouto shakes his head, hair falling into his eyes. He looks almost like he might fall asleep again right there. But your eyes are drawn to the jar of tiger balm he keeps on his bedside, its fiery orange logo all the more vibrant in the glow from the setting sun.

You reach for it, holding it out to him. "How about I do this?"

Shouto's mouth finds your wrist, a soft, warm press of lips. "You do not have to, love."

Oh yes you do. Taking care of Shouto is like a physical compulsion for you now. You might not be a pro hero or armed with a powerful quirk, but you want to protect him and care for him in every single small way you can think of.

You shed your coat, dumping it on the floor, and roll up your sleeves, nudging Shouto into a move comfortable position. He moves with you, the muscle in his back shifting prettily in the golden evening light.

You settle next to him, uncapping the tiger balm and smearing it across your fingers. A low groan escapes Shouto when you work it into the backs of his calves with firm strokes.

"Feels good?" you ask, kneading circles with your thumbs.

His reply is muffled in the pillow, but the tone is appreciative. You knead harder, smiling when all of his muscles tighten and flex, and another lower, longer moan escapes him.

"That's it, love," he says, syllables dragging out deliciously.

It's easy to lose time focusing on your ministrations, working the balm carefully and precisely into every muscle. Shouto is the most beautiful man on earth, the only man whose outside accurately reflects the loveliness of who he is inside. You love touching him, looking at him, feeling him firm and sweet beneath your hands.

You work your way up the backs of his thighs, and then climb onto them to reach his back. You work the balm into his waist, then shift forward to sit on his lower back to reach his shoulders, thumbs searching out any knots in the muscle.

You laugh when you notice Shouto is practically a puddle under your touch. His long eyelashes fan the tops of his cheekbones, and his mouth is slack in relief. You can't help but lean down and leave a kiss on his shoulder.

The kiss seems to rouse him. He shifts underneath you then, rolling his body between your thighs. You suddenly find yourself seated on his stomach, instead of his back.

Mismatched eyes flick up to yours, and one long-fingered hand finds your thigh, securing you against him.

Like this you can see even more muscle, the way his bicep tightens with the movement, firm pectorals, and the hint of his abs before they disappear beneath your spread thighs. You find yourself a little winded.

You dip your fingers back into the pot of tiger balm, then cap it and set it back on the nightstand. Shouto watches you quietly as you lean forward rub it over his shoulders, and the tops of his arms where his biceps begin. You're working it into the divots of his arm muscle when a set of elegant fingers gather up the hem of your shirt, rolling it up over your breasts.

You stop and peer down at your boyfriend, but he just stares back innocently, fingers still tangled in your hemline.

"Excuse me sir, I'm in the middle of treatment," you say, raising an eyebrow.

The tips of Shouto's fingers slide beneath one cup of your bra in reply. You shudder when they pass over your nipple, thighs reflexively tightening on his waist.

"It is working. I find I am feeling much better," Shouto intones. His voice is a low rumble when it leaves him, and it feels like it shoots right to your core.

His thumb slowly pets over your nipple again, a little more firmly. A whoosh of breath escapes you.

Shouto's other hand slowly presses at your lower back, guiding you to lean down closer to him. You abandon his arms, pressing your hands into the mattress at either side of his head so you don't fall onto him.

Like this, your chest is in his face, clearly what Shouto was aiming for. His fingers abandon your nipple to grasp the middle of your bra, pulling it up and over your breasts to band across the top of your chest like a harness, pinning your shirt up.

You shudder and gasp when he bends forward, his mouth finding your right breast. His lips close soft and hot over the same nipple, and it sends sparks streaking down your veins.

"Oh!" you gasp. "I thought I was the one who was supposed to be making you feel good."

"Mmm," Shouto hums into your breast, a delicious vibration. "You are."

His tongue flicks across your nipple, and his arm shifts more firmly over your back, pulling you even closer to him. He sucks a little, then swirls his tongue in a way that makes you feel suddenly lightheaded, teasing you the way he knows you like.

You feel your hips start to rock back and forth on Shouto's waist, thighs spreading a little wider to feel more of him between them. Shouto's hand guides you back and forth, as his mouth moves to your other breast, drawing out a gasp from you.

"Shouto—ah!" you say when his other hand finds your other nipple, smearing in the wetness his mouth left behind, pinching softly.

You feel something stiff nudge the back of your thigh as you move back and forth on him, and Shouto's hips cant, pressing him into you harder.

"Always make me feel good, love," he says, leaning up to catch your mouth.

You kiss him back eagerly, opening your mouth to him. His tongue tangles with yours, teasing like he had your nipple. You muffle a moan when the hand at your back presses you down on him more firmly and the hand at your nipple slides down to press against the front of your pants instead, touching you through the fabric.

You shift into his hand, chasing the delicious friction, indirect though it is.

"Take your pants off, love, I want to feel you," Shouto commands gently.

You obey immediately, leaning back to unbutton your work slacks. Shouto holds you steady while you maneuver them off clumsily, still perched over his waist. He's freed himself from his underwear too by the time you're done, his cock flush and full and as insultingly pretty as the rest of him.

He guides you down onto him, sliding home embarrassingly easily with how eager you are for him. He feels incredible inside you, thick and firm and delicious.

His hips lift as his hands pull you down harder onto him, and the feeling is enough to make your eyes almost roll back in your head.

"I want you to ride me, pet," he says, tone low and intimate.

You nod, cheeks flushing with the pet name he only deploys when he's deep inside you like this. Your hips move, sliding you up and down on him. The pad of his thumb presses to your clit, gentle but firm, drawing tight little circles the way he knows you like.

You move over him, panting with the instant, inescapable pleasure. Shouto knows exactly what you like and how you like it, and everything he does is designed to work you up to your peak embarrassingly fast. His thumb moves over you, unrelenting, and his hips buck and flex beneath you, driving himself a little deeper, a little harder with each thrust.

He leans up to take your nipple in his mouth again, sucking delicately. It shoots heat right down all your veins, settling in your core, mixing with the pleasure of what he's doing to your clit, what his cock is doing inside of you.

"So good for me, pet," Shouto says.

You feel yourself flutter around him with the praise, grinding down on him harder. Shouto alternates between praising you and driving you wild with his mouth, and within minutes you're riding him almost mindlessly, nearly delirious with the feeling of him.

"That's right, love," Shouto says, tone soft and pleased. "Let go for me, pet. Let me make you feel as good as you make me feel."

His thumb nudges you more firmly, and he sucks a nipple harder, tongue teasing over the tip. Everything about him is too good to be true, you think wildly, from the way his cock slides all the way inside you to the way his eyelashes flutter as he sucks you. He's beautiful, he's gorgeous, he is diligent and sweet and delicious.

He gives a hard thrust, no longer content with your pace, driving himself up and into you in a way that makes your blood turn to lava. Combined with the feeling of his thumb on your clit, with his mouth on your nipples, with his arm clamped tightly around your back, pinning you to him—it's all too much.

Another sharp, short thrust from him throws you right out over the edge. You arch into him, crying out his name. Shouto grinds up into you, taking the reigns as your hips stutter, fucking you through it. He gasps against your breast, driving himself into you.

He takes your waist in both hands, moving you up and down on him with his strength alone. The way his biceps cord and flex, and the easy athleticism he moves you with lights up another spark inside you, and a wild noise escapes you when slide right into a climax again—immediately on the back of your last one.

It makes the room fuzz and blur, your blood scorch like fire in your veins, and you shout Shouto's name.

He thrusts into you faster, harder, a furrow appearing between his eyebrows, growing pink-cheeked with the effort. And then his hips stutter, pace faltering. There's the flood of him inside you, sweet and hot.

You collapse onto him, sweat slicking your lower stomach to his.

Shouto pants into your hair, his fingers coming up to pet through the damp strands.

"Thank you, love," he says, mouth finding your ear. He sucks the lobe aimlessly, teeth scraping over the shell.

"I was supposed to be treating overworked muscles but I think I've made the problem worse," you sigh, shifting. You can feel him growing softer within you, but you're careful not to move enough to dislodge him, enjoying the intimacy of him still joined to you.

"A sacrifice well worth it," Shouto says, mouth mapping the skin behind your ear.

You smile, shifting your face into his neck. He smells like sweat and tiger balm—salt and camphor and menthol. You love it.

"I'll just have to find other ways to loosen you up," you say. Shouto twitches inside you tellingly, and you laugh, harder when he nips your ear in reproach.

"Perhaps a shower," he says. "And dinner. And then we will see who loosens who."

You grin into your boyfriend's neck, helpless affection pooling in your heart.

"The right kind of sex could be considered a balm for the soul. Among other things," you say, and Shouto huffs a tiny laugh into your hair.

"Then we must work it in thoroughly, for best effect," he says.

You smile and hum your agreement, knowing you will. You will always take your best care of Shouto, after all.

#todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #shouto x reader #shouto todoroki x reader #shoto x you #shoto x reader #bnha x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki x you #character: todoroki shouto #andie's writing

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bonny-kookoo · 1 year ago

Text

Jungkook

𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐂𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲 🍒

Sometimes love doesn't make sense.

Tags/Warnings: Tattoo artist/Piercer Jungkook, Pastel!Reader, opposites attract, Strangers to lovers, Fluff, suggestive flirting, adult themes but no smut, consensual hand holding

Length: ~4k

There is no taglist for this fic.

Masterlist

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──🍒── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

"Uhm-" you wonder, stepping inside the store to be greeted by the guy you know as Jimin.

"Hi, my friend has an appointment?" you say, and the artist stands up and walks closer. Your friend stays close to you, buzzing with the excitement of getting her first tattoo ever- too shy to say anything.

When it comes to that, you're a little ahead of her. As long as the person isn't intimidating, you're fine talking to them, asking for help or anything alike.

"Yeah, it was the dragon on her back, right?" and your friend nods. "I've got it all prepared already. Wanna come downstairs with me, I'll explain the rest of it there?" Jimin kindly says, taking her coat and leading her downstairs where you assume everyone works. "Oh, you can just wait in the back there, or stroll around town. It'll take a while." he says, and you nod, a bit unsure now after being left alone.

"Hm?" a voice chimes up, before he speaks again. "Oh, Thought I heard something." the guy comes into view, and suddenly you can't talk.

This is what you can't talk to.

Intimidating? Heavy boots and black clothes, silver chains and piercings and a fully inked sleeve including his hand present themselves to you, muscles free since he's only wearing a black sleeveless top that should be illegal for him to wear. His smile is the friendliest you've ever seen, reaching his eyes and his slightly wild hair just makes him look even better, sides buzzed down to mere millimeters left- you want to disappear from the earth and his memory forever.

Fuck. He's looking like every goth-girl's wet dream while you're dressed in a pastel colored dress and thick knee high socks to keep your feet warm in this cold weather. Great.

"You can sit here in the back with me, otherwise you'll catch a cold from all the cold air blowing in every time the door opens." he recommends, pointing to a couch in a corner that you assume is where they all spend their breaks. Awesome, he's a gentleman as well it seems, making it all even worse for you. "You want something to drink? I've got tea or coffee." he wonders, and you meekly press out a 'tea, please.', making him chuckle.

He probably thinks you're nothing more than a child, with the way you look so out of place.

You envy your friend in that department. She's got piercings, she knows cool friends, she has exciting stories to tell. Meanwhile you sit at home and knit sweaters and blankets, help out at the local animal shelter because you get to pet the cats and dogs all day, or work at the library where you aid tourists find the town's guide.

"Your friend was the tall girl, right?" he asks, coming in with two cups, one of which he sets down on front of you. "I'm Jungkook by the way." he introduces himself, smiling before he leans back in his seat. Of course he's interested in her, you think. She's exactly his type, though he looks quite a few years older than her.

Well- the least you can do is help her find a date.

"Ah, yeah, she's my friend. Best friend." you say, pulling the cup of tea closer. "Thank you, for the tea." you say politely, and he grins in front of you.

"No problem." he waves off.

"She's uh.. She works at a car-uh.. She does those paint jobs. Like, those complicated one's that look realistic and all that." you try and explain. "I.. Forgot what it's called though. But uhm.. You can ask her later maybe?" you say, and he shrugs, setting down his cup before he smirks impishly, tongue playing with his lip ring in a manner that you can only describe as illegal.

"I probably could do that-" he starts, before he tilts his head a little to the side, body leaning forward. "-but I'd rather get to know you a little more." he wonders, and you almost choke on your tea- but you're composing yourself. "Maybe I could start by asking if you've got a boyfriend?"

Well, so much for composing yourself.

Your wide eyes look at him scandalized, and he giggles at the sight of it. "I- uh, no, I mean no I don't have one, to be honest-" you laugh a bit nervously. "-guys don't.. I- most guys don't really look my way, you know. So I thought, you know, considering-" you motion up and down towards him, "-you'd be more interested in my friend." you ramble, and he just shakes his head, smiling.

"I mean, she seems nice- but, I don't know either." he shrugs. "Something about you- it's hard to explain."

You shift a little on the spot now, unsure what to do in a situation like this. Typically, you shut down guys quickly, scared of what's to come. But you also don't want to keep doing exactly that- not when you've got the chance of something right in front of you like that. For the first time, someone's actively interested in you. Someone who seems nice, that is.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable, by the way." Jungkook suddenly rips out of your thoughts. He leans back again, giving you space, and it makes you feel a little deflated. Did you blow it already? Oh god you screwed it over, didn't you?

"No, you're not, don't worry." you say, looking down. "I just.. I'm not used to this. I'm usually always the wingman instead- or.. Wing-woman?" you think, and he laughs.

"Hard to believe, but I'll take your word for it." he says, still friendly. "So, I'm wondering- any tattoos? Piercings?" he wonders, and you nod- instantly making his eyes sparkle in interest. "Oh- can I ask what it is, or do you want to let me find out later?" he says, and you instantly turn red, making him laugh. "Sorry, sorry- I'll stop, promise." he waves off. "..for now."

You laugh at his antics, unable to keep a straight face by now. "You seem like you know your way around with girls." you say without thinking, before you hurriedly correct yourself. "I-I mean I don't mean that your like, a fuckboy or something or- maybe you are that's fine too! I don't judge but- oh god.." you put your head in your hand. "You know what? I'll just wait here for her, I'm so sorry." you mumble more or less.

But much to your surprise, he simply laughs, head thrown back for a second before he grins at you, front teeth slightly protruding, giving him a bunny smile.

"You're so cute, I swear." he says, shaking his head. "I- is it okay if I ask for your number?" he wonders, and you look at him for a good moment, squinting your eyes as if you test to see if he's serious.

"I.. Sure..?" you say, pulling out your phone with all the different charms attached. He grins and shakes his head amused, though clearly excited as you type in your number into his phone before calling yourself to make sure it's correct.

"So!" he grins. "Since your friend is gonna still be out of order for a good four hours downstairs," Jungkook stands up to hold out his hand. "You up for some boba for our first date?" he asks, looking down at you even though you're standing as well by now.

And you nod, walking next to him through the slight October fog outside in town, his hand warming up yours.

You don't even realize how.. easy it feels, right away. His hand holding yours is not demanding, giving you the option to let go at any point, but you don't mind holding it. It's warm, comfortable, and it also makes you wonder if that's something he enjoys. Did he date a lot already? He certainly looks like he got the choice, girls probably falling for him fairly easily.

Well.. you're already trusting him too. How ironic.

"Just tell me which one you want, I'll go order." he says later, holding out a hand in case you lose balance as you clean off the rain from your boots as to not bring it all into the small store. "I'll pay too by the way, no but's!" he grins, while you look up at him with a pleading look.

"No, I'll give you the money back for mine." you say.

"But then it's not a date!" he argues back, a whine in his voice as if to mock the way you just spoke to him. "then it's just- two people getting a drink at the same time."

"what's so bad about that?" you laugh, crossing your arms without thinking- an action he playfully copies, pushing out his chest, fabric of his jacket stretching over his biceps.

"That it's not a date!" he says, before laughing as he relaxes, talking more quietly now with a lower, more serious tone. "Alright, in all seriousness though, I'd still like to pay even if there's no date." he tells you.

"I- no, a date is fine, it can be a date.." you say. "I just don't want to.. Come off as a leech for taking your money if you end up not liking me-" you ramble, and he smiles warmly, holding your shoulders before his warm palms touch your cheeks for a second.

"You're overthinking too much." he giggles, before letting go of you. "right now, I like you very much. And even if we don't end up working out, I'm not that kind of guy to go around and talk shit about people." he shrugs.

You sigh at that, before pointing towards an item on the menu. "..can you- I don't like that much ice in mine.?" you say, and he nods, before walking towards the worker to order.

He's oddly okay with you, you've noticed.

Normally, people and especially guys get frustrated easily due to the fact that you've got trouble deciding things, or that you don't like ordering, or that you quickly feel bad because your brain thinks the worst about every single word that's said to you. But he seems nice enough, doesn't come off as annoyed or anything. Despite his way of talking and his outer appearance, Jungkook feels nice to have around.

You wonder how a guy like him can be single.

Or maybe he isnt? Maybe he's into the BDSM scene, a swinger, or in an open relationship, and he just want to offer you a threesome? He looks like he might be into that stuff, like a dominant guy that enjoys taking control over his partner in the bedroom. Does he tie people up? You've seen stuff like that before, and it's not something you'd be opposed to if he'd be the one to-

Wow, alright, exit was three miles ago.

"Everything alright?" he chuckles, snapping you out of your thoughts, amusing him as he notices the way you turn red. "Been staring at my ass? Can't blame you, honestly." he jokes, making you hit his shoulder playfully before you take your plastic cup from him. "Hey, this might sound super shady and you don't have to say yes-" he starts, stepping out the small store with you where it had started to snow again. "-but I've got my apartment a few minutes from here, and it's freezing cold, so-" he takes your hand and looks down at you. "-you wanna go to my place?"

You're nervous now, more than ever. Thoughts are entertaining, they're safe and most of all yours and not real, but the prospect of potentially going into an apartment you don't know, with a guy you don't know, is scary. What if he's actually a serial killer, or really into BDSM and you'll get involved in some shady fifty shades stuff-

"-you really don't have to say yes. We can just go back to the Tattoo shop and talk there, I don't mind." he reassures, and you still don't answer. "What's worrying you? Maybe I can help."

"I-" you start, unsure, and fingers already hurting from the cold cup as you both walk outside the small store, walking side by side. You enjoy this a bit more- without holding his hand, you feel safer having a discussion like that. "-you know, guys only take girls to their place for.. Stuff, and I'm not like that, but I also kind of want to be but at the same time it's scary-"

"Hey, no, I'm not out for blood if you mean that." he chuckles, holding out his arm to make sure you wait until a car has passed the road you're both trying to cross. "Like, I'm not gonna lie and say I've never had one-night-stands or quickies or whatever, but right now I'm interested in you, first and foremost." he explains, his rather blunt words causing an elderly lady to turn her head scandalized as she walks past. "Also, I'm into begging. I'll only fuck you if you ask nicely." he smirks down at you next to him, before laughing out loud at your wide eyes and red ears.

"I-" you struggle to form words. But you're also horribly cold. "Alright then. I mean not the fucking part, at least not right now maybe sometime in the fut- where was your apartment again?" you stutter, and he grins so hard his eyes almost close.

"You're so fucking cute, my god." he shakes his head, before taking your hand again. "It's right down this road." he simply tells you, before you both find yourself in front of an apartment building where he takes you upstairs to his door. "Ah, I didn't clean up, by the way. It's a bit chaotic." he sheepishly offers, before the door opens.

It's warm, inviting. Doesn't smell bad, and it's not as chaotic as he told you it would be, Jungkook walking inside before you walk around, inspecting the apartment.

"I've put your boots in my shower, in case you're wondering where they are." he says after emerging from his bathroom, opening a window a little to air out the apartment. "make yourself at home, don't be so stiff." he chuckles, smiling when you visibly relax.

He sits close to you on the couch, but keeps a respectful distance between the two of you. He watches as you inspect a hole in a blanket he's got on the couch, shrugging. "My friend has a dog. Small little shit tore a hole in there, but it's still good so I keep the blanket."

"It's an easy fix." you say. "If you take those two parts of the yarn and then those, you can just tie them together so it doesn't rip open any further." you explain, and he tilts his head a little.

"Oh? Do you knit?" he wonders, and you nod.

"I.. My hobbies are kind of lame. I knit, and I help at the shelter a little away from the town. Other than that, I just.. Kind of exist in my apartment." you tell him. "I work at a library near the main train station. So, I'm not really interesting." you say, while he shakes his head.

"Don't say that. I think that's all pretty cool." he reassures. "Sounds like you've made a cozy life for yourself. That's pretty impressive considering today's times." he says. "I've always been.. Unsatisfied. With almost everything." he shrugs, leaning back, socked feet resting on the edge of his couch you're both sitting on.

"How so?" you wonder, taking a sip from your drink, before putting it back onto the small table.

"I don't know." he explains vaguely. "I guess I always had way too big dreams and aspirations. And now that I'm at that age I back then wanted to be, I feel like I wasted all my time with nothing but short-lived successes and people who only wanted me for the moment."

"Kind of.. Reminds me of myself." you giggle. "I.. When I was young, even a teenager, I always said I won't have kids. But these days, I kind of think, in the future I want them. Not right now, but one day. I wanna have a family and stuff, live in a house and have a dog and a cat and a husband and all that." you giggle. "like I said, not right now- but in the future."

"Hmhm. I never wanted to marry either. Thought that's just bullshit." he says. "But now, after seeing some of my friends have that, I'm envious. I want that too. A partner for life, I mean. A boring life." he says.

You hum a reply, nodding to yourself, a bit of quietness falling over the both of you, before he moves again, sitting down more comfortably turned towards you.

"I.. Would really like to get to know you. Seriously, I mean." he starts explaining. "Like I said, I.. Don't know what it is exactly, but you're.. Fuck you make me all weird." he laughs. "I wanna stay in contact with you, if you'd like. We could watch a movie? Only Netflix, no deep-throating during commercial breaks, promise!" he jokes, before adding, "..except if you're up for it." he giggles when you hide your face for a good second, laughing.

"I don't even know how to do that!" you laugh, making him raise his eyebrows while playing with his lip ring.

"Oh I can teach you, don't worry about that." he teases.

"I'm sure you can.." you mumble more or less, sipping on your drink. But your sentence seems to make him curious, eyes gaining a challenging glimmer as he leans forward.

"No no no, let's rewind a bit there." he says. "Just so I know where I'm at. You a virgin?" he wonders, and you pull your legs closer to yourself.

"..no." you shrug. "But.. I highly doubt I'm as adventurous as you." you tell him, making Jungkook smirk a little, as if challenged.

"Are you? What do you think I'm into then?" he wonders. "I've got a feeling you've made up your mind about me more than I thought."

"I mean, I don't know?" you say. "You.. It's not that hard to have more experience than me. I only had sex like.. Twice, and it's honestly not really for me." you shrug. "it's weird to.. Ugh I don't know."

"No, you do know, you just don't want to say it out loud." he clears up for you, making you nod. "Did you ever have an orgasm?"

"Jungkook!" you bark out scandalized, making him raise his hands in playful defense.

"What? You gotta ask these days, men are shit in bed most of the time, I have to admit that!" he laughs, shamelessly talking about this as if it's nothing but the weather outside. "So? Did you?" he wonders, and you shrug. "So you didn't?"

"I- don't know!" you say, a little glad you can finally talk to someone about it, hesitation finally breaking as you get the chance to make your frustration some room. "It's different when I do it myself. Like, then I'm pretty sure I have one? But when I had sex it was different, like I was almost kind of there but also not.." you lean your head on the backrest of his couch.

"Sounds like you didn't then." he tells you. "See, there's women out there who can't cum from penetration at all. The key ingredient is being fucking attentive." he explains. "I got more than just my dick, is what I'm trying to tell." he says, wiggling his fingers in front of his face, several rings adoring some of them- and you laugh.

"You sound like you're trying to get me to have sex with you right now." you joke, but he just shrugs his shoulders, tongue poking against his cheek for a moment.

"I'd fuck you any day you'd let me." he simply answers, eyes on yours. "After all, I gotta check out those tattoos you said you have." he flirts, and you move around a little, air between you both getting thicker. At this point, you can't deny the attraction. And with the way he talks and treats you, you're sure you'd let him prove his point as well. Right now. No regrets.

He notices the way your eyes fall to his lips, getting attached at the silver piercings there for a good moment, before you find his warm eyes again. And even though he really did not intent to be so forward so fast, he still scoots closer, tests the waters, places his arms on either side of you before the tip of his nose almost touches yours.

"Been wondering for a while now.." he starts, licking his lips before he looks down to yours, face tilting a bit as he looks at you. "..what flavor that lipgloss might be." he jokes, before he can't help himself.

You've not been kissed often in your life, not even in relationships. But you know for a fact that there's no experience comparable to the way he kisses you- not only his lips, but also his hands craving you it seems, making you feel completely under his spell. He's not just kissing you with his lips. He's using his hands, his tongue, knows clearly how to create a moment.

Your phone rings.

His rings soon after.

He laughs- and so do you.

It's a little awkward for a second, before he sends a message informing his coworker that you're on your way back, his grin still evident, never vanishing it seems. "so..?" you wonder having stood up to go grab your coat.

"So?" he parrots back, standing up as well to walk closer to you.

"What flavor is it?" you shyly try and flirt, and he laughs, leaning down to kiss you again, just a peck, and another, and just one last one before he parts with laughter.

"I'd say cherry-" he grins, watching you tie your boots in his hallway before he cages you in at his front door again the second you stand back up, unable to resist you now that you gave him the chance to taste you.

"But let me make sure I got it right."

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook fanfic

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shares-a-vest · 2 years ago

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Eddie reaches for Steve's fruity-scented shampoo - the stuff he swears he hasn't been using each and every time he stays over. He pops the cap and then the lights go out.

He screams bloody murder and drops the shampoo bottle. He kicks it and presses his palms against the nearest surfaces. One on the tiled wall, the other on the glass as he does everything to stop himself from moving his feet because, if he trips on that fucking fruity shampoo that makes Steve's hair oh-so-silky, he'll go slipping and sliding straight through the glass and into the goddamn toilet.

And he cannot die like that, buck-naked as the day he was born.

Though, if he absolutely had to die in the nude, he'd want it to be while he's railing someone six ways from Sunday...

Preferably the hunk who is bursting in through the bathroom door and waving a flashlight right in his eyes.

Steve opens the shower and reaches in to shut off the water. Eddie palms around and grips his boyfriend's wrist, impossibly warm despite now being wet.

"Are you... uh..." Steve drops the light enough from him to stop spluttering about. Eddie blinks hard, regaining enough focus to find a sly smile tugging at the corner of Steve's lips as he attempts to be serious, "Um, are you okay?"

Alright, maybe falling head-first into the toilet would have been a little less embarrassing than this: Steve staring back at him and snickering. He cups his junk and grumbles.

"Towel?" he spits, holding out one hand.

"Sorry," Steve says as he hands the brown (seriously, why do the Harrington's enjoy brown so much) towel over, "It's just you looked like you were in the middle of some naked jumping-jacks."

"Stevie, I was terrified," he retorts, drying off his arms and hands first so he can get a better grip on anything so he can safely get out of the damn shower before it becomes a fogged-up glass tomb.

But Steve places the flashlight tight under one arm and spots him, hovering one hand and placing the other on his dripping wet hip.

"I know," he soothes, now completely serious, "I was scared too."

Eddie doesn't care that he is mostly wet and that his hair is completely soaked, he goes right into Steve's strong arms, feeling his navy-blue sweater quickly dampen between them. Steve maneuvers around to stop their bodies from completely blocking their light source and hugs him tight.

"So stupid," Eddie can't help but mutter, "How am I more scared of the fucking dark than I was when I was six? Besides, how do you even lose power out here in Richie Richville?"

"Well, considering this house is surrounded by trees," Steve shrugs, "We lose power quite easily in bad weather," he pulls back enough to give a dangerously-teasing smirk considering Eddie's state of undress, "Thought you'd enjoy some candles and what-not, anyway. Doesn't Bilbo Baggins scurry around his cottage with a candlestick?"

Now it's Eddie's turn to move away as he hurriedly wraps the towel around himself - to protect his modesty. Yeah... that.

"Excuse me?" he exclaims, "He lives in a Hobbit hole, for one. And I'll have you know his home is well-lit."

"Come on!" Steve scoffs, rolling his eyes and taking his hand.

He leads them back into his bedroom, which at least has some moonlight peaking in from the windows. And yeah, now Eddie can really hear the source of the power outage. The wind outside and the trees that shroud Loch Nora sound like a goddamn tornado.

"Though I think Rivendell surely must have had some sort of electricity," he wonders aloud as he attempts to focus on something else.

"We can debate the infrastructure of Middle Earth later," Steve chuckles and promptly shoves a pair of sweatpants into his hands.

Eddie steps forward, smiling bashfully.

"You mean it?" he coos, biting the 't'.

Steve's eyes flick to his lips as he bites his own, "I can think of a few things we could do that don't involve the power being on."

Eddie opens his mouth, readying himself for a lame line about their palpable electricity that will probably make Steve laugh when the damn radio crackles.

If a physical object could be a boner-killer, it's the damn radio Steve currently has attached to his hip.

"Steeeve is the power out at your house, overrr!" Dustin screeches the moment Steve fishes it from his back pocket.

"Yes, over," Steve answers. He holds a finger up, silently asking Eddie to wait as they make no attempt to move an inch from each other's personal space, "I'mfine-okaygoodbye!"

He clicks the radio off completely and tosses it on his dresser, paying no mind to the fact it sends his Little League trophy toppling onto the carpet.

#ironically i drafted half of this last night when i thought the power was going to go off bc of the weather #but then ONLY the internet went off 💀💀💀#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #lilys ficlets

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thehighladywrites · 10 months ago

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— “I’m just a girl!”

☀︎ — pairing: nerd/tutor azriel x bimbo/ditzy reader

☀︎ — summary: you tell azriel you don’t know what taxes are, and that you haven’t filed them ever

☀︎ — warnings: fluff, dramatic reader, azriel being sweet and educational

☀︎ — amara’s note: man i wish i was her rn💔 also this is so fucking real bc what on earth are taxes???

series masterlist

“Baby, please, you have got to grasp the gravity of this situation. Not filing your taxes is no joke. You could end up behind bars for tax evasion! There was a whole mandatory course last semester, didn’t you take it?” Azriel's tone is firm, his concern painted all over his face as he stands infront of you.

When you revealed that you didn't know what taxes were or how to "file" them, Azriel got worried sick, emphasizing the importance of understanding basic responsibilities like this.

He brought you into the living room, seated you on the sofa, and stood in front of you, carefully explaining step by step why not filing taxes was illegal and how to fix the situation. However, no matter how hard you try, you can't focus on his words, your attention completely consumed by his built muscles. Your mind goes blank as you find yourself daydreaming about him taking off his shirt.

Azriel knows you’re not focusing on his words, he knows you’re ogling his body, and even though he gets warm and loves it, he needs you to focus on the topic, at least for a few minutes.

“Are you paying attention, baby?”

You honestly don’t get it at all. Like, if they take tax from you when you’re shopping, shouldn’t they already know how much you owe or whatever? And who even are the IRS? Can’t you just live your life without all this complicated stuff? Why does Azriel have to make everything so...ugh, what's the word? Complicated?

“Oh my god, Azzie! Stop it, I don’t wanna do this and I don’t understand anything. Please, I’m just a girl!” you exclaim dramatically pulling your knees to your chest as you hide your face in your hands, tears prickling in your eyes. You’re feeling completely overwhelmed by the situation and the sheer thought of dealing with stupid taxes.

Azriel sighs deeply, his brows furrowing as he takes off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose. If he doesn’t have a gray hair by the end of the week, he’ll consider it a win. As much as he wants you to understand what is wrong with basically committing a crime, he doesn’t want you crying, he feels sick to his stomach seeing you so sad but he just has to fucking ask.

“You’re—You're just a girl— sweetheart, what does that even mean?” he asks gently, completely flabbergasted by your statement.

You fold your arms over your chest, chin held high as you say, “Ya heard me, m’just a girl. And that means i should not be doing any of this, i should be living my best life instead of thinking about whatever taxes are.”

Azriel just looks at you with raised eyebrows, man you’re stressing him the fuck out. Luckily he caught your illegal activities early otherwise you would have gone to prison for sure. Even though he thinks it was ridiculous for a person to have never done their taxes ever, he doesn’t hold you against it. He just slumps his shoulders, taking a breather. Azriel can never be mad at you, never at his sweet angel. Especially not when you look so upset, big sparkly eyes looking at him with worry.

It’s in that moment. That tiny moment, he decides to never confront you with your mistakes. Sure you almost went to jail, but Azriel is here now. He is intelligent enough to think about the more serious issues for the both of you. And he will for the rest of his life, not because he has to, but because he wants to. He wants to take care of you.

“You’re right, my love, you shouldn’t worry about this. I’ll take care of it,” Azriel assures you, his tone gentle as he tucks a strand behind your ear.

You look up at him, eyes shiny with unshed tears as your face lights up before you stand up and jump into his arms, showering his face with kisses, your excitement bubbling over.

“Awe, you're the best baby, I love you so, so, soooo much!” you exclaimed, your words flowing freely in your ditzy excitement.

He laughs shyly, still getting nervous when you show him affection. “I love you too, beautiful.”

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taurielofmirkwood77777 · 1 year ago

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Can we all stop with the "Aziraphale is wrong, Crowley is right" mentality please? The whole season was spent of saying "nothing is just black and white, everything is in shades of grey" and yet a lot of people are still falling for the black and white thing. BOTH were right and BOTH were wrong. Let's unfold this, shall we?

Starting with the elephant in the room, yes, Aziraphale was wrong for thinking he can change Heaven. We, as an audience, saw just how awful Heave can be, when Aziraphale didn't for the most part. He doesn't know why Gabriel is fired and he never learned how Heaven treated "him" after he averted Armageddon. He doesn't know all of that, but we do, so it's not fair to blame him for it. Him believing that he Crowley wants to be an angel again is simply due to the lack of communication between them. Both in season 1 and 2, Crowley mentioned multiple times that him falling was not fair because he never did anything more than just ask questions, unlike other demons who were all against Heaven. So Aziraphale assuming that that means he would like another shot at being an angel is completely reasonable.

Now, Aziraphale was also right for taking the job. Considering the events of season 2, it was very clear that Heaven wouldn't simply let Aziraphale and Crowley exist in peace after everything. Yes, they had 4 years of peace, but for immortal beings, that's more like 4 hours. Aziraphale wants to make sure that he and Crowley CAN exist without the constant fear of revenge or punishment. After all, we were just introduced to the Book of Life and there's nothing stopping Heaven from erasing one or both of them from existence forever. Aziraphale doesn't want to be with Crowley if that means living in constant fear, because that's not really a living, is it? He needs to do something about it. Even if Crowley doesn't see it that way, Aziraphale has to do something to keep them both safe, if not the entire Earth. So his choice of going to Heaven may not be "good", but it sure is the most logical.

As for Crowley... poor Crowley. He doesn't get it. In season 1, he came to Aziraphale and had to work to convince him to stop Armageddon from happening. And the moment he thinks that it can't be stopped, he decides to run away. And that idea stuck. Up until that moment back in season 1, Crowley didn't even entertain the idea of leaving Earth. But from that point onward, it's the only thing he thinks about. He brings it up every chance he gets. You could even argue that being a coward is one of the reasons he became a demon in the first place (sorry not sorry). But running away isn't an option. Running may save him from the problems going on on Earth, but no matter where he goes, he can't get away from Heaven and Hell. They can always pull him back, they can do worse things from afar. But Crowley doesn't see it. He tells Aziraphale "You can't leave this bookshop." as if that's not what he was planning to do since episode 1. Crowley loves the Earth. Even more so than Aziraphale. He plays dress up every chance he gets, he drinks poison for fun, he cares about the health of ducks and is clearly indulging himself in alcohol much more than Aziraphale does in food (speaking of, he was also the first one to consume human food and drinks and the reason Aziraphale does so in the first place). He's the one who convinced Aziraphale to stop the destruction of Earth in the first place. But Crowley is also very stubborn.

At the same time, Crowley knows better than anyone how Heaven and Hell work and how that can never be changed. He saw first hand how Heaven treats its own angels (I'm including Gabriel in this) and realises it's all a trap. He can tell. He fears for Aziraphale's life, and even for his if he were to accept it. Crowley tries to warn him more than anything. But just knowing everything is a scam is not enough.

The only way for Aziraphale and Crowley to be able to just be together is for them to make sure they can. And the only way to do that is by going in the belly of the beast.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens s2 #good omens season 2 #good omens season two #good omens analysis #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #ineffable husbands

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roosterr · 11 months ago

Text

i've known war

john 'soap' mactavish x gn!reader wc: 9.3k (whoops) summary: you're alive. he can get you back, he can hold you in his arms again. warnings: established relationship, angst and sadness and depression, hurt/comfort, canon typical violence, graphic description of injury, mentions of torture, eventual happy ending, military and medical inaccuracies, pls ignore any plot holes i beg

requested here! follow up to love you from afar, but can be read as a standalone. im so sorry this took me so long to write lmao.

it always feels like the first time when you kiss him. even now, years down the line, the sparks, the warmth, the daze that you leave him in; he truly believes it will never get old.

the way you look, standing in the open doorway of the helicopter, silhouetted against the bright blue sky, it makes his head feel so fuzzy he almost forgets why you're all here in the first place.

it's the sweet sound of his name passing your lips that pulls him back to the present, your voice sending his stomach fluttering.

"earth to johnny," you chuckle, turning to face him and resting your weight against one side of the open door, "what're you thinking so hard about?"

he can't help the smile that breaks out at the sound of your laughter. "just you." johnny replies, closing the small distance between you and snaking an arm around your waist. you smile as he leans in closer, murmuring low in your ear, "and, how i cannae wait to get ye home."

you laugh again, placing a hand on his chest but not quite pushing him back. "we've got a job to do first."

he takes your hand in his, running his thumb over your knuckles. "then we'd better get a move on, eh?"

"i'll race you," you grin at him, haloed by the light of the sun so beautifully he has to snap himself out of his reverence to respond.

"oh, you're on."

perhaps it was slightly irresponsible the way he was rushing the others along for his own gain, but within a matter of minutes they're breaching the facility and well on their way to being done with this.

it's only when he's stalking along a dimly lit corridor that he slows down. something was bothering him, an off feeling in the back of his mind that he just can't ignore.

before he can think about it any further, a boom shakes the walls, filling the air with dust and obscuring his vision even more. it was close enough to start a faint ringing in his ears, coming from back the way he came; where he'd split up with ghost and, more importantly, you.

he should stay on target, continue with what they're here to do, his job – but what if you were in trouble? if there's a chance you need his help, he couldn't risk it. it takes less than a second for him to turn back, making the decision to check on what caused the explosion before continuing.

quietly stalking back down the corridor, it takes him slightly longer to register the fact that he hasn't heard anything over the radio; no updates, no clever remarks from ghost, nothing. they worked not fifteen minutes ago, just after you'd split up and checked them. surely nothing could've happened in such a short space of time?

he does his best to push through the sinking feeling that tries to drag him down, but it's stubborn, creeping in from the corners of his mind.

he reaches where he left you in half the time it took him to walk away, the intersection of two corridors just as empty as the rest of the halls. he points his flashlight in the direction you went, and the feeling in his gut gets worse.

something glinting in the light catches his attention. the end of the corridor is collapsed, when it definitely hadn't been before, but it's what lies in front of the rubble that he zeroes in on. partially obscured by the layer of filth and blood coating it, there's no mistaking it when he kneels down, dropping his rifle to the ground beside him, and carefully takes the metal in his trembling hand.

it's a pair of id tags.

he numbly calls your name. it bounces off the walls and echoes back to him. the blood runs through the creases of his hand, staining the flesh. the letters of your name are clear through the dirt.

no. you can't be gone.

he looks up to the rubble, shrouded in darkness, back down to your tags, back up to the rubble, and there's a hand just visible under the concrete that looks sickeningly like yours and–

he tears his gaze away, back down to your tags. the chain is snapped, like it had been ripped off in a hurry, as if you'd known you were going to die and wanted to make sure he would find them–

no, no no. you're not dead. you can't be. he just saw you fifteen minutes ago, he bumped his helmet against yours in lieu of a kiss like he always did before you parted ways. you were fine and you were smiling at him. it was only fifteen minutes, you were right here, he can still hear your voice taunting him about the race between you, it was only fifteen minutes–

a heavy hand comes down on johnny's shoulder, startling him out of his panicked daze and instinctively he jumps up and swings his arm at whoever stuck up on him.

ghost catches his forearm easily, his eyes moving between your tags clutched in johnny's fist to the wreckage behind him. when he meets johnny's watery eyes again, the coldness in his gaze seems to soften as he arrives at the same conclusion.

the ringing in johnny's ears hasn't left. in fact, it's gotten worse.

"we– we gotta find 'em," johnny's breath comes out shallow and ragged, the panic slowly rising in his chest through the initial numbness. "fucks sake, they cannae– we– we–"

"johnny." ghost interrupts his sputtering short, bracing both hands on his biceps and giving him a gentle, grounding shake. "...come on."

"no! simon we–" his breath catches in his throat, heart constricting painfully beneath his sternum as he grips the front of ghost's vest in desperation. why was ghost giving up so easily? didn't he care? didn't he want to find you?

ghost lowers his gaze, tearing away from the distraught expression on the sergeant's face. "they're gone, soap."

"shut the fuck up!" johnny growls, despair seeping into his voice with every second that passes without you. he tries to shake ghost's hands off, but he doesn't budge. "ye dinnae ken that! they're still here somewhere, we cannae leave without 'em!"

he's gripping your tags like a lifeline, the metal searing against his palm and heavier than anything else he'd ever carried. he shouldn't have them, they shouldn't be in his hand, they should be around your neck, you should be here, with him, and not…

it's too much. his knees give out from under him and, despite ghost's firm grip on his shoulders, he sinks to the floor with his head in his hands.

"simon, fuck– please…" it's a whisper, under his breath, but he knows ghost heard from how he crouches down beside him, laying an arm over his heaving shoulders as he steadily begins to sob.

it's not real. it can't be real. he wants this to be a nightmare so fucking badly, but the pain in his chest is far too real, his tears burning tracks down his face, the weight of your absence pressing down on him and crushing him under the pressure.

he barely notices when price and gaz appear in the hall ahead of them, just about registering the sound of the debris crunching under their boots as they approach. the pair don't say anything as they take in the scene, looking down with furrowed brows at where johnny and ghost are crouched on the floor.

the captain opens his mouth to ask, but ghost cuts him of with a solemn shake of his head.

words are exchanged, but johnny doesn't hear them. his head feels impossibly light, an expanding pressure beneath his temples that makes it hard to think. the ringing keeps getting worse.

the sound of gunfire makes it through the fog. gaz and ghost each take one of his arms, hauling him to his feet and essentially dragging him after the captain as they make their way back out of the building. he can't bring himself to fight them. he blinks, and finds himself strapped into his seat, the one next to him hauntingly empty.

price is talking into the radio, to laswell he assumes, but johnny doesn't register anything he says – anything except the last two words:

"...one k.i.a."

the air is thick with a kind of tension he's never felt before, a shroud of numbness that he can't seem to shake. when they land it follows them, seeping into the air on base and pushing down on whoever crosses their path. none of them have to ask to understand what happened.

johnny keeps your tags, clutches them close to his heart, and practically bites the head off of anyone who tries to take them from his white-knuckled grip, even as he gets checked out in the medical wing. his quietness puts the medics on edge, he can tell. something about the way he doesn't even flinch when they cleanse his wounds, the polar opposite to his his usual talkative nature, it tells them there's no use trying to console him. they try to convince him to let the tags go, but he doesn't acknowledge their words.

the broken chain stays firmly wrapped around his palm until he's staring down his own hollow face in the bathroom mirror. he'd turned the sink on fifteen minutes ago to wash the blood away, the water so hot it fogs up his reflection, but he can't bring himself to put his hands under the stream.

because it's your blood, not just the usual grime from missions. if he washes it off, he's washing you off, and he doesn't want to do that, no matter how disgusting it is.

there's a knock at the door, and only then does he realise how long he's been staring at the red that decorates his hands. he still makes no effort to move.

despite his lack of response, gaz opens the door and meets his eyes in the mirror. there's a pause as he waits for johnny to say something, but when he only lets the silence go on, he takes it upon himself to approach.

"soap…" he utters, brows tilting in concern watching his friend continue to stare absently into the mirror. with a deep sigh, kyle takes his empty fist and pries his fingers from his palm. johnny's eyes gravitate to the fresh blood that wells up in the crescent indents. watching the red droplets fall, disappearing into the running water, the pain finally registering in his mind when kyle presses a cloth to his hand.

the sting of the hot water is there, a distant feeling as johnny allows him to wash the blood away, never saying a word as he watches kyle's efforts, like an observer of his own form, right there but looking in from the outside.

kyle reaches for your tags, but his fingers barely brush the metal before johnny is shoving him back with a rush of anger that happens so fast he doesn't even have time to process his own reaction.

with a thud, kyle's back hits the wall and for a moment neither of them dare move. they watch each other in silence, wide-eyed shock mirrored in both their expressions.

"i…" i'm sorry. the words catch in his chest, falling into the void there and never escaping for gaz to hear. he can't let him touch your tags. it's the only part of you he has left. "...don't touch 'em."

kyle squeezes his eyes shut, breathing a deep sigh through his nose. "alright, i'm sorry, i won't touch them." his tone is low and careful as he steps closer again, hands open so johnny can see them. he feels like a feral animal, being coaxed to let kyle approach. "but you need to rest, mate."

the weeks blend together after that day. some days johnny feels like the shock will never wear off, like he's living on autopilot. others, it all comes crashing down on him and even dragging himself out of bed becomes a challenge.

his dreams are plagued with images of you, lifeless and cold. it stops him from sleeping most nights, but others are filled with memories of your life together playing on loop, a constant reminder of what he can never have again.

the room you used to share is always filled with flowers; gardenias, gladioli, forget-me-nots, and anything else he sees that he thinks you'd like. when they wilt, and eventually die, he presses the petals in the pages of his sketchbook, keeping them in a box next to the very first flowers he ever got you, the memories preserved forever under your – his bed.

that same sketchbook that's filled with page after page of your image, some from the multitude of pictures he keeps of you, and when he inevitably runs out of references, he draws you from memory. it gets to the point where he can't pick up a pencil without your face haunting him; you always did love his art, even if he didn't think it was any good.

he knows he's not the only one taking it hard. the others are different too; gaz is quieter, something more serious in his eyes now. the captain doesn't appear moved on the surface, and neither does ghost, but when they look at the empty seat where you used to sit, the memory of you is evident in the way their shoulders deflate ever so slightly.

once word spreads about what exactly happened, the never-ending condolences and pitying looks from the people around base gets old very quickly. they tell him how they're so sorry for his loss and what happened to you was so tragic, and it shouldn't annoy him as much as it does, but he can't help the anger that bubbles up in his chest when they talk about you.

he doesn't want to hear it, and every time he has to listen to their pitying comments it only makes him resent them more. they didn't know you, they didn’t care, they probably didn't even know who you were before you died. they could never hope to understand what you meant to him, to the taskforce, the gap in their team that you left behind.

it's when someone suggests moving on from you that it all finally bubbles over.

six months later, a long time since that day but somehow no time at all. he'd gone out for drinks for the first time in a while, after some gentle coercion from simon, along with another group of soldiers staying on base.

he didn't even want to go, not really, but something in him knew he couldn't carry on like he had been. he needed some form of normalcy, one night where he can pretend everything is fine and you're just waiting for him back home, to just forget.

it didn't take him long to realise going out with them was a mistake. almost immediately he was dragged into a conversation with a few guys from another unit, and despite his many attempts they just wouldn't leave him be.

somehow, after about an hour of mindless chatter, they land on the topic of their love lives and recent conquests, and johnny immediately felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. he wanted to slip away, avoid what he knew was coming at any cost, but he couldn't get away fast enough.

one of them brings up your name, they all look to him with a sort of curiosity that makes his skin crawl. they ask him if he's planning on staying hung up on you forever. johnny says it's only been six months. one of them laughs and tells him it's just sad, and from the looks of it you weren't anything special.

johnny smashes a glass over his head. price benches him for a few weeks after that.

it's hell, being left behind, alone, while the others went on like usual, and truthfully he starts to resent them all, bit by bit from the first time he's left on the tarmac. it felt like they didn't care, that johnny's heart, his life, his soul has changed but they carried on without looking back once. he isolates and shuts them out in a fit of misplaced anger, building the walls around his heart higher and higher and letting that resentment fester.

the day of your funeral brings it all crashing down. after all those months of waiting, johnny didn't even make it more than five lines into the speech he'd prepared before he's breaking down and stumbling out the side door in a hyperventilating mess. simon follows behind like his shadow, sitting down with him when he slides down the wall with a hand clutching his chest. he cries into simon's shoulder for rest of the service, releasing all the pent up anguish he'd been trying to keep inside in a catharsis he didn't realise he needed.

when they get back to base the next morning, johnny’s practically begging to be allowed back in the field. he found himself missing the chaos, the unpredictability of the battlefield was where he was in his element. this job was how you met, how you got together, how you lived. he never felt closer to you than when he was out in the field with adrenaline pumping through his veins.

it takes some convincing, but price gives in and everything feels like it's back to normal. missions are quieter than they'd ever been, but johnny finds it doesn't bother him anymore. he feels your presence by his side like the sun on his back, always with him, like his guardian angel.

it's six more months before anything changes.

in the back of the helicopter, a few minutes out from the landing site, an oddly comforting sense of déjà vu washes over him. the bright blue expanse of the sky, the warmth of the sun on his skin, he almost feels that if he turned to his left, he'd see you sitting there with that same smile lighting up your face.

his fingers tighten around your tags.

"you watchin', bonnie?" he presses his lips to the cool metal, feeling your name under his skin as he mumbles to himself. his gaze finds the roof of the helicopter, and even without looking he knows the others are watching him, that familiar solemn look on their faces.

they were doing this for you. everything johnny did was for you. he puts your tags safely away in the pocket if his vest closest to his heart.

the helicopter jolts as it lands, and with no more than a second's hesitation he's shooting up from his seat, a renewed energy flooding his body to the tips of his fingers. they step out into the biting air, a chill than not even the afternoon sun could stave off, and quickly begin their march into the small facility.

"you two, take that side. gaz, with me." price commands, and with a sharp nod from the three of them, they split up and begin their canvassing. they were here for intel, but there was no guarantee they were alone, despite the emptiness of the halls they move through.

their footsteps echo off the walls, only the distant howling of the wind outside to accompany them. the hairs on the back of johnny's neck were on end, an unease setting off alarm bells in the back of his mind following behind ghost.

the déjà vu from earlier isn't comforting anymore. he doesn't feel you watching over him, and the feeling only gets stronger as they approach a doorway ahead, bathed in a red light.

ghost pauses in the entrance, looking back at johnny and waiting for his affirming nod before pushing forward. the room is empty, the same as the rest of the building, save for the table sitting against the far wall.

there's something else there, he notices as he creeps closer to get a better look. a frown darkens his expression. it's a laptop, untouched and central on the table, a strange contrast to the almost methodical emptiness around it.

"oi, check this." johnny calls, turning around as ghost stalks over with a similar confusion on his face.

"that what we're here for?" he asks, examining the laptop with a deep frown casting shadow over his eyes.

"looks like it." johnny replies, slowly and carefully picking it up as his frown deepens. he was half expecting it to somehow blow up, but when he lifts the screen it lights up to the desktop with no issue. "that's convenient."

"very convenient..." ghost grunts, jerking his head in the direction of the door and speaking into the radio as he walks ahead of johnny. "price, we've got it. headin' to exfil now."

back on base a few hours later, the four of them with the addition of laswell sit around the table in a meeting room with the doors firmly shut, eyes locked onto the laptop with rapt tension as gaz opens the only file they could recover from the device.

the video starts abruptly with 'the mask' – the pretentious alias of man that heads the organisation they've been steadily eliminating all this time – in front of the camera, the dingy room behind him barely lit, the walls splattered with what johnny could only assume was blood.

"i trust that my message has found you well, task force one-four-one." his voice comes through the speakers, crackly and distorted by the low quality recording. "you have been relentless in your pursuit of us, and i applaud you for your efforts, but it's time to put an end to this."

johnny looks back at price, watching as his expression hardens and his fingers dig into his arms where they're crossed over his chest. it's obvious they've been set up, but it's too late to be concerned with that now. the problem now is how they're going to continue knowing the enemy has information on them that they shouldn't have.

the sound of something being dragged brings his attention back to the video, facing the screen again to see another masked man dumping a person with a bag over their head onto a chair in the centre of the room.

"i have something i believe you will be interested in." the chuckle is audible in his voice even beneath the mask and through the screen.

their wrists and ankles are tied together, and if it weren't for the laboured rise and fall of their chest, johnny wouldn't be sure if they were even alive.

"fuck– a hostage?" price spits, and even without looking he knows laswell is already working on finding a location, if the sound of her rapidly typing is any indication.

"something very… precious to you."

the figure moves to stand behind the person in the chair and yanks the bag from their head. he grabs their jaw and forces them to look up, a sickening laugh meeting johnny's ears as they make eye contact with the camera.

it's…

it's you.

you're beaten and bruised and covered head to toe in blood, but it's undoubtedly you when the faceless man yanks your head up.

johnny's sure his heart stops.

you're alive. you've been alive all this time. in the hands of a terrorist, and within an inch of your life, but…

you're alive.

"drop your investigation of us, and i will let them live." the masked man stalks back around to your side, still holding your jaw in a vice grip. the way you cower, as much as you can with that man's filthy hands on you, it breaks something in johnny. how long have you been in their hands, how long have you been abused by them?

how long have you been waiting for him?

he feels sick to his stomach, but he can't tear his eyes away. the lacerations on your face, the endless bruises littering your skin – when he spots the ones around your neck, he has to swallow down the bile – and how you just seem so tired, barely even fighting to keep your eyes open.

the masked man looks down to you again, pausing as he directs you to look at him through what seems like a black eye. the five of them watch, frozen by shock or anger or both, as the man rears his hand back and slaps you across the face so hard your head whips in the other direction. a pained, defeated sound escapes you, and johnny’s sure a knife to the chest would hurt less.

"do not disappoint me, captain price, or your sergeant will regret it."

the video cuts to black.

the sight of your face is burned into johnny's retinas, every time he blinks your features are there, dripping in your own blood, the only thing he can see.

"kate, tell me you can find this." price growls behind him, his words sounding distant to johnny's ears.

she hums distractedly. "working on it."

their conversation doesn't register, floating in one ear and straight out the other. you're alive. he can get you back, he can hold you in his arms again. it's like his prayers have been answered for once in his life, and it may be some cruel trick from god to find you like this but johnny finds himself praying his thanks anyway.

"johnny…?" simon lays a hand on his shoulder, turning him in his chair to make worried eye contact with his shell-shocked expression. it jolts him out of his thoughts, the energy of the room a controlled kind of frantic as he comes back down to earth.

"that's– it's them, they're–" johnny sputters, gripping ghost's forearm with an absent desperation in his glassy eyes, "simon, they're alive."

he can't stop thinking about how empty your expression looked, the way you didn't have any fight left, and the gravity of what's been happening to you since the moment he lost you slowly creeps up on him.

have you given up hope of them finding you?

"we'll get 'em back, soap, listen to me," price drops a heavy, grounding hand on his other shoulder, halting his spiralling train of thought, "they're comin' home." his voice is resolute, no room for argument where he speaks it almost like a command.

johnny can only nod.

his head is still light as more rushed conversation happens around him. simon's hand is still on his shoulder, and that might be the only reason he hasn't completely fallen apart yet, but the thread is pulling taught enough to snap. his nails carve dents into his palms but he doesn't have the mind to unfurl them.

"sir, we've got a hit." gaz speaks up from where he's leaned over kate's shoulder, a determined glint in his eye when he meets the captain's gaze. johnny’s head snaps in his direction, his pulse quickening with every word that sparks new hope in his chest. "two hundred klicks northeast of where we found the laptop."

"good work, you two," price is pacing back and forth, scratching his beard with a calculating look on his face. they watch him for a moment, waiting for his command on what their next move will be, but johnny finds his patience wearing incredibly thin.

"the fuck we waitin' for? let's get out there'n go after the wee bastards!" he growls, his narrowed gaze darting between price and the others as he steadily grows more and more restless.

simon shakes his head from beside him, "hold your horses."

"this is delicate, we have to do this one right." price pauses, his eyes losing their hardness as he meets johnny's desperate face. "i know how much this means to you, but you're too close to this, soap."

the pause that follows that is so thick with tension it makes it hard to breath. a boiling type of rage bubbles up in his chest, extending to every trembling limb and turning his vision red. there was no way in hell he wasn't going to be there for you every step of the way when – not if – they rescued you.

"ye can get yersel' right tae fuck!" he spits, his face contorted with anger as he shoots up from his chair and points an accusatory finger at the captain. "that's too far, price, ye cannae keep me outta this!"

"johnny, sit down." simon warns, using the hand still on his shoulder to put some space between him and price, but johnny doesn't budge; this was far too important.

"yer aff yer heid, both of ye's! if ye won't let me come, i'll go mysel', ye fuckin' hear?" he growls, shaking free of simon's hand. his glare travels between him and price, hands wound into fists at his sides.

the air turns heavy as they stare each other down. if price thinks he'll back down on this, johnny would love nothing more than to prove him wrong.

he's moments away from meeting his fist to price's face when gaz stands up and gets between them. "that's his other half, sir. respectfully, he deserves to be part of this." he reasons, giving price a firm look and a small nod to johnny. "you'd be the same in his position."

the tension is palpable. he watches over gaz's shoulder as the captain deliberates, clearly having an internal battle over the decision, but eventually he sighs and fixes johnny with a stern look.

price closes the distance between them, patting gaz on the arm as he passes. "screw your head on, mactavish. we only get one shot at this, i need to know i can trust you not to fuck it up."

a spark of hope makes johnny's heart race, and he gives price a single resolute nod of confirmation. "i won't, sir."

laswell stands and walks around the table to stand beside price, a similarly firm expression. "we have to play this carefully. they wanted us to find that laptop, i have no doubt they wanted us to find where they are too."

"so what's our angle?" gaz asks.

laswell and price share a look.

"this has to be off the books, there's no way we'll get clearance for this." laswell answers, her expression turning noticeably darker, looking over to price as she continues, "if we want them back alive, we'll have to act fast. that means we're on our own."

the captain nods with no hesitation. "we are getting my sergeant back. i don't care how we have to do it."

they're loading into the back of a helo not even an hour later. the five of them, along with two field medics and the pilot, with the strict instructions in johnny's head to bring you home or to not come back at all.

there's only one coherent thought racing through his mind for the entire; you. getting you back, taking you home, finding the man that took you away from him – and hurt you – and making him pay.

he fishes your tags out of his pocket and presses them to his lips in a lingering kiss, just like he always does. soon, he thinks, it would be you he'd be kissing, not just a remnant of you.

the flight passes by so quickly it's almost as if he'd blinked and they were landing again.

the air is glacial as they ready themselves, preparing for the mask to put up a fight that they fully intend to win. the plan was decided on during the journey; kate and ghost would provide support from a distance while price, gaz, and johnny would confront the bastard head on. his focus is razor sharp, marching through the trees and underbrush, blood rushing in his ears and jaw clenched painfully tight.

the sky is just as strikingly blue as the day he lost you.

bring you home, or don't come back.

they reach a break in the trees, surrounding the small facility they tracked the video to that looked more like a derelict warehouse than a base. either way, the dark figure of their target is visible against the brick wall, surrounded by a number of his own soldiers – johnny counts six as he, price, and gaz make themselves known coming through the treeline. they share a quick look; they know how this will end.

"well met, captain," the mask calls, slowing to a stop and leaving a few metres of space between himself and the three of them, "will you make the right choice, or will your sergeant suffer for your pride, i wond–"

his monologue is cut short by a shot from the darkness of the treeline and lodging mercilessly into the base of his throat. his deadweight hits the ground with a thud that echoes, and in less than a second bullets are flying.

soap tightens his grip on his gun, raising it to glare down the sights and firing at the soldier nearest to him and dropping him with one well placed bullet to the leg and another to the face once he was on the floor.

another shot from the treeline drops one more; four left.

gaz and price take out another two between them in a similar fashion to soap, leaving two still standing – one of whom was advancing fast with the barrel of his gun pointed at soap while the other backed away.

one more shot rings out from the trees and one more body falls, but the last hostile was far too close for comfort now, johnny had no choice but to tackle him to the ground, narrowly avoiding being shot himself on the way down.

a few seconds pass as they wrestle on the ground, both trying desperately to gain the upper hand but falling just short because of the other. from his peripheral soap can see price running to his aid, but his momentary distraction allowed his assailant to take the upper hand and roll on top of him.

hands constrict around his neck, cutting off his airflow, but a well timed shot from price sends him falling over sideways, sputtering blood from the wound in his side.

soap heaves and cough, pulling air back into his lungs and glaring at the body of the man who almost got the better of him. this only meant they were one step closer to getting you back; he was one step closer to having you in his arms again. it didn't matter if he got hurt in the process.

price's outstretched hand suddenly appears in his vision, "get up soap, we've got a job to do."

his daze melts away and he takes the captain's hand, allowing himself to be pulled upright with an affirming nod shared between them.

"good aim, ma'am." gaz calls over the radio, looking down his nose at the steadily declining state of the mask; his infamous facade now cracked and broken, revealing the agonised face beneath.

"bring 'em home, boys." kate replies, and though he can't see her face johnny can imagine the commanding look she's undoubtedly wearing.

gaz backs away as johnny crosses the mess of crimson and dirt to where the mask lays, sprawled out and immobilised by his injuries but still very much alive, giving the fellow sergeant a respectful nod as he goes. "he's all yours, mate."

johnny stands over his fading form, watching with a detached look in his eye as the blood spills from the gaping wound in his neck with every struggled breath, his disjointed intake of air and the pathetic sputters as he inhales his own viscera. there's not a shred of mercy in him as he gazes down at the man, every bit of agony was completely deserved for what he did to you. the death that claws at him would be a blessing.

he gurgles to johnny, raising a weak arm to brush the hem of his trousers as he attempts to expel the words, "pl–ea– plea-se–"

johnny scoffs, dry and venomous. he has half a mind to leave him to suffer until the life finally bleeds from him, but the pure rage he feels listening to this bastard plead for help after putting you through hell for a year is far too strong for him to restrain.

it's unconscious, the way johnny's arm raises to point the barrel of his pistol squarely at the centre of his forehead. he pauses for a moment, if only to see the fear creep into the bastard's expression before his fingers squeeze the trigger and the light is gone from his eyes.

his chest stops heaving and his hand drops back to the mud, leaving nothing but a few bloody fingerprints in his wake.

johnny pulls the trigger again.

and again, and again, and again, until his face is nothing more than a cavity of gore and lead and the ringing in his ears blocks out everything else around him.

a firm hand comes down on his shoulder and it’s only then does he notice the tension in his muscles and the fierce sneer pulling at his features. his eyes snap to the dark figure in the corner of his vision, meeting the bone white of simon's mask and the frown underneath.

"that'll do, johnny." simon murmurs, his own darkened eyes glaring down at the mangled corpse laying at their feet. he nods, somewhat absently, and turns away from the offending body.

there were more important things he needed to keep his head on straight for.

neither him or simon spare the remains of the mask another glance as they leave him behind. price and gaz are waiting by the entrance for them, and as soon as they're close enough they head together into the dark corridors of the building.

as the creep through the abandoned building, now deep in the cold basement, weapons poised and on high alert, there's a new sense of dread that forms in the back of his mind; what if you're not here after all? what if the mask was bluffing and you're already dead?

johnny grits his teeth and shakes his head to rid himself of that damning train of thought. he couldn't afford to think like that, he wouldn't, but another corridor of empty rooms has his heart sinking like an anchor to his stomach. he's trying to stay hopeful, but every dead end only makes him feel worse.

price grips his shoulder, firm and comforting, with a look in his eye to match as he catches johnny's gaze. "we'll find 'em, soap."

"i know." he replies, but there's a waver in his voice despite the certainty of his words. price doesn't release his gaze or his shoulder until he moves to follow the others.

he doesn't say much else as the search continues. the ringing in his ears is back, amplified by the eerie silence of the halls. he can feel the air getting colder after each empty room the clear.

the time passes arbitrarily, until there's one last room to check. johnny watches gaz and ghost pry it open, the sound of the lock breaking only just reaching him through the fog over his senses.

gaz pauses once the door swings open, his eyes locked onto something in the room as they widen dramatically. he still doesn't tear his gaze away as his jaw falls open, something frantic in the way he yells, "soap!"

a spark of hope strikes his heart and travels to the very ends of his limbs, a new burst of energy filling him as he shoves past his teammates to stand in the doorway and look into the room himself.

it's you.

curled into yourself in the corner of the damp cell, shivering with your face buried in your knees with your hands clamped over your ears. it's almost uncanny, how small you look. the tremble in your limbs, the fear in your quickened breaths, it was the exact opposite of how you should be, but despite it all…

it's really you.

johnny feels his heart swell painfully with relief, and without another second of hesitation he's skidding to his knees beside you and gripping the cold skin of your wrists. you let out a muffled sob at the contact, and johnny feels his blood turn cold when it meets his ears.

"don't!" you cry, weak and desperate. johnny's caught off guard with how you try to rip yourself away from him, the shakes that wrack your body only increasing when he keeps his hold on you. "get off! please– please don't!"

his heart cracks anew at the distress in your hoarse voice. he feels his eyes well up with hot tears that he has to fight to keep from falling.

"hey, it's me! it's johnny, it's your johnny! look at me, sweetheart, i'm here!" he tries to calm you with his words, keeping his voice low between you both, but you keep your eyes screwed tightly shut.

johnny lets go of your wrists to cup your face in his hands instead, gently turning your head towards him and using his thumbs to stroke soft shapes into your cheeks. the gesture makes your breath hitch audibly, and your eyes slowly open to meet his. "that's it, I'm here, i got ye, yer alright."

"don't– i don't– i can't…" whatever you're trying to say is broken up by the effort it takes you to keep breathing through your sobs. you still try to lean away from his touch, but johnny doesn't let you move far. he has to bite the inside of his cheek to hold back his own breakdown.

"no-one's gonna hurt you again, darlin', i promise ye." he murmurs, searching your glassy eyes while he continues to smooth his thumbs over the skin of your face, wet with your tears. "c'mere, i've got ye…"

with little more resistance from you, johnny gathers you into his arms and presses you close to his chest, they way he'd been dreaming off all the time you'd been apart. he pays no mind to the way the hard ground digs into his knees, and instead focuses on feeling the rise and fall of your ribcage against his own, your heartbeat under his fingertips, and the very real sound of your voice.

"you– j-johnny…" you stutter, your hiccuping sobs gradually fading away as you grip the bulk of his vest like a lifeline. "are you… real?"

"i'm real, darlin'," his voice cracks despite his efforts to stay strong for you. he presses his lips to the tip of your head in a lingering kiss, partly so you won't see the glossy tears in his eyes as he tries to stamp them down. "i'm here. i swear, i'm never lettin' you out of my sight again."

the simple feeling of your weight leaning against him is so overwhelming he's worried he might faint. he lets you calm down, rubbing soothing patterns up and down your arms and back and wherever he can reach, even when the position becomes uncomfortable and the dampness from the floor has seeped into his bones.

eventually though, he does pull back, softly shush you when you protest in the thought that he's leaving you, and cups your head in his warm hands.

"let's get you home, eh?" he smiles. your uncertain eyes dart between his for a moment, searching, before you nod. it's weak and hesitant, but the gesture makes his grin stretch a little wider all the same. "c'mon then, think ye can walk?"

johnny sighs when you shake your head, looking down and seeming almost embarrassed by your frail condition as if any of this was your fault. if he could kill that bastard again, he wouldn't even hesitate.

it's no bother to him to haul you up with him, holding you carefully against his chest with an arm under your knees and the other around your back. you still gingerly grip the top of his vest, your free arm looping itself around his neck and pulling yourself as close to him as you can muster. he gives a concise nod to the others, crowded in the doorway, and they begin the trek back to the helo.

the sunlight causes you to bury your face in the crook of johnny's neck, shielding your eyes from the blindingly bright rays. he allows himself a moment of distraction as they cross the clearing to revel in the feeling. he'd feel the sun on his face again, but he'd never again take for granted a single moment he spends with you.

they're almost to the edge of the clearing, almost departed from that haunted place with a graveyard of mangled bodies in their wake, but he doesn't quite make it to the treeline.

a single gunshot echoes through the clearing and before any of them can react, the shell has found its mark in johnny's leg. the force and shock of it sends him tumbling to the floor, scrambling through the blossoming pain to brace his fall on his arms so he won't land on top of you.

there's yelling, returning fire, but johnny can only focus on covering your body with his own, shielding you from any harm that might find you. even through the agony travelling up his thigh, even when the air is still again, and even when his own eyes are threatening to follow yours in falling shut and succumbing to the weakness that drags him down.

when did you shut your eyes? johnny slips his hand under your hand, grunting in his chest as his weight shifts, and to his horror his fingers come back red.

no, no no. he only just got you back, he cannot lose you again.

he doesn't even register that he's shouting – for help, a medic, something – until his weight is being heaved over ghost's shoulder and you're being taken by price, the cracks in his stony expression only fuel the sick dread making its way up johnny's throat.

back in the helo, in no time but he doesn't remember the journey, he tries to push the medic away who starts working on his leg, slurring for them to help you first. they ignore him, obviously, and if he had any energy left he would've berated them for not listening. ghost holds him down as they secure the tourniquet, and as his vision finally begins to fade, he turns his head to the side so you can be the last thing he sees as he slips into unconsciousness.

for once, he doesn't dream of you.

there are no images of your body, laying motionless under the rubble. he sleeps in blissful oblivion, his head completely silent, and wakes a day and a half later feeling more rested than he ever has despite the wound in his leg.

simon is by his bedside when he finally opens his eyes. it's late, the room dark apart from the fluorescent light bleeding in from the gap under the door and simon's phone highlighting his balaclava. he notices the moment johnny turns his head to watch him, because of course he does, and reaches over to turn on the lamp on the side table without a word.

"mornin', lt…" johnny mumbles, voice hoarse and eyes heavy as he pushes through the tiredness clinging to his senses to sit up in his bed. the light is abrasive to his eyes, but he blinks through the sting and manages a lazy smile towards simon.

"evenin', more like." he replies, a trace of humour in the way his eyes lift at the corners. "been asleep nearly thirty-eight hours."

johnny baulks at that, suddenly feeling a lot more awake from the cold shock that passes through him. "thirty–? jesus wept, i need'ta–" he sputters, wide-eyed as he throws the blankets from his legs and starts to get up, "i need'ta see 'em, how–"

before he can get his feet on the ground however, he's pushed back by simon's hand on his chest, forcing him to sit back and acknowledge the pain radiating from his thigh.

"they're fine, johnny." simon tells him, punctuated with a roll of his eyes before he continues, "been in and out of consciousness, but they're stable."

johnny sighs deeply, relief flooding through his body as he slumps back against his pillows. you're okay, you're alive, you're here, and you're home and safe. his thoughts have already begun racing and despite how much his wounds are aching, he's already set his mind to how he's going to see you as soon as possible.

as if sensing his plotting, simon leans forward to catch his gaze and even through the mask johnny can see the look he's sending him.

"i'm goin' back to bed, so don't do anythin' stupid." simon begins, pushing himself to stand using the arms of his chair and narrowing his eyes as he leans even closer. "if you rip these stitches, i'll put 'em back in myself, clear?"

"crystal, lt." johnny nods, and simon holds his stare as one last warning before he turns to leave – but not without giving him a firm pat just below his bandages that makes him wince, feeling the silent threat behind the gesture as he watches simon exit silently out into the hall.

johnny swings his legs over the side of the bed the second the door swings shut again, a sharp intake of breath following the movement as his weight shifts. surely he could get to where you are without making his wound any worse, he hard could it be?

he makes it two doors down before he realises that this might've been a bad idea. the muscles of his thigh burn and his breath comes out in heavy, stuttered huffs, but despite the strain on his injured body he refuses to give up before he's seen that you're okay with his own two eyes.

the fourth door he peeks through is where he finds you, the sight of your sleeping form instantly overpowering the pain in his leg. he shoulders open the door and beelines in a limp to your bedside, his gaze never once leaving your face until he's close enough to grasp your hand in a slow, featherlight touch like you'd disappear if he made a wrong move. you don't react as he strokes your knuckles, but johnny is more than content to just sit with you, perched on the edge of your bed and taking in the way your breath fills your lungs, the gentle thrum of your pulse under his fingertips on your wrist.

time passes easily like this, until the minutes have gone by and he can find the strength to lift himself into the bed beside you, snaking his arm around your neck and shoulder to hold you close as he settles in, careful not to agitate any of your own injuries.

"i missed you, my love," johnny whispers, dragging his fingers up and down your arm, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, "i missed you so much…"

your fingers twitch in his hold, the steady rhythm of your breathing hitching as a shaky sigh leaves you. johnny freezes, his hand stilling on your bicep and his eyes growing wide.

"john–" the sound of his name passing your lips pulls him out of his shock, and he pulls back to watch your eyes twitch and flutter open. your voice is raspy and still weak, but not even an angel choir could sound sweeter to him. "johnny…?"

"i'm here–" his voice breaks, but he continues anyway, "i'm here, i got ye." he murmurs, careful to keep his voice low despite how much he wants to cry from joy. "how ye feelin'? you comfy, sweetheart? any pain?" he asks, shifting the both of you to sit against the pillows and keep you nestled against his side.

"i'm okay–" your hoarse response is interrupted by a cough that devolves into wet hiccups, your hands curling tightly into his shirt as you look up at him, "it– am i– it's–"

"shushsh, i'm here darlin', i've got ye." he coos, his eyes welling up to match yours, resuming his soothing touch over your arm. you stay like that, for minutes that could've been hours, gazing into each other's eyes while you softly cry and johnny comforts you.

it aches him to see you cry, but he can't help but awe at how beautiful you still manage to be, with cuts and bruises and tears littering your face. his heart swells in his chest with the love he holds for you.

your hand finds its place on johnny's cheek, your staggered breaths calming down at last. he covers it with his own to feel more of your skin on his. a wince crosses your expression as you try to lean up towards him, but he stops you before you hurt yourself any further and leans his forehead against yours.

you pull his face even closer, digging your fingertips into his cheek in an almost uncomfortable sensation, before brushing your lips against his in something like disbelief. "am i dreaming?"

"no, my love," he utters against your skin, taking your bottom lip between his teeth, nudging your cheek with his nose, "this is real."

your breath hitches again when he closes the little space left between you and presses his lips to yours, encapsulating you in a kiss that holds every ounce of desperation he's been holding on to. it's passionate, all-encompassing, and it reminds him of the first time he kissed you all those years ago. your free hand travels up to his hair, tangling the longer strands around your fingers and drawing a groan from deep in his chest.

he's reluctant to let you when you pull away for air, tasting the salt from your last stray tears as he chases your lips.

"say it again…?" you ask in a murmur, your eyes fluttering open again. the look you give him, one of pure hope that you won't suddenly wake up alone, it makes johnny's heart miss a beat.

he squeezes your hand, turning slightly to leave a kiss on your palm. "it's real, bonnie. i'll die before i ever let you go again."

your mouth opens to say something, but you stop yourself just before you can choke the words out, fresh tears building in your eyes again. johnny gives you an encouraging nod, holding your gaze while you muster the courage to voice what you're thinking.

"i–" you begin, your words catching on a lump in your throat, "i watched you leave without me, i had to watch the helicopter disappear and, and you…" your voice fades, eyes darting between his while they gloss with unshed tears once again.

"sweetheart…" he frowns, his heart breaking anew from the anguish that he never wants to hear in your voice.

you swallow thickly, your hold on his hair tightening ever so slightly. "i thought– i didn't think you'd ever find me…"

"i'd always find you." johnny replies, his resolute tone leaving no room for argument. he touches his forehead to yours again and lowers his voice to continue, "even if i had to go tae the ends of the earth, i'd never stop lookin' fer you."

his words release the fresh tears you've been holding back, and with a quiet sob you drop your face to the crook of his neck, gripping his hair and face tighter still. johnny softly shushes you, rocking the two of you back and forth as much as he can with you held close in his arms.

"you're staying with me tonight…" your voice is muffled, spoken into his neck and sending goosebumps rippling across his skin. a comforting nostalgia follows your words, one he can't help but chuckle at.

"would'nae have it any other way, darlin'."

#soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #mw2 x reader #mw3 x reader #cod x reader #141 x reader #call of duty x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #roosterr writes

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sissylittlefeather · 6 months ago

Text

I'm sorry this took me a million years to write @sloppiest-of-jos! Anyway, I hope it lives up to what you were wanting!

Searching for You

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, kissing, cussing, p in v penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, and touch of angst

Word count: ~2.5k

"Elvis, you have a WIFE and a CHILD. Tell me again how you think this could possibly work out?!" Elvis sits in a chair, watching you pace around the room from behind his silver sunglasses.

"Honey, I've told you and told you. Those are my problems, not yours. I love you. I want you." He stands up and walks over to you, taking your hand gently and rubbing small circles on the back of it with his thumb. You look up at him and almost melt. Then, you yank your hand away and walk across the room.

"No! This has gone on for way too long." Memories of how you met on the set of the Singer special in '68 come screaming back to you. You think about him noticing you, a humble back up dancer for the bordello scene. He had walked straight to you and asked your name, not even bothering to pretend like he didn't like you. You'd seen him with the other girls and couldn't believe he was actually talking to you. But something about you caught his attention and he wasn't letting you get away. He invited you up to his dressing room after filming was finished and it didn't take long at all for you to end up naked on the couch, squirming as he brought you pleasure you had only ever dreamed about.

That was two years ago.

No matter how hard the two of you tried, you couldn't stay away from each other. The space between you was electric and you made ways to be together as often as possible, despite his marital status and your guilt. You fell hard and fast for him and he insisted he felt the same way, but he never entertained the possibility of ending his marriage.

On this particular occasion, you pace the floor half-dressed insisting this will be the last time. You're leaving California, removing yourself from the equation, and he is not pleased. Once you pull on the rest of your clothes, you point your shoe at him and yell.

"I'm done, Elvis. I'm done with being your back up girl to keep you company when your wife is gone. It hurts too much."

"Honey, it's not like that! You're the one I want! If anything, she's the back up girl."

"Then why won't you leave her?"

"I-I I can't."

"Yeah." You stuff your shoes on your feet and head for the door. "Goodbye, Elvis."

This isn't the first time you've had this argument, by far, but what Elvis doesn't know is that this time you're really leaving. You pack up all your things with tears streaming down your cheeks and head for home. The drive is long, but you've hit the end of your capacity for loving Elvis like this. You wonder how long it'll take him to figure out you're gone. Will he even care?

******

Elvis gives you two weeks to get over this most recent fight, sure that all he has to do is call you when Priscilla goes out of town. But when he does, your phone's been cut off. He hangs up and looks at the receiver in confusion. Surely you didn't actually leave.

He gets in his car and drives to your apartment. Maybe you've just changed your number and he needs to appeal to you in person. But when he knocks on your door, a man he doesn't recognize answers. He gets over his initial wave of jealousy and asks about you.

"Uh, I'm looking for y/n?"

"No one here by that name. Wait are you-?"

"Thanks." Elvis turns and walks quickly back to his car before the guy can ask him for anything.

When he gets back to his house, he calls all of his Memphis mafia into the living room and gives them an assignment. They need to find you and he wants it done yesterday. The guys all look at each other in mild panic and then head out to see what they can do while Elvis sits on the couch smoking a cigarillo trying to process his shock. You're really gone. Where on earth did you go?

******

After a week of Elvis wracking his brain and the guys bribing neighbors and friends, Sonny finally has a breakthrough.

"I was able to get ahold of her best friend at work."

"Yeah, and?"

"She went home to Kentucky."

"Home to Kentucky. Where in Kentucky?"

"She didn't know, but she said she knew it wasn't far from Nashville." Elvis rolls his eyes.

"What the hell does that even mean?! There are a lot of places in Kentucky that aren't far from Nashville. How does she define far?" Sonny looks at the ground and shakes his head.

"I don't know, boss. That's all she knew."

"Goddamnit." Elvis kicks the nearest table and Sonny looks at him hard.

"Might be time to give up on this one." Elvis meets his eyes with his eyebrows raised and then shakes his head.

"No. She's... no." He turns and heads for his bedroom. When he comes back with a suitcase, Sonny tries to stop him.

"Where you goin'?"

"Well, I guess I'm going somewhere in Kentucky that's not far from Nashville."

"You're really gonna go after her then?"

"Yes." Elvis gets in his car and starts on the road East towards Kentucky and you.

******

When Elvis finally makes it to Kentucky, he drives from small town to small town looking for you. He has a picture of you that he took one night that he shows to people. He has lots of pictures of you, but this is the only one appropriate for public consumption. He thanks God that he thought to take one with your clothes on one time. Honestly, it's his favorite photo of you because it's so naturally beautiful, your smile gentle and your hair a little messy from lovemaking.

The more he looks for you, the more it becomes apparent how much he loves you. He's been saying it for a while, but the emptiness he experiences at not knowing how to find you makes him know exactly how true it is. He loves you so much that he's driving around Kentucky just to find you again. How did he think he could give you up?

He's starting to lose hope when he comes across a preacher in a small town called Franklin. Exhausted and hopeless, he shows him the picture of you.

"That's y/n!"

"Yes!" Elvis looks up, shocked. "Do you know her?"

"Of course I do. I baptized her, didn't I?" Elvis laughs and hugs the man.

"Is she here? Where can I find her?"

"I haven't seen her in a long time, but if she's in town, she'll be at her parents' house." He gives Elvis the address just as it begins to rain. For the first time in weeks, Elvis is filled with hope and he decides he'll do anything to get you back.

He pulls up in front of the address that the preacher gave him and his heart beats wildly. He's so close to being with you again. The steady rain soaks him to the bone and he knocks on your front door and waits for someone to open it.

You see him through the windows and panic. How the hell did he find you here?! You know you won't be able to resist him if he talks to you, so you run outside and jump in your car, backing out of the driveway quickly.

But he sees you and tries to run to the car.

"Honey, wait! I just wanna talk to ya!" You focus on the road ahead and step on the gas to get away. Elvis runs back to his car and jumps into the driver's seat, starting the engine and throwing it in drive. He tries to catch up to you, but you're driving like a crazy person. The rain is still coming down pretty hard and he starts to worry about you driving like this. As you head out of town, your car spins off the road into a ditch and he realizes he was right to be concerned. Thankfully, because of the spinning, you don't hit the ditch too hard. He parks and jumps out of the car to run to you. You manage to get the door open and stumble out.

That's when you feel strong arms around you. The familiarity of them makes you cry and you shake with sobs as he holds you. He stands there in the soft rain, stroking your hair and whispering to you.

"You're okay, honey. I've got you. You're okay." After several minutes of this, you pull away from him and yell.

"What are you doing here Elvis?!"

"I needed to see you."

"Why?!" He pushes a piece of rain-soaked hair behind your ear.

"Because I love you, baby." You look up at him, your eyes wide as the rain continues to fall on you both.

"No! I'm not falling into this with you again!"

"Honey, I drove across the country to find you. Is that not enough to prove that I'm serious?!"

"Where's your wife, Elvis?" He groans and pulls his wedding ring off of his finger.

"I don't care." He turns and throws the ring into the patch of trees and you gasp.

"Elvis, that was worth a lot of money!"

"Maybe, but I don't want it anymore. I don't want her anymore. I want you, ya stubborn brat."

"Why?" He rolls his eyes. His patience is wearing thin as the two of you stand in the cold rain together.

"Because I'm so in love with you I can't even think straight when you're not around."

"I don't believe you."

"Y/n! Do you know how many small towns I've been to in Kentucky looking for you?! I love you so much I can't even imagine my life without you." You contemplate what he's saying. This is a long road to travel for casual sex. Maybe he does love you as much as he says he does, but there's still too many complications.

"How, Elvis-?"

"I'm leaving Priscilla." Your heart stops. Is he serious? "I can't live another minute without you. You're all I think about from the moment I wake up until the moment I go to sleep. Honey, I will do anything to prove to you that I want you and no one else."

You look up at him, your heart so full of love for him that you feel like it might burst.

"You'd really do that? Leave your wife and the mother of your child. For me?"

"Yes. I should never have married her in the first place."

"Elvis..."

"All my life I've been searching for you. I just didn't know it. I should've waited. But I'm here now and I'm telling you. I love you more than life itself. Let me love you, honey."

And then you utter two syllables that will change your life forever.

"Okay." In the blink of an eye, he wraps himself around you, his mouth pressed to yours in a passionate kiss. He grabs the back of your thighs and lifts you so that your legs are around his waist, his lips never leaving yours. The rain has softened, so he carries you to the hood of his car and sets your bottom down. You've never kissed anyone with such fervor before. It's like you're trying to melt into one another with the way you press yourselves together. You arch your back as he rolls his hips forward into you, his erection pushing against you through his pants. He runs his hands up your thighs and pulls your panties down under your mini skirt. His thumb runs up your slit to the bundle of nerves at the top and he begins to rub circles there. You drop your head backwards and moan loudly. Without another thought, you unzip his pants and pull his cock out, stroking it slowly with your hand. He groans and kisses down your neck, while you pull him to you and run the tip of his dick up and down your entrance. He mutters against your lips.

"You're such a tease, honey."

"Yeah, but you love me."

"God, I really do. So fucking much." He thrusts his hips forward and pushes into you, almost filling you in one motion. You cry out with pleasure when he does and lean back against the car. He pulls out and thrusts forward again, grunting. This time his hips meet yours as his entire cock is inside you. He makes a sound that's somewhere between a whimper and a moan and begins to slide in and out of you, pounding you to the steady rhythm of the rain.

The sensation of him slamming against you is enough to push you over the edge and you tumble headfirst into an intense orgasm, moaning and writhing and pulsing around him.

"Fuck, honey, I love you." You pull him down on top of you and whisper in his ear.

"I love you too." It's the first time you've ever said it back to him. He whimpers and kisses down your neck to your cleavage, never changing his steady pace of pumping into you. You can tell by the way his thrusting becomes more erratic that he's getting close too.

Finally, he slams into you hard and shudders against you, filling you with ropes of cum. It's also the first time he's ever cum inside you: another indicator that he's serious about you.

The rain has slowed to a drizzle as he collapses on top of you, spent and breathing heavily. He slides out of you and stands up, pulling you into a sitting position on the hood of his car.

"Come home with me, honey." He kisses your cheek affectionately and then backs up to look you in the eye, his blues ones seeing straight through to your soul. You couldn't tell him no even if you wanted to.

"I gave up my apartment."

"I want you to live with me." You raise your eyebrows.

"You still have a wife."

"I won't for long. I'll buy us a house. Just please say you'll come home with me." You nod and lean your forehead against his chest.

"I'm yours, Elvis." He tips your chin up to look at him.

"And I'm yours." He kisses your lips tenderly. "Now come on. Let's get out of the rain."

He drives you back to your parents' house, where you both change into dry clothes and settle on the couch together. Surprisingly, he's perfectly comfortable there with your mom and dad. He stays for a few days with you, letting you give him the grand tour of your hometown. Eventually, you head back to California together. Your car is totaled, so he promises to buy you a new one once you get home.

He wastes no time in leaving Priscilla and starting divorce proceedings. In the meantime, he buys the two of you a cozy little love nest and you're perfectly happy there with him.

The Kentucky rain was a baptism of sorts and you both came out of it changed for the better. It's not always smooth sailing, he is Elvis Presley after all, but you're happy more often than not. You never run away again, though you know he'd chase you if you did. And every time it rains, he holds you close and you remember the cold Kentucky rain.

******

The End

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