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electronicwitchcollection · 2 days ago

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~*Aizawa smut*~

Finally, the result of the jealous poll is written! While I was writing it, I had another Aizawa request and realised that request fit better with what I was already writing 🫠 so I had to rewrite what I had written and then restart this from scratch 🙃

Anyway, here it is! The first thing I’ve written that’s not about Bleach 😂

Being a pro hero was hard. Teaching a class room full of overconfident, stubborn teenagers with quirks was harder. You loved it though, found it incredibly rewarding and your heart swelled seeing those young men and women bloom into the great heros they become under your guidance. But damn, it one hell of a journey to get them to that point. That's why you've found yourself accepting the offer to join the other faculty in one of their impromptu "Let's go to the bar and get drunk before those damn kids make me reevaluate wether or not it is worth not just becoming a villain and blowing up the damn school, children and all" or whatever it was Mic had said to convince you to join them.

After some delicate and calculated persuasion, you had convinced your partner to join you. Shota was a somewhat reserved and apathetic man. His tired appearance and preference to nap above all else gave him a rather cool and unbothered disposition. He wasn't one for social gatherings nor large crowds, preferring his own company or that of a small select few. Despite this, he begrudgingly agreed to accompany you to the gathering, if only to prevent any unwanted attention you may get, given the shortness of the dress you had decided to wear.

For his usual lethargic demeanour, he was infatuated with you. He loved you irrevocably. Shota could be supportive and incredibly sweet, but he had a possessive, jealous streak a mile wide that he hadn't been able to tame in all the time he has called you his. You saw the way his half laden eyes widened a fraction, darkening as he feasted on the unobstructed view of your thighs. Saw his fingers twitch at his sides, itching to reach out and remind you that you and your body belonged to him and him only. It had worked though, sighing as he rubbed a tired hand down his face, muttering that he'll go and change.

As the night progressed the alcohol flowed easily, doing its job to help you unwind and relax. Inhibitions lowered, you chatted happily with your co workers, reminiscing over past missions you had participated in before you all became teachers and swapping war stories of the children in your classes. The lights were dimmed, pulsing colours lighting up the small dance floor you could see, housing inebriated strangers sensually moving their bodies to the beat. You could feel the music vibrating through your body, tempting you with its intoxicating melody to sway with the rhythm.

As your hips moved beneath you, you felt a chill run up your spine. Eyes snapping up, they immediately fell on Shota, staring at you from across the room. Sat at the bar between Snipe and Vlad, paying no mind to their conversation, his entire attention was fixed on you. His legs were spread, intoxicatingly so, foot bouncing with restless energy. A small smirk appeared on his lips before he brought the bottle of beer he was nursing up to his mouth. Your mouth went dry at the sight, flush of heat rising through your body that had nothing to do with the alcohol..

"Let's dance!" Nemuri spoke into your ear to be heard over the music, snapping you out of your trance. It felt like somebody suddenly turned up the music, brightened the lights as you broke away from his predatory stare. Nodding happily you accepted her hand and allowed her to drag you from the table. Passing the bar you locked eyes with Shota. You held out two fingers to Nemuri as she turned at your sudden stopping, letting her know you'll join her soon. You slipped between Shots's open thighs, as he raised an amused eye brow.

Laying a hand on his thigh you leaned in, the subtle masculine smell of his aftershave drawing you closer. His hand automatically went to your dress, subtly tugging down the hem to a more appropriate length before sliding up and setting on the swell of your hip. He leaned in close to your ear, gravely voice cutting through the energetic music "Do you want a drink, Kitten?"

You shook your head no, giving him your best smile. You wrapped your hand around his fingers, so much thicker and battle worn than your own, playing with them teasingly "Come dance with me"

"No"

You pout at the short, blunt denial, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly. He was so much more reserved when not at home. Less playful and willing to engage with your energetic whims. Normally you were sympathetic to his uneasiness, understanding of his dislike for situations such as this. But you were well on your way to being drunk and you wanted to dance with your boyfriend. Wanted to feel his hard body move against your own. Using his strength to twirl and bend you to his will. "Please?"

He shook his head with a soft smile at your wide, pleading eyes and the child like reaction to being told no. His hand abandoned his drink to the bar, the chill lingering on his palm as he cupped your jaw, using his thumb to pull gently on your bottom lip, watching as it bounced back to normal "No. I don't dance" He gently brushed the back of his knuckles over the tip of your nose before leaning in to kiss you. It was sort and discreet, yet it made your eyelids flutter close, your body lean in closer to prolong the grazing contact for as long as he allowed.

His hand sneaked from your hip to the swell of your ass, giving it a possessive squeeze and a dismissive tap "You dance, I'll watch" you just caught the subtle warning in his husky voice, so well disguised in his aloof candour you almost missed it. His eye brow raised the smallest of fractions, eyes deepening the faintest of shades darker . Have fun... but behave.

He'll be watching. Watching to ensure that dress of yours doesn't ride up too high up your shapley thighs. Watching to make sure no one gets too close to what was his. The unspoken promise sent a chill up your spine. A little put out that he denied your request, you turn to make your way to the dance floor, making sure to let your fingers slowly caress their way down his thigh as you parted. You didn't look back, you didn't need to. You could feel the weight of his stare on you, could feel the hairs in your body stand on end at his predatory gaze fixed on you.

You easily spotted Nemuri, dancing seductively in the middle of the dance floor, more than one set of eyes on her. In your absence she had coaxed Mic into dancing with her, an accessory to use to highlight her flirtatious movements. Her eyes brightened when she caught sight of you, beckoning you closer with a curl of her finger. She oozed sex appeal, her confident, hypnotic movements of her hips easily encouraged you to succumb to the music, letting your body feel the beat,sway your hips to the rhythm.

Grinning widely, you look over your shoulder, catching Shota's eyes already fixated on you. Watching the seductive roll of your hips, the way your ass bounced under that dress threatening to ride up with every sway of your hips. He wanted to watch? Then you would put on a show for him, let him see exactly what your body could do when he isn't pressed up against you to keep you behaving.

Your fingers gently brush against your thighs, slowly dragging them up, caressing the exposed skin. Higher they climb, following the curves of your hips and waist, coming up to twist gently in your hair as your eyes close, body moving to the beat that made your heart thump in your chest. You look through your lashes, a thrill shooting through you at the hungry look on Shota's face, eyes never leaving you. You could see the faintest if smirks on his lips, he was enjoying your teasing.

You run your tongue over your bottom lip, heat pooling in your stomach at the way he looked at you, ravenously. You could see his hand flexing on his thigh, itching to get you in his grasp. You were steadily riling him up, with your flirtatious movements, pushing your limits, igniting the embers of passion that burned in every inch of his body for you. Only you. Yet he still wasn't budging. You had yet to entice him from his seat to join you on the dance floor.

You felt a large hand settle on you hip,breaking away your focus from Shota to see who was touching you. Ready to politely refuse their advances. Your eyes lit up upon seeing the cocky grin of your occasional mission partner. Blonde hair pushed back, large red wings blocking the dancers behind him. With an exited laugh, you tip toe and throw your arms around him, an inebriated display of greeting"Hawks! What are you doing here!?"

He grinned and wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him to talk into your ear "I was in the area..thought I'd stop by" You lean back, flattening your feet to smile at him. It had been ages since you had last seen him, he rarely made an appearance around the school anymore since becoming the second hero in the ranks. He looked you up and down, lip curling into a smirk "you look good, I'm surprised that boyfriend of yours left you all alone looking like that"

You chuckle, stepping to the side to nod at where Shota was perched at the bar"He's over there." Hawks leaned closer, sending Aizawa an exaggerated wave. You could see Shota's jaw clench, eye brows furrow in annoyance. Hawks was not his favourite person at the best of times, but the overfamiliar way in which he spoke to you, nonchalantly touched you, made him absolutely murderous. A fact Hawks both knew and enjoyed.

You elbow him softly in the stomach, trying to hide your grin as you turned back to focus on him "Stop trying to wind him up" the answering grin told you that you were right in your accusation , damn wind up merchant. Leaning down he spoke across your ear, eyes watching Shota as he silently fumed at the close proximity "Isnt that exactly what you were just doing? I saw the way you were shaking that ass, trying to make him jealous?"

You couldn't deny it. That's exactly what you were trying to do. You knew how jealous and possessive Shota could be, and secretly loved the thrill you felt when he snapped and reminded you just who it was you belonged too. "A little" you admit with a guilty smile and a half shrug "he wouldn't dance with me, I was attempting to seduce him over"

Hawks straightened up, wrapping his hand around your hip and pulling you closer to him. White teeth on display as he grinned menacingly "Let's see how mad we can make him" Before you could think of all the reasons why that wasn't the best of ideas, Hawks placed his hand in the centre of your back, using it to support your weight as he dipped you back playfully, long hair tumbling back as you laughed. He swayed you in an arch before snapping you back up straight, smirking at the joy on your face. Hands returning to your hips he pushed into you, leading you in a flirtatious to and fro.

Your hips swayed and rotated, flawlessly hitting every beat. One hand gripping his shoulder for stability, the other resting gently on his arm. You playfully flipped your hair, rolling your body into Hawks. He answered in kind, moulding himself to the shape of your body, gyrating playfully into you, eyes flicking over your head to take in the sight of Shota, steadily becoming more enraged at the display, with sadistic glee.

You moved and and swayed easily in accordance to Hawks's lead, giving yourself over to the joy of letting go of your inhibitions, simply enjoying the freedom of dance. Hawks took hold of your hand, directing you into a spin, grinning at your laugh. Spinning you the opposite way a half turn, he pressed himself into your back. Hands on your hips he encouraged you to sway side to side.

Lost in the music you didn't notice Shota's stiffening form, the tightening grip on his beer bottle threatening to smash the fragile glass. Too preoccupied with your promiscuous gyrating to see the darkening of his eyes, the clenching of his jaw. You were unknowingly pushing him to his limit and he was about to snap under the pressure. Hawks was a little more tuned in, lowering his head over your shoulder to hide his smirk so not to provoke that anger his way.

You noticed too late, the drag of Hawks hands going from your hips to your waist, unintentionally dragging up your dress with the movements, aided by your serpentining hips. Feeling the fabric of your dress bunching up too high at the top of your thighs, you quickly tugged it back down, red tinting your cheeks at the unintended, indecent exposure of your body. Hawks squeezed your waist, rumbling chuckle in his chest vibrating through your back as he muttered into you ear

"Seems Aizawa has reached his limit" You look up to where Shota was previously sitting, only for your eyes to widen and your mouth go dry at the sight of him angrily stalking towards you, eyes flashing dangerously in the neon lights. Shit. You went too far. "It's been fun," you could hear the amusement in his voice, struggling to contain his laughter " but that's my cue to leave" he tapped your side once in parting before backing away discreetly, mingling into the mass of dancers to avoid Aizawa's impending wrath.

You didn't look back, keeping your eyes solely focused on Shota as he neared, readying your apology on your lips for when he came within hearing distance. You could almost see the heavy waves of irritation pouring from him in droves as he stalked through the crowd, not deviating from the straightest path to you. "Shota, I..." not breaking his stride, his hand encased your wrist, pulling you silently behind him as he carried on walking through the dance floor, your attempted apology falling on deaf ears. He was pissed, and he was going to make you pay.

You teetered behind him, struggling to keep up with his long powerful strides in your heels, but knowing you would be ignored, you kept the complaint to yourself. Breaking through the crowd , Shota opened the dark wooden door that lead the the corridor where the restrooms were situated, pulling you through. The door closing behind you muffled the deafening music, your ears ringing gently with the change of decibels. The sound of your heels clacking on the floor, too soft to hide the angry heavy steps of the one leading you.

Shota walked past both the men's and woman's bathroom, headed straight for an unmarked door at the end of the corridor in eerie silence. Throwing open the last door with the same delicate care he had the first, he pulled you in behind him, turning quick to slam it shut behind you. You heard the click of the lock a mere second before you were pushed up against the rigid door, trapped by his hands planted either side of your head. Your eyes flicked over his shoulder, momentarily checking your surroundings, stacked shelves of alcohol bottles and boxes of crisps was all you could take in before Shota's hot breath brushed against your neck with every frustrated exhale.

You swallowed thickly, dry lips parting as you carefully moistened them with your tongue. The atmosphere around you was thick and tense, suffocating with his barely restrained fury"Shota, I'm... "

"You thought it would be fun to make me jealous? " He talked over your meek explanation, voice dark and thick, like raw honey dripping from his tongue and coating his words. His hot breath landed on your neck, prompting an involuntary shiver "You put on quite the show didn't you? flashing your pretty little panties to everyone in that bar " You whine breathlessly as his teeth grazed over the flushed skin on your neck before sinking in harshly.

You moan, head swimming dizzily at the rush of heat throbbing between his lips. His hot, wet tongue soothing over the mark he had made on your skin, reaffirming his claim of you. Your head lulled to the side, offering him unobstructed access as your eyes fluttered closed. Possessive kisses were pressed into your neck as large hands found your thighs, caressing over the silky skin.

Your breath caught in your throat as his hands increased their pressure, dragging up your thighs, bringing your dress up with them to bunch at your hips, exposing your panties for the second time that night "Shota.." he silenced you with a forceful kiss, unkept scruff adding to the sensations driving you needy with desire. He bit at your bottom lip, thrusting his tongue between your parted lips as you gasped. You surrendered easily, giving up the control he desperately craved, blindly following the intoxicating way his tongue brushed against your own, dictating the pressure and speed to suit his tastes.

You could feel his strong hands gripping your hips with bruising force, keeping you immobile against the door as he claimed your mouth. Your breath quickened when one of his hands started to wander, brushing tantalisingly slow over your thigh, fingers leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. When a finger curved against your core, following your panty covered slit, you gasped, groaning in the back of your throat

"Shota.."

"You love making me jealous don't you?" You could hear the strain in his voice, feel the restraint he was exhibiting not to lose it completely. His finger brushed over you again, adding more pressure to demonstrate his intent. "Love driving me wild..." He muttered into your neck, nipping at the skin between husky words. His fingers followed up your panties to the waistline, teasing along the band "Letting another man feel what is mine" Shota pushed his hand into your underwear, slipping a teasing finger between your folds, gathering the moisture dampening your silky skin to ease his entry. You moan at the ripple of pleasure surging through you, gripping hold of his wrist in an effort to not melt into a pool at his feet. His name the only thing able to leave your lips in a breathy whine

"Can he make you feel good like this?" He dipped his finger deeper into your core, feeling your inner walls clamp around his invading digit. Slowly thrusting it into your depths, teasing against your hidden pleasure spot as you moaned. "Can he make you moan as beautifully as this?" You whined pathetically, knees weakening with every dirty word breathed hotly against your ear.

His finger stopped its torturous teasing, pulling away from you completely leaving you feeling empty and needy. His darkened eyes captured you in an unbreakable stare, unable to pull away from the intensity in which he held you. His hot breath coated your lips with heavy pants, usual cool demeanour replaced with unrestrained desire. "You love taunting me, don't you?..." his whispered words sent a shiver down your spine, needing no volume or intensity to make your heart rate quicken beneath your breast.

He hooked his fingers into your panties, dragging them down over the swell of your hips to your thighs where the fell down the length of your legs. He kneeled, eyes not leaving your own as he smoothed his palms down your quivering legs, lifting each in turn to remove the underwear trapped around your ankles and shoving the garment into his pocket "...Just so we end up here, with my head between your legs, every ..fucking.. time"

You watched transfixed as he guided one of your legs to drape across his shoulder, messy black hair obscuring your view as he inched his way towards your core. You heard him inhale deeply, groaning deeply at your intoxicating scent before flicking his eyes up to yours once more to utter a single command

"Watch"

A strangled moan ripped from your throat at the first drag of his tongue, slowly, torturously licking a wet stripe up towards your clit where he rolled his tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves. Looking down you couldn't tear your eyes away from the sight. Shota, on his knees, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he lapped at your most sensitive area with possessive hunger. Your hands went to his hair, pushing it back from his face to give you an unobstructed view as he tasted you. Using him for stability as your leg started quivering beneath you.

Shota twirled his tongue over your swelling clit, flicking the tip against it rapidly with a grunt as your fingers tighten in his hair. Your breathy moans and quivering thighs feeding his possessive nature. Fingers digging into your thighs, Shota pushed his face deeper, nose pressing into your soft mound as his dexterous appendage traced your bundle of nerves. The smell of your arousal hit his nose, making his mouth water instantly.

Lavishing your clit with a sloppy kiss, Shota couldn't get enough of your sweet whines, steadily increasing their volume, making themselves known over the beat steadily thumping from the bar . Your taste was intoxicating, heady flavour coating his tongue with every deliberate swipe had him yearning for more. Subtly lingering on his tastebuds, Shota sought a thicker coating on his tongue. Parting with your clit with a gentle suckle, Shota kissed his way down to your opening, seeking to drink straight from the source.

Looking through pleasure filled, half laden eyes, you watched mesmerised as he lapped at your folds, delving his tongue deeper with every earnest swipe. Currents of pleasure rippled through your body with every flick of his tongue , pushing you closer to the edge of euphoria you were in desperate need of. Nonsensical moans fell from your parted lips, fingers tightening in his disheveled hair as your thighs quivered.

Shota grunted once at the tug you gave in his hair, not letting it distract or deter him from his intended target. His tongue pushed through your silky folds to plunder your depths. The way he stroked your inner walls was luxurious, slow and deliberate, assuring he tasted every inch of you, capturing every drop of your arousal to claim as his own. Unable to control your reactions in the midst of pleasure, your head dropped back to hit against the door, guttural moan escaping past your heavy pants, giving yourself over to the burning desire.

His movements quickened, slurping obscenely at your cunt, his skilled appendage pistoned into you with vigorous determination to get you to completion. "Shota.." you whined, sensations becoming overwhelming, needing more to push you over the edge you were teetering on. When the tip of his tongue sinfully flicked over your hidden sweet spot you gasped, thighs attempting to close together in a futile effort to halt the breath stealing sensation.

Shota growled between your legs, reluctantly pulling away from his treat to shoot you a stern look, one that has struck fear into the most ruthless of villains, your arousal glistening on his unkept scruff. Fingers tightening on your thighs, he opened them back up, keeping your thigh planted at the edge of his shoulder allowing him the room he desired "keep your fucking legs open . Im not finished" he warned with a husky growl, leaving no room for argument or objection before eagerly returning to your core.

Quickly resuming his loud devouring, Shota drove his tongue into your depths, wetting his tongue with your arousal, his desire for you unquenchable. His grip on your legs was bruising, fingers digging into the soft plush, keeping you open for him. He could feel you quiver, your body trembling as the surge of pleasure raced through you, heating every nerve that dwelled within.

You were close, he knew the signs, had them memorised. The shuddering way you gasped between strangled moans, the way your hips jerked minutely, unsure wether to retreat or push closer to the source of your pleasure. The way your fingers tightened in his hair, hand shaking as you resisted the urge to push him closer. He wanted your release, your sweet cries, your addicting taste. The knowledge that he was the one, the only one, who could pleasure you this skilfully.

His own erection straining in his pants, protesting being confined by the unforgiving fabric of his jeans only hastened his need to bring you to completion. Eager to to feel your tight walls being split open by his thick cock, squeezing him so tight it was sinful. His calloused hand trailed up your thigh, slipping between your soaked folds as he returned to your clit, flicking his tongue over it relentlessly.

He could feel your juices being pushed out by his fingers, wetting his hand as he thrusted them into you with increasing speed. Your moans left you without restriction , vocalising the pleasure you were feeling. You were burning, pleasure coursing through your veins like molten lava, incinerating you from the inside out, searching for a way to escape. You could feel your lower stomach tightening, like a band ready to snap and release all the built up tension.

Shota swirled had his tongue around the shape of your clit before surrounding it with his lips and sucking. His fingers curled inside you, beckoning your body to its climax as they brushed over the spongy pleasure point he knew would send you over the edge. And over the edge you went, eyes slamming shut at the rush of release, you saw white behind your lids. Mouth parted in a silent scream, your body jerked and twitched as the orgasm exploded through your body.

Shota groaned as he felt you climax, your walls clamping down tight over his still probing fingers, your release getting pushed out, spraying over his hand. He kept his fingers and tongue moving to carry you trough your orgasm, pridful growl rumbling in his chest. When you were left panting over him, your grip on his hair loosening, Shota finally pulled away from you. Sat back on his haunches, he sucked his fingers clean, dark eyes taking in your appearance.

You were panting, face flushed pink. Beautiful. His. Pulling your leg from his shoulder, Shota shot up to his feet, large hands cupping your face and pulling you into a deep, frenzied kiss. You were pliant in his hands, melting into him as you tasted yourself mixed with the bitter malty remnants of the long forgotten beer he had been nursing.

"You were beautiful Kitten... perfect" he whispered huskily against your lips, kissing you again, then one more time "but im not finished with you yet.." his tone turned darker, tilting your head up to look into his eyes. " after that little stunt you pulled.. you're going to be screaming before I'm satisfied you've learnt your lesson.."

Your breath caught in your throat, a chill running down your spine. Shota's hand left your cheek, the sound of his belt buckle clinking soon following. You swallow thickly, tongue darting out to moisten your suddenly dry lips. You couldnt help yourself, at the sound of his zipper being pulled down your eyes drop down automatically, just in time to see his ridgid cock spring free of its denim prison as Shota pushes his jeans down to his mid thigh.

You watch transfixed as he fists himself, squeezing his thick cock as he pumps himself slowly, getting a desperately needed moment of relief. The gravely moan in the back of his throat made your clit throb, pussy aching to have him buried deep inside you. You wanted to touch him, to run your fingers over the vein that protruded ever so slightly, follow it like a road map up to the head of his cock, brush your thumb over the bead of precum. Smeer it down his shaft and wrap your fingers around him, feeling the silky hot skin under your fingers. Pump him slowly until hes thrusting into your hand...

Before you could make a move to fufil your desire to touch him, Shota released the hold he had on himself. He swiftly grabbed your hips, fingers splayed over your ass and lifted you easily, pressing you back against the door. You wrap your legs around his waist, arms circling the back of his neck as you press together. His breath was laborded with need, eyes fixed on yours. He captures your lips once again, hand leaving your hip to guide his cock to your entrance. Sliding through your lips to coat himself in your wettness.

With a rough snap of his hips, Shota sheathes himself to the hilt into you in one fluid snap. You cry out, head thrown back breaking the kiss, hearing his own guteral groan in your ear. Your nails dig into the back of his shoulders, little creaent moon indents left in his skin, proof of your pleasure. Panting lightly as you try to adjust to the thick length stretching you to its shape, you moan up at the ceiling. Not giving you time to adjust he sets a punishing pace, pistoning his cock into your velvety depths as he mouths at your neck.

"Fuck Kitten.." he growls into your neck, nipping at your sensitive skin "always so goddamn tight.. perfect"

A series of wanton moans and breathless whines fall from your lips as you were repeatedly fucked into the door, hearing it rattle in its frame. Shota's fingers dig into the swell of your ass as he uses it for leverage, slamming you onto his cock every time he drives forward.

"Purr for me Kitten..." he whispers into your ear, his hot breath making you shiver "let me hear those pretty little moans"

You oblige, moaning over the lewd symphony of your debauchery, the rhythmic slapping of skin, the sinfuly obscene wettness of your cunt as he hammers into you. "Shota... ngh..." you whine breathlessy, tilting your head down to watch his face. His jaw set in concentration, trying not to blow his load too early. His lips parted with ragged breaths, trying to suck in enough oxygen to keep up with his frenzied pace.

One of his hands leaves your ass to roughly tug down the front of your dress, cupping one of your perfect round tits, squeezing the weight. He pinches your rosy pink bud between his finger and thumb, groaning at your answering cry. Slamming his hips into your tight heat, Shota watches your breasts bounce. Lured in by the hypnotic sight, he greedily sucks your nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud before suckling. He groans around it, sucking hard before pulling off with a wet pop, pleased with the hardened result.

His dark eyes are on yours, the heat of his gaze burning your cheeks. You can feel your climax approaching, tetering of the cusp of ecstasy. Pleasure burns through your veins, searing throughout your body, only to pool in your lower belly, a swirling, agonising flood of pleasure ready to breakthrough the dam.

"You're mine Kitten" he growls at you with a particularly vicious thrust of his hips, driving his cock deep into your sopping cunt ".. say it"

"I'm yours.." you whimper around a desperate breath, catching in your throat as you moan "..I'm yours"

" Again!" He barks at you through clenched teeth, frenzied thrusts jutting his twitching cock into your gspot with dizzying accuracy "louder Kitten!"

"I'M YOURS!" You cry out, nails digging into his back, clinging onto him for all your worth as your orgasm floods trough you at a rapid pace. You moan, loud and throatily as searing pleasure rips through you, stealing your breath. Your pussy clenches around his cock, reluctant to free him from your depths. Your release, hot and as sweet as the pleausre you're drowning in drenches his cock "SHOTA!"

"Fuck, Kitten. That it.." He growls into your neck, breathing hard against your skin. His hips stuttering as he spills himself deep within you, a deep throaty groan reverberating through his throat. He grinds his sputtering cock into your fluttering walls, letting your pussy squeeze him of every last drop of his cum. "Ngh...that it.."

You're both left panting, clenching fingers slowly softening on eachothers bodies. Shota's fingers digging into your ass slowly relaxes, smoothing his large hands over the swell, caressing up to your hips and thighs, peppering soft loving kisses into your neck, whispering sweet words of praise as you come down from your high.

"You did so good Kitten, perfect...took me so god damn well"

He pulls up slightly, resting his dampened forehead against yours, your hot breaths synchronising between you. Shifting you slighty, Shota slowly slides his softening cock from you, hissing slightly when your walls clamp around his oversensitive flesh. He gently lowers you to your feet, holding your waist, ensuring your feet can support your weight.

"You okay, Kitten?" He asks you softly, tenderly kissing your forehead when you nod. After tucking himself away, Shota carefully rearanges your dress, covering your boosm, pulling the hem down over your ass and down to your thighs. Hands smoothing thier way back up to your waist once you were presentable. Putting a finger under your chin, he directs your face up yo his, thumb gently cleaning up your slightly smeered lipstick while staring into your eyes "You are mine Kitten.. never forget that"

"Always" you breath in return, no doubt in your mind that you were well and truly his.

#mha #mha x reader #mha smut #aizawa shouta #aizawa x reader #aizawa smut #Daddyzawa #shota aizawa #jealous Aizawa #mha aizawa #aizawa shōta #aizawa x you #aizawa x y/n #eraser head #my hero academia #bnha aizawa #eraserhead #fanfiction #my hero fanfic

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rizsu · 22 hours ago

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LOLLIPOPS ꢾ꣒ OLD DREAMS ex!sukuna ryomen x reader.

+ love, ‘su: in this sukuna’s that one ex who just won’t leave you alone bc hes annoying // toji sneak but he's like irrelevant !,×&&÷

the store’s dead. nothing but the whirring of vending machines and the music softly playing from the speakers can be heard. you’ve been behind the counter for the past five hours—you’re sweaty, bored, and experiencing the consequences of sitting on a random upside-down bucket for hours with nothing to support your back besides random moments of fixing your posture.

you double-tap the glass on your phone, sighing as you saw the time. it’s 08:30 p.m exactly, just thirty minutes before you can clock out. time felt slower than usual—the lack of customers and WiFi helped in dragging the time.

rolling your shoulders back, you stretch your neck to the sides, desperately trying to release tension. tension that’ll easily build right back up. there’s truly nothing to do. you’ve made paper airplanes, chewed on half a pack of gum, doodled on the wrappers and gave yourself tattoos, took multiple five-minute naps—the list can go on.

a “ding!” prevents you from succumbing to your boredom. immediately, you fix your posture, dusting off your shirt before you scanned the store for whoever just walked in.

so far, all you’ve seen is a man dressed in knee-length pants, a loose tank top, and an unlit cigarette tucked between his ear as if it were a flower.

another “ding!” came in, effortlessly moving your attention towards the glass doors. another man walked in. this one’s decorated in black from head-to-toe. full-length sweatpants, a hoodie, a cap, and a face mask. with an attire like that, you felt a bit threatened. what if he’s here to rob the village convenience store that runs on life support?

the scenario withers away immediately when you saw him walk to the previous man. seems like they’re friends. shrugging, you grabbed a random flyer from the desk, folding it back and forth to make a makeshift fan.

the men lingered around for a while, strolling through the four aisles before they walked up to the front. the one without the suspicious outfit places his items on the wooden desk: six beers, a pack of cigarettes, and a lighter.

he’s probably in his forties, you mentally judged based on his items.

“your total’s twenty-two dollars.” you bagged his stuff, sliding it towards him once you placed everything in it.

“thanks,” he nods, sliding a twenty-dollar bill and a five-dollar bill your way. “keep the change.”

“‘kay.” you gave him a nod back, not caring about the extra three dollars.

the all-black outfit man didn’t seem to follow his friend, though. you shifted uncomfortably on the bucket, waiting for him to say something, but it looked as though he’s a silent one.

“i clock out in, like, eleven minutes sir. is there something you need?” you questioned, lacing your voice with a touch of attitude.

he takes his cap off, then lowers his mask. the familiar hair colour and tattoos that adorned his face made you audibly show your fight-or-flight reaction. the “oh fuck,” left you quicker than you expected.

“it’s been a minute, yeah?” he spoke, looking down at you.

your face twisted into an expression of disgust before you brought forward the customer-service smile. you remembered that you’re still in the store, and there are unfortunately working cameras.

“been a minute of you wasting my time, sir! please leave!”

“sir?” he tilts his head at the unfamiliar title. were you drawing a line, or were you acting as if you don’t share a history with him.

“yes, sir.”

shifting, he places his hands into his pockets, slightly leaning back to appear nonchalant—as if he’s not bothered by the act you’re putting on.

“y/n l/n, did you really think moving back to your hometown would stop me from coming?” a condescending tone oozes from him. the mention of your full name didn’t fail to make you shiver.

swallowing back the chain of insults that threatened to flow, you dug your nails into your fist, gritting your teeth.

“keep it cute, sukuna.”

“there we go,” sukuna smiles, “i don’t dislike sir, but i prefer my name.”

you automatically rolled your eyes, unfazed by sukuna’s taunting. you’ve been through it for two years, after all.

the sound of the bell followed by the glass doors opening disrupts the moment between you two. the man with the cigarette re-enters the store, looking at his friend up and down with eyes filled with judgements.

“talk about cockblocking,” sukuna mumbles under his breath, waving his friend off before turning his attention back to you. “i’ll see you tomorrow.”

“we don’t have enough time for you to be tackling a cashier.” he clicked his tongue, gesturing for his friend to leave his position and exit the store.

you kept quiet, watching the two fade into the darkness of the night the moment they exited. once you were certain you couldn’t make out any figures, you let out a long, exasperated sigh.

“stupid fucking job and a stupid fucking ex.”

──────

sukuna’s a man of his word. you know this—everyone knows it. it’s exactly why you shouldn’t have greeted him with a “what the fuck!?” and slam your apartment’s door in his face. when he said he’ll see you tomorrow, he genuinely meant it. you don’t know how he knew of your apartment complex and your door number, but he’s here now.

poking his inner cheek with his tongue, he gave your door three obnoxious knocks again. the sole purpose of the knocks was to annoy the neighbours which would then pressure you into letting him in. you’ve always been wary of making sure everyone else is comfortable and sukuna’s glad you’re still the same in some ways.

just as he predicted, you quickly opened the door, immediately cursing at him.

“can you be fucking quiet?!” you whisper-yelled, holding onto the damp towel that was once wrapped around your hair.

“if you let me in,” sukuna whispered back, shrugging at your annoyance.

“no.”

a firm rejection. you prepared to close the door (again) with full force but it wobbled back when it met sukuna’s foot that prevented it from being closed on him (again).

“very disrespectful. who raised you?” he clicked his tongue in disapproval, placing a hand on the door to force his way in.

you were ultimately defeated. there was nothing left for you to do but stand there wondering whether it’d be a good idea to report a home invasion with a side of harassment.

sukuna allowed himself to be amazed by your little home. the colours alone scream your name. he observes every detail, ignoring the voice in his head that’s telling him how it would’ve been had you two not break things off.

“nice place.” a compliment.

“tell me something i don’t know, you undiscovered demon.” an insult.

‘undiscovered demon?’ the insult lingers in his mind for a bit. your… peculiar ways of naming people truly surprises him.

ignoring your burning gaze, sukuna takes his shoes off before sitting himself on your sofa. he shuffles a bit to make himself comfortable: leaning his head back, closing his eyes, and stretching both hands on the top edge of the backrest.

a frown decorates your face. walking towards the kitchen, you grab the disinfect spray and sneak up behind him.

feeling you near him, sukuna raises an eyebrow, “got me a drink or what?”

you hummed, fighting back a mischievous smile as you sprayed disinfect like it’s body mist. the attack makes him jolt, turning around to curse at his offender.

“what the fuck was that about?”

“get out of my apartment, sukuna.” you leaned on a leg, placing a hand on your hip to emphasize that you’re serious.

a minute of silence welcomes itself. you can see sukuna thinking about what’s the best action he can do in this moment.

is it: (a) leave like you said to. (b) get back comfortable. (c) suggest something else.

“maybe if you let me reminisce and sleep with you again.”

clearly, he went with option c and a tablespoon of shameless-ness.

“what– wait– huh?!” you spluttered, bewildered at the audacity of the man who claims to have been in a past relationship with you—even when you’ve preached about not knowing him!

sukuna shrugs, shifting around in the sofa to make himself comfortable again. only this time he’s laying down.

“my hand gets tired too–”

“have some class!” you cut him off, throwing your hair towel at him. you can’t ignore the heat that’s settled in the back of your head.

by the time you regained your calm, sukuna’s already on his way to a nap. he even rolled your towel to use it as a pillow.

closing your eyes, you inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. there’s really no winning with sukuna.

#. ae-generated: jujutsu kaisen #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #sukuna fluff #sukuna ryomen x reader #jjk drabbles

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justhereforsubsevika · 2 days ago

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Part 2 to asshole sevika because one (1) person eluded to maybe wanting a part 2

Nsfw, smut, public, rough fingering, strap sex (referred to as dick and cock), choking, degradation, humiliation, asshole sevi is acc just awkward weird sevi, also this is now a university au do with that what you will

Okay look i cant have my baby be evil for too long ok </3 no tears or angst but like ITS NOT HER FAULTT SHE'S JUST A WEIRDO!!

Okay so you may have fucked up. You may or may not have told a friend, who may have told a friend, who may have told the whole campus that Sevika moans her own name when she cums. You may or may not have exaggerated and said that her shouting lasted for 3 minutes. You may or may not be watching as some evil cunt walks up to her while she sits alone at the picnic bench, snickering.

You can hear their conversation despite the fact you're a good distance away.

"Hey, Sevika right?" This scrawny guy who, quite frankly, Sevika could snap like a twig, starts to say. Her face lights up. She thinks she's about to make a friend, you can see it all over her face. Jesus Christ, you feel awful. It feels like someone is wringing all the blood out of your guts as you watch this scene unfold.

"Mhm! That's me!" She says, turning off her phone and gesturing beside her to request that he takes a seat. "Nah, I'm good." He starts laughing at her and her face drops in confusion. "What's funny?" She queries, standing so she looks down at him. He doesn't even step back despite the fact his entire body is now shrouded in her shadow. "Is it true you- HAH FUCK- you moan your own name? Y'know when you finish?" He splutters between maniacal laughter.

Her face goes white.

She looks to you with so much betrayal on her face. But she deserved it right? She fucked you raw and didnt even chuck a towel at you after. She made fun of your boyfriend (who you cheated on, but that's irrelevant) and your sexuality.

Oh shit.

She's walking straight to you.

Her face sure got its colour back quick.

"Hi Sev- AH-" Suddenly you're being tugged by your hair across the campus, screaming and flailing as she grunts and tells you to shut up. She doesn't even bother to go into a bathroom stall once you're inside the library building, just pins you against the bathroom tile with her forearm and shoves her fingers under your skirt. She pushes into you roughly, not caring that it hurts bad since there's no moisture to assist her. She wants to hurt you. You've pissed her off bad.

"WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU TELL PEOPLE THAT?" She shouts, roughly pounding into you. It's all so much, her fiery, furious expression, her rough fingers deep inside you so abruptly. But it's not fair! She fucks loads of girls, why the hell is she assuming you spread the rumour?

"H-how do you know it was me? Could be one of your s-sluts that you fuck-"

"BECAUSE I ONLY EVER DID THAT WITH YOU! BECAUSE YOU'RE MY FUCKING FRIEND AND I TRUSTED YOU!"

She looks for a second like she might cry, but instead grunts and bars her teeth, hand coming up to choke you. Even with her impenetrable anger, you can tell she's at least not trying to kill you. You give her the satisfaction of spluttering and heaving for air even though you can breathe perfectly fine and she moans. "You're such a fucking whore aren't you? Gave that pussy up to me despite your little boyfriend, now you're slutting yourself out for me? Anyone could walk in and see how you're dripping down your thighs. Pathetic little bitch."

She lets you go for a second to unbuckle her jeans and of course she's packing. Typical Sevika, always prepared for revenge sex.

She comes up behind you as you attempt to pull down your panties and grabs you up, her forearm able to restrain both your legs from under your knees.

Holy shit. You're now fully off the ground, watching in the bathroom mirror as Sevika slides her dark purple strap into your pussy. Her other hand is back round your neck, making your eyes roll back. She bobs you up and down on her cock in a way you're sure should be physically impossible, somehow still managing to ruin your pussy with her brutal pace. She starts thrusting up into you and you laugh thinking about how she must look from behind, rocking up and down on her toes.

"Fuck are you laughing at?" She sneers, squeezing a little at your neck. Your mouth drops open, silenced by Sevika's rough grip. Her hand drops to thumb at your clit and you can't help but cry out.

"Mm, oh shit sevi, mm fuck sevika," you groan and she smirks.

"Who's moaning my name now?"

And then Sevika sees the bat symbol and says "my city needs me" and flies into an aeroplane and dies (IM NOT WRITING THIS DUMB SHIT ANYMORE OKAY I DECIDED I HATE IT)

#dyke #sevika #arcane #butch #lesbian #sevika arcane #headcannons #sevika smut #sevika x you #asshole!sevika #dom!sevika

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engie-ivy · 1 day ago

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Happy New Year!✨

Enjoy some New Year's Wolfstar Fluff😃

1430 words

“If, in the upcoming year, you actually manage to convince Lily Evans to be your girlfriend, then I promise that before the year is over, I will get up on a table and loudly proclaim my feelings for Remus Lupin for anyone to hear.”

May We All Have Our Hopes, Our Will To Try

Happy New Year - Abba

“I swear this is gonna be the year.”

“Mate, for Godric’s sake, just give it up.”

James shakes his head, not taking his eyes off of Lily. “She's warming up to me, I swear.”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “And what gave you that idea? That she called you an arrogant pillock just a moment ago?”

“Her tone is changing,” James insist. “It may sound exasperated, but as of late, there's a hint of fondness underneath.”

“I'm not trying to rain on your parade,” Sirius says. “Really. I'm not. But I want more for you. You're a catch, mate.” Sirius clasps James on his back. “Best in every class, maybe except for me sometimes, absolute Quidditch hero, master of pranks, together with myself, of course. Do you have any idea how many girls are always looking at you? Who would give up half their house's points to be with you? There's so much more out there for you!”

“But I want her,” James says curtly.

Sirius sighs. “Yes, you've made that evidently clear over the last few years. Aren't you at least getting tired of constantly being rejected?”

Now James turns to Sirius. “At least I'm putting myself out there, putting my heart on the line. It's by no means a guarantee that my love will ever be reciprocated, but it sure as hell gives me more of a chance than you have, with your strategy of always keeping your feelings hidden for the object of your affections.” He turns his head to look at Remus.

Sirius cheeks colour and he slaps James’ arm. “Don't look!” He hisses.

“Really, Pads,” James says, looking back at Sirius. “It might not exactly be where I want it to be, but at least I know where I stand with Lily. You have no bloody idea how he feels about you, because you won't bloody tell him how you feel.”

Sirius crosses his arms over his chest. “Some of us are not quite as fond of rejection as you are.”

“There's a chance of rejection, by no means a certainty. If you would just take the risk…”

“Him and I have a close friendship that could be ruined,” Sirius reminds James. “Excuse me for not being willing to risk that.”

“Okay, fine,” James says, throwing up his hands. “Let's forget about reciprocation or rejection for a moment. I think Lily simply deserves to know she is loved, regardless of whether she loves me back or not. So I tell her, as often as I can. Don't you want Moo-”

“Ssst!”

“Don't you want the object of your affection to know that?”

“It'll probably just make him feel awkward,” Sirius mumbles.

“Or confident. Happy. Loved. And besides,” James shrugs. “If Lily ever does change her mind, she won't ever have to doubt where I stand.”

“Prongs, she's not gonna-” Sirius shakes his head. “You know what? Let's make a deal. If, in the upcoming year, you actually manage to convince Lily Evans to be your girlfriend, then I promise that before the year is over, I will get up on a table and loudly proclaim my feelings for Remus Lupin for anyone to hear.”

A grin spreads over James’ face. “Deal.”

It's five minutes to midnight and Mary is handing out glasses of champagne to everyone at her New Year's Eve party.

“Is everyone ready?” Mary asks excitedly.

“Well,” James says, holding his glass of champagne in one hand, while his other is resting on Lily's waist, who's leaning heavily against him. “I actually think Padfoot still has an announcement to make.”

Sirius glares at James, but he has given his word, Marauder’s honour, and he has been postponing as much as he could, with only five minutes of the year being left.

Here goes nothing.

He walks up to the table and climbs on top. All their friends, including one Remus Lupin, stop their conversations to stare at him.

“Right. Ehm, hello. So… I suppose I should tell you that…” Sirius takes a deep breath. “I, Sirius Black, have feelings for Remus Lupin. I mean, I'm actually quite besotted with him. In love, you could say. I'm in love with Remus Lupin.”

Gasps echo through the room.

“Finally,” Marlene says.

“I knew it!” Mary exclaims.

“What?” Fabian asks. “Our Remus?” Gideon asks.

“Sirius and Remus?” Peter squeaks.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Benjy says on repeat.

Caradoc is just opening and closing his mouth without any sound coming out.

Remus doesn't say anything, just stares at Sirius wide-eyed with his mouth slightly parted.

The new year arrives almost immediately after, and everyone snaps out of the shock by starting to hug and kiss each other and wishing everyone a happy new year. As they embrace him, people whisper things in Sirius’ ear like ‘good luck!’, ‘I'm rooting for you!’, ‘You've got some guts, Black’ and ‘I can't believe you just did that’.

Except for Remus. In fact, Remus seems to be avoiding Sirius completely.

“Give him some time,” James whispers as he embraces his brother.

Sirius just nods around the lump in his throat. This is why he had wanted to keep his feelings to himself, this is exactly what he thought would happen. Well, maybe it's not really… Maybe he had hoped…

“Give me your keys.”

Sirius, who ended up going home early and had just reached his motorcycle, turns around at the sound of the voice. “Excuse me?”

“Give me your keys,” Remus repeats.

Sirius stares at him for a moment, then shakes his head. “I hate to break it to you, Moony, but me having feelings for you is still no reason for me to give you my bike.”

“I hate to break it to you,” Remus retorts. “But you publicly embarrassing me is still no reason for me to let you drunk-drive yourself into an accident!”

“Drunk-dri- What are you even talking about?”

“Come on, Siri, you must be drunk off your arse.”

“Remus,” Sirius says. “I had one sip of champagne at midnight, and that's it. Do you really think I'd be that stupid?”

Remus blinks at him. “Then why… Then why would you… Why would you get up on the table and…”

“I'll admit that it wasn't my preferred method,” Sirius says. “But I had lost the wager I made with Prongs…”

Realisation dawns in Remus’ eyes, like the world suddenly makes sense again. “Ah, so you didn't publicly embarrass me because you're drunk, you publicly embarrassed me because you lost a bet.”

Sirius frowns. “I can't pretend I also would've done it if it wasn't for the bet, no, but honestly, I think I mostly ended up publicly embarrassing myself.”

“Can you at least try to consider someone else's feelings?” Remus asks angrily. “Do you, or you and James both, actually think it's funny to use pretending to be in love with me as a stake in one of your stupid bets? Did you ever consider what that would feel like for me?”

Sirius can only stare at Remus as he wraps his mind around his words, and suddenly he sees his anger from a whole new perspective.

“Of course you didn't,” Remus says, and he turns to walk away.

“Moony, wait!” Sirius rushes forward and grabs Remus’ arm, spinning him back around. “If you think what I'm thinking you're thinking, it's not what you think.”

Remus just gives him a cold look.

For Godric’s sake, Sirius thinks. He got up on a bloody table and announced his deepest feelings in front of all their bloody friends, he's not gonna let Remus walk away now still not knowing! For the second time that evening, Sirius takes a deep breath.

“I didn't believe James constantly publicly proclaiming his feelings for Lily would ever work, so we made a deal that if it did work, I would publicly proclaim my feelings for you.”

“Your…”

“My feelings. My true feelings. No pretense.”

“So you're actually…”

“In love with you.”

Remus opens and closes his mouth a couple of times. “You're an idiot, Sirius Black,” he eventually manages to say, which might not be as romantic as Sirius would've hoped for, but luckily, he continues. “Getting up on a table like that in the middle of the party, instead of just coming and talking to me.”

“So had I done that… you wouldn't have avoided me all night?” Sirius asks tentatively.

Remus takes a step closer and grabs the lapels of Sirius’ jacket. “My response would've been something like this.” And before Sirius can do anything, he crashes their lips together.

#wolfstar new year #wolfstar holiday fluff #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #james potter

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holmesianlove · 3 days ago

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Chapter 30 - Silver

“Good morning, my love,” John sighed, beside his head. “Happy Birthday.”

“Mmmm,” Sherlock sighed into his pillow. “Morning.”

“How about I make some breakfast for the birthday boy?” He kissed Sherlock’s curls and then another on his shoulder blade before sliding out of bed.

“Joooohhhhn,” Sherlock moaned, turning over. “Where are you going?”

“Come on, you. I have plans,” John said impatiently. “Get yourself up and I’ll make those eggs you like.”

Sherlock flipped back onto his front, burying his head into his pillow. He lay there for a while, listening to the sounds of John rustling around in the kitchen. He could almost fall back to sleep if he just settled back down the right way. He tried fluffing his pillow and pulling the blanket just right. But now that he was listening to John, he wanted to be near him again. He had never realised just how obsessive he could be about another human being but ever since Christmas, ever since they had crossed into this new territory, life had finally felt like it had all fallen into place, like everything had suddenly become colourful. His heart was overflowing with so much love.

With a heavily annoyed groan, he got himself up, put his dressing gown on and padded to the bathroom. After emptying his bladder he decided to freshen up, wash his face and tidy his hair to look nice, to wake up properly so he could greet John with more enthusiasm. He got out his skin care and worked on his face. Then he grabbed his comb to tidy up his curls. When he looked back into the mirror, he suddenly let out a blood curdling shriek.

He heard John drop something in the kitchen which shattered on the floor and then John came running in.

“Sherlock?! Are you okay?! What is it?” John cried out, worried.

“John! Look!” he moaned. “Look!”

“What exactly am I looking at?” John asked, frozen in the doorway trying to understand, looking for signs of bleeding.

“My hair John. I have a silver strand! A grey hair, John!”

John sighed and collapsed heavily back against the door frame, rubbing his hand over his face. “Jesus Christ, I thought you’d sliced your face open shaving or something.”

“But John…” Sherlock pouted, expecting a bigger reaction to the news.

“Welcome to the old boys club,” John simply said with a sigh. “Mine’s been getting greyer for months. Are you going to lose interest in me because of it?”

“Of course not,” Sherlock scoffed.

“Exactly.” John gave him a smug expression.

Sherlock still sulked and fussed at the mirror “Come and check for more. I want you to pull them out of my head. Will you?”

John just stood at the door frame looking at him lovingly in silence. “I’m going to marry you,” he said gently.

“What?” Sherlock spun around.

John grinned. “Yep. I’m going to whisk you off to the countryside and marry you. Not today, obviously. Don’t worry. But one day. I definitely will.”

Sherlock paused, letting the thought jiggle around in his brain for a moment. “Is that right?” he finally asked, gently smiling as he walked over to John. He needed to look right into those eyes and judge how serious he was.

“Mmm-hmmm.” John let out a contended sigh. “And until then, you will just have to get used to becoming all distinguished and silver. Like your father.”

“Oh dear god,” Sherlock moaned, collapsing against John.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” John said, laughing at his ridiculous partner.

“I hardly think eggs count as a surprise, John. You told me already.”

“Not the eggs, you twat, there’s something else. Come with me.” He grabbed Sherlock’s hand and led him into the kitchen. “Just watch out for the broken china. And ignore the fact that it may have been your favourite mug. I’ll tidy it up in a moment,” he said in a flurry before Sherlock could register it. “Now sit.”

Sherlock sat himself down at the table, looking a little stunned. Until he saw it. On his plate, were not the eggs yet, but an envelope. “What’s this?”

“Well go on.” John pointed at it to encourage him.

Sherlock opened the envelope and read the card inside. It was a cryptic clue. He had already solved it of course, within seconds but he sat there holding the card in his hands, his mouth open in surprise. His fingers stroked the card and he found himself getting a little emotional. “It’s a treasure hunt?” he asked, finally looking up at John.

John shrugged. “I did have to ask your brother for some pointers and I can't promise to be as smart or as cryptic as him. I'm going to have to learn my way around this,” John said, already apologising for his clumsy version, and blushing slightly. “But yes, I am going to make you work for your presents.”

“You’re already the best present,” Sherlock sighed, smiling up at him.

John paused and smiled. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that aloud,” he laughed. “Sherlock Holmes, you’re getting soppy on me.”

“No, I’m not!” he rushed to protest.

“Yes. Yes you are,” John teased. “One silver strand of hair and now you’re all soppy. You’re old and sentimental.”

“Shut up!”

“I love you,” John sighed happily.

“I know. And I love you,” Sherlock rushed to say.

“I know. Now, let me finish your eggs. Once you’ve eaten, we can do the treasure hunt.”

“The day you walked into that lab, was the very best day of my life,” Sherlock sighed.

John smiled and they both just held each other’s gaze for a moment. John leaned in and kissed him gently and then pulled away. “See? Old and soppy,” he teased. He gave Sherlock a little swat on his arm and laughed as he walked back to the counter to finish making breakfast. “Besides," he added. "I’m pretty sure in the last week, you’ve had some days… and nights, that might be better than me walking into the lab and offering you a phone. Don’t you think?” He gave Sherlock a cheeky wink.

Yes, the last week had definitely had some pretty incredible days. And nights. Sherlock’s mind quickly found a few of his favourites in the catalogue of his mind palace, and replayed them as he waited in silence for breakfast. Some very passionate, and steamy moments.

I’m going to marry you.

John’s words suddenly floated back into Sherlock’s head, and the silver strand of hair was long forgotten. He didn’t care about that, if he had his doctor, his blogger, his friend by his side for the rest of his life. Sherlock relaxed back in his chair and sighed to himself. He couldn’t have planned for things to go any better. If he had asked his brother to manipulate a scenario such as this, with all his resources, it never would have been this perfect.

In the end, things had worked out exactly as they needed to. Eventually.

@lisbeth-kk @helloliriels @totallysilvergirl @221beloved @safedistancefrombeingsmart

@givemesherbet-blog-blog @naefelldaurk @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @peanitbear

@starlitkeys @lumilama @yorkiepug @talkativeanxiousturtle @kettykika78

@kittenmadnessandtea @whatnext2020 @egregiously-chuffed @chriscalledmesweetie @catlock-holmes

@battledress @kholkate @randomquadballpun

@sillygirlsmindpalace @johnlockficclub @rainstarboii @bheadhe

@wssh13 @br-nz @solarmama-plantsareneat @givemesherbet-blog-blog

@dw91165 @pileofstardust2106 @moonkeller @surprisinglyokay @r4venlyn

@therealalexisamess-blog @e-b1838 @rhasima @salmonsown @tropelovingpainter

@westandforships @fuck-off-watson-rp @notjustamumj @melodious-me @sherlocke3d

@otter-von-bismarck @silvergoldsea @calaisreno

#sherlockbbc #bbc sherlock #sherlock fandom #johnlock #fanfic #angsty #ao3 fanfic #sherlock holmes #john watson #holidaze2024 #December Prompts

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storiesfromafan · 2 days ago

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Mini Dress (18+) - Benny x Plus!Size Reader

A/N: my last one-shot for the year! And I am really happy with this one 😊

Warning/s: 18+, oral (female recieving), possible spelling/grammer mistakes, briefly revised

Tag list: @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog 😊

Being with Benny, he had you pushing your boundaries with your body image and what you can do, opposed to what you think you can’t do. First it was wearing jeans and a shirt/sweater more, he loves putting his hand in your back pocket or grabbing your waist. Benny loved wrapping an arm around your waist or shoulders, or just having his hands on you in general, which was something you weren’t use to but have been slowly learning to be comfortable with. Not to mention him picking you up, after that first time in your kitchen, before the most amazing sex, Benny likes to pick you up every now and then, just to make you squeak. And then there was riding on the back of his bike, that was something you were against. But, in true Benny fashion, he was pushy and made you ride with him so much that you finally have started to relax and feel comfortable with it.

But the newest boundary that you are being pushed to cross: a mini dress. It started on midday Saturday, Kathy and you had gone out to do some window shopping before getting the groceries. You hadn’t even thought you’d find anything, let alone be in love with a two-tone (colour) mini dress. It had a round collar and was sleeveless, straight cut with a little flare out, very California fashion forward. And it was a little daunting. Even scary when you saw your size. With Kathy in your ear, egging you on to try it on. Which you wanted too. Just unwanting to see how it would show all the lumps and bumps, and be unflattering for your figure.

So you put it back on the rack and headed for the door, mini dress pushed to the back of your mind. Where it couldn’t be ruined by the harshness of reality and your body. The whole walk from the clothing shop to the grocery store you had Kathy in your ear, telling you how you should have tried it on, seen how it looked. And how she knew it would be perfect for you. But it went in one ear and out the other for you. You didn’t want to stress or be remorseful for not trying it on, yet it was still there though.

It was after getting the groceries, did a familiar bike come riding past, only to pull up a head of you both. Benny of course greeted you with a deep kiss, which had you blushing due to those passing by. While Kathy gave him a quick hug. Small talk was thrown around, until the mini dress was brought up. And you did everything in you to squash it, not wanting Benny to hear the silliness of it all. Or that he would want to talk about a silly dress.

But dear old Benny wasn’t having it. He questioned Kathy the ins and outs of it all. Listening as she described the dress, and your reaction to the garment. (Y/N) looked at that dress like it was her everythin’! Kathy laughed, not in a mean way but one of jest. But it only made your face redder, and you more embarrassed. Benny didn’t waste a breath, saying to take him to the shop and it would be yours. You protested – with a stutter and a flourish – just wanting him to forget it. It took some time but eventually he dropped it. Or so you thought.

Later in the evening, Benny showed up at your place. You and Kathy weren’t doing much, slowly getting yourselves together to go to Grand and Division, like usual. But when he arrived, entering your room as you were fixing your hair, you were surprised to see a white shopping bag in hand. You didn’t say a word or ask what was in the bag, knowing he’d tell you in due time. And when he did tell you, you were beyond surprised. Your man had gotten the damn mini dress.

You remained silent, face displaying your shock. Benny pulled out the two-tone (colour) dress, holding it with care before looking to you with a soft smile. He was trying to be cute. As he knew you had shut down the conversation over the garment, as well as stopped him earlier from having you take him to the shop. Which meant he had gotten all the information from Kathy to get the dress in those strong hands of his.

You didn’t know if you should be mad or happy. To yell or kiss him. You were a mix of emotions over a damn dress. When he held it up at the shoulder seams, it becoming fully on display to you did those insecurities come back. The negative thoughts telling you everything that could show with that fabric on your body, no where to hide from the world.

“Try it on, baby" Benny said in a soft tone.

At first you stayed where you were, eyes darting between both the dress and your man. Your tongue feeling like led, which made it hard to voice your concerns. Soon Benny moved over to you, holding out the dress. Once more encouraging you to try it on. Slowly you lowered your hands from your hair – how you managed to keep them up for so long was a surprise – and took the offered clothing item.

Not bothering to leave you, Benny took a seat on the edge of your bed, his baby blues watching you like nothing else interested him, and it didn’t. You shuffled over and closed your bedroom door, taking a moment to stare at the white paint of the door. When you turned around you moved to place the dress on the bed next to Benny, who was still watching your every move. With shaky hands you unbuttoned your shirt, slipping it off your shoulders. Next was the fastenings of your jeans, before slipping them over your hips and down your legs, finally letting them pool at your feet on the floor.

A soft groan left Benny as he looked upon your supple body, standing before him in just your bra and panties. A temptation that he was considering indulging in. But part of him reminded him of the dress, and how he wanted you to see how perfect it would fit you. To not let your insecurities win. Picking it up, he handed you the dress. Hoping the quicker you get it on, the less likely he was of having his way with you on your bed.

With a shaky breath, your gaze darting to your man – who looked so tempting sitting before you. You unzipped the zipped on the back, before moving to slip the garment over your head. With a little wiggle as you pulled the fabric over your body, the material smoothed out and became less bulky. In fact, there seemed to be some room to spare.

Swiftly you moved to the full mirror in the room, wide eyes taking in the reflection before you. You were wearing your dream dress – a mini dress – and it fit nicely. You couldn’t see the lumps and the bumps, nor the stomach of yours. The cut of the dress flowed over your wide hips and flaring out. You couldn’t see much of your waist, but that was the style after all. Turning you noted that neither your small stomach or behind stuck out. Was this dress magic?

“I knew you'd look perfect in it" Benny’s voice and words cutting through the silence that had filled the room.

You remained silent though. Letting his words, and the vision before you, sink in. You heard movement before seeing Benny in the mirror behind you. His large hands resting on your hips in a firm grasp, before slipping up to your waist, the fabric pulled in by his hold. You could feel the heat through the material of the dress. Warm and yet comforting, it helped to relax you.

Leaning in Benny whispered how beautiful you looked. How the mini dress was perfect on you. Speaking of everything right about the garment on your body. The way his hands held you tighter as he praised the dress. With every word you saw it in a new light, from Benny's point of view. And damn was it building your confidence.

Somehow, he convinced you to wear the mini dress tonight. So you had changed your shoes to match the dress, before finish getting ready. All under Benny's heated gaze. Seeing the slightest change in you, the confidence that had grown in you, was a turn on for him. He wanted his girl to feel special, and to take care of her. That was when he began to think and plan.

And what a plan it was. Because here you were, at Grand and Division, in the back office. You were leaning against the desk, hands clutching at the edge and head tilted back biting your tongue. Before you, kneeling on the ground was Benny. Whose face was currently buried between your legs. One of his hands was holding the thigh, which belonged to the leg currently over his shoulder. His other hand was thrusting into your core, two long digits filling you.

You looked down. Unable to believe the man before you, worshipping you while anyone could walk in at any minute. It was like Benny didn’t care who saw you both, his mission was to please you, be devoted to you. And boy was he doing a great job at it. He might not be much of a talker, but that tongue of his was skilled. The way he would lick your clit, some long and others small. Or how he would suck and nibble it. Pair it all with those beautiful fingers of his, and Benny had you a quivering mess.

“B-Benny" you softly moaned, after a particularly deep thrust of those fingers and a long suck of your clit.

He groaned at hearing you, which just added to what you were feeling. With every movement, every minute you were getting closer to your release. Oh how this beautiful man knew how to play your body. The way Benny watched you as he feasted and fingered you, the sight was better than he imagined. The only thing missing was the gorgeous sounds you make. But he knew you both had to be quiet. He didn’t want an audience, or to embarrass you because the club knowing what you’d both been up too. Your man didn’t want you to be embarrassed or ashamed of this perfect moment.

“You’re doin' so good for me" Benny’s raspy voice spoke, as he pulled away from you momentarily. “Fuck, you look and taste so good".

He moved back in, and with a new vigour, resumed his pleasurable torture to your bundle of nerves. The motions and pressure to your clit were precise and confident. And Benny had all the right to be. Curling his fingers, just that little change, sparked something in you. That coil with in the pit of your stomach grew tighter. Benny felt your walls flutter around his fingers, telling him you were getting close. So he picked up the pace, thrusting his fingers faster.

Yet again you tipped your head back, holding in the moan that wanted to leave your lips. How could this man be so damn good with his hands and mouth? You felt yourself getting closer to your release, that coil tightening. And with one final suck of your clit, paired with a deep thrust of Benny's fingers, that coil snapped. You clenched around his fingers, while you bit your lip, yet a small whine left you as your release washed over you.

Benny gradually brought down the speed in which his fingers moved. Thrusting them in a few more times while you rode out your orgasm. Gently he licked your clit a few times also. He stopped, fingers buried in you and face away from you, his heated gaze studying you. You were a mess, face a little pink and chest heaving as you recovered from his actions.

You shuddered when Benny finally withdrew his fingers. But the sight of him putting them in his mouth. Watching as he licked them clean, along with the small sound he made from the taste, should have had you embarrassed. But it had the opposite, it was a turn on. Your man, who had just gone down on you, enjoying the slick left on his fingers. He enjoyed you.

“Mmm, you taste do damn good" Benny commented once removing his fingers from his mouth. “The best meal...”

Did this man not know how good his voice was? How it did a number on you? Jesus, he would be the death of you one of these days. And yet, you’d welcome it, wholeheartedly. You didn’t know how to respond to his words. So you remained silent, brain still processing and rebooting from what had happened.

Benny on the other hand, removed your leg from over his shoulder, before moving to put your underwear back on you. His hands running down your legs once they were back in place. His blue eyes looking over your dress and then down your legs, watching his hands.

He hummed in approval. “Yes, the mini dress is perfect for you" he stated, eyes lifting back to your own. “The prefect piece for your gorgeous body. But also practical for when I want you". He finished it with a wink.

A deep blush covered your cheeks. And yet you agreed with him. The mini dress looked good on you, and it meant easier access for Benny. It really was a win, win situation. From now on, you plan to give new fashions a go, and not rule them out right away.

#benny cross x reader #benny cross x y/n #benny cross x you #the bikeriders x reader #austin butler x reader #benny the bikeriders

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on-a-lucky-tide · 2 days ago

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Like You Mean It: A Nikprice Mafia AU

John is invalided out of the military and is struggling to adjust to civilian life, stuck in a cycle of poor coping mechanisms and denial. He gets sent to Chester by his younger sister to service a client that has scared all her other employees. Little does he know that the appointment will change the trajectory of his life forever.

cw: post-traumatic stress disorder, extremely poor attitude to his own disability, toxic coping mechanisms.

“How is the new hobby going? Painting, isn't it?”

Price frowned at the table in front of him, counting the rings of coffee stains. Four. “It didn't work out.”

“Oh, that's a shame. What happened?”

Price swallowed, his fingers twitching on his knees. He could tell the truth: that the inane, witless conversations had bored him to death, or that one of the women had started flirting with him and it had made him uncomfortable, or that the paintbrush had felt unwieldy and small in his hands, that it looked wrong there, or that he had lost his temper, overwhelmed by something he couldn't put his finger on, and thrown the canvas to the floor before limping out, or…

“It jus’ didn't hold my interest. ‘M sure I'll find somethin’.”

The therapist tapped her notepad with the end of the biro and studied him closely. She was one of the best, Mac had said. Worked with all the old boys that invalided out after a lifetime in the service. She helped them get back on their feet, navigate civilian life, and finally put to bed some of the ghosts they dragged behind them. Price had to give her a chance to help, which meant opening up some of those wounds he’d let heal badly over the years. Sally was nice enough, and he was trying not to let his own internal battles influence how he regarded her. Sometimes, she made that hard.

“How are the nightmares? Any better?”

“Yeah, they… uh, they don' happen as regularly.”

“When was the last one?”

Last night. “Coupla weeks ago, I reckon.”

She wrote that down. Price tapped his knees again and glanced at the watch on the table. She made him take his off because he had spent the first two sessions glancing at it. The compromise had been that she would set an alarm on hers. It was a brand new smartwatch, she said, it tracked her calories, her heart rate, had GPS. The kind of thing his watches had been doing for years, except his watches could call in an air strike and track enemy combatants across the field of battle.

The old one, that is. His new one just told the time.

Her husband had bought it for her, so Price had said it looked very posh.

“Have you given any more thought to the dating app we talked about?”

The watch beeped. Thank fuck.

“Whelp.” He clapped his hands together before rolling to his feet with a quiet groan, a combination of actions that he knew made him appear ten years older than he actually was. “I'll see ya next week then, Sally.”

She handed him back his watch and he slipped it over his wrist, before she placed the notes down on the table. Given that his eyesight was still sharp, he caught the words, ‘denial’, ‘withdrawn’ and ‘isolated’ amongst the scrawl. His jaw twitched and he averted his gaze. This was one assessment he didn't seem to be passing in flying colours. She gave no indication she had realised he'd seen. “Companionship, John. Even a friend that has nothing to do with the service. It will do wonders.”

“Right. I’ll… work on that.”

It was raining when he stepped outside, grey clouds stretching across the skyline in a dark, homogenous blanket. He almost skidded on a drain, his uneven gait prone proving more of a liability in the wet, as he walked across the car park, and he swallowed the resulting grimace even though there was no one around to see. He did it more out of habit than anything else; show no weakness.

When he slumped into the seat of his old Honda Civic, he sat in the mute silence for a moment, watching the raindrops tumble down the windscreen. His leg throbbed, the tight scar tissue pulling, tendons creaking under tension, and he looked down at his knee with a scowl.

It had been a building falling on him that had done him in the end, trapping his leg for seven hours while his task force dug him out. Ghost had dragged him out by his bitch strap, and then carried him to casevac, with Soap doing his best not to look at the mangled state of his captain's leg as he covered the rear. A miracle that he hadn't lost it, they said. That he hadn't been crushed completely.

A miracle.

So, now, he got to rot away slowly in a small, one-bedroom flat in Liverpool, with TV dinners and Coronation Street. He walked through the world numbly, like he was observing it from afar, through frosted glass. The only brief glimpses of feeling he got was when one of the 141 messaged him. Sometimes a picture, other times a text. They were few and far between. It wasn't that they didn't care. They were busy. He knew the demands more than anyone. The world didn't stop turning because Bravo Six had left the game.

That didn't stop him checking his phone every few hours, just in case he had missed a notification. Checking his watch so he could tell himself where in their routine they would be.

He did it now.

1400, Tuesday.

If they weren’t on mission, Simon would have the experienced operators running drills with the trainees. It was autumn, which meant the start of bad weather and low visibility environs. It was likely he would do a jump in a few weeks with full kit to test the development of their survival skills.

He glanced at his phone. Nothing.

With a deep sigh through his nose, Price jammed his keys into the ignition and turned. The old car choked into life, the engine ragged in the cold, and he clicked it into ‘Drive’. He was grateful for the bloody thing, really. Those first few months of riding around on the bus had nearly been enough to send him to an asylum, with screaming kids and the constant smell of piss from seemingly every person that sat down. When his GP had approved him to drive an automatic, he'd almost dropped to his knees to fellate the bastard in gratitude.

He didn't really track his drive home. Stopping at reds, giving way, flicking down the indicator as he turned corners. The streets, houses and people of Liverpool passed by in a colourless smudge until he was pulling into his car parking space and staggering out in the rain. It happened a lot; the disappearing into his own head. Like his brain was giving up without stimulus and switching into standby mode.

The lift was still out of order despite his numerous phone calls on behalf of the residents, so he turned into the stairwell and began the arduous climb to the third floor. Gone were the days when a phone call from John Price moved literal armies. Now he couldn't even get fuckin’ Bill from maintenance out with a screwdriver to fix the fuckin’ lift so Jenny, eighty years old and wheelchair bound, could leave to do her groceries.

By the time Price reached the top of the first flight, his leg was burning; by the second, he was breathless from pain, and by the third, his eyes were welling with tears. The pain from his leg seemed to burn through his entire body, clutching his chest in a vice, bile and nausea building in the back of his throat, and he was having to stifle the sounds punching from his chest by biting on his knuckles.

His hands shook as he extracted his front door key, and continued to do so as he tipped more than a single dose of his strongest painkillers into his palm, the kettle hissing behind him on the countertop as he slid to the floor. He didn't wait for the tea to brew, but necked the pills dry, crunching them down in between huffing deep breaths through his nose.

There had been a time after his injury that he had believed he would recover and return to the field. A small part of him still did sometimes, but all it took was a set of stairs to truly humble him, leaving him whimpering and shaking on his kitchen floor. Pathetic, weak. How far he had fallen. He turned his face into his palms and pressed the heels hard into his eyes.

When he looked up again, the room was dark.

Price latched a hand on the edge of the countertop and pulled. His bad leg was stiff, seized with cold and aching, and his right one was numb from where he'd been sitting on it. His stumbling efforts would have made for a great Benny Hill sketch, he thought bitterly.

Once he had set the kettle reboiling and a frozen TV dinner in the microwave, Price checked his phone. One message. From his sister.

Carol (16:00): How did the appointment go?

Price glanced at the clock. 1900. Bollocks.

Price (19:00): Good.

Carol (19:01): Three hours to write that. Nice one, John.

He sighed, smacking the top of the phone into his forehead in frustration, before typing out a response.

Price (19:04): We talked about the painting thing, some old missions, and she asked me about the dating app.

Carol (19:05): did you make the profile yet?

Price (19:06): what the fuck do you think?

Carol (19:07): stop being a miserable cunt and do it

Price (19:07): No one wants to date a cripple.

He didn't send that one. It read far too much like self pity and that just turned his fucking stomach.

Price (19:07): If I wanted someone nagging me 24-7 I'd move in with you.

Carol (19:08): Prick.

Price (19:08): Yeah, tthat'd be a fine thing.

Carol (19:09): omg 😭

Carol (19:11): Gary says you never text back about games night. Kimmy wants to see you.

Gary was Carol’s “gay bff”—her words. He’d been a godsend when her bottom feeder of a husband had finally pushed the old bill too far and got himself nicked for possession with intent to sell and GBH. Price owed the bloke a lot, because he’d picked up the slack where a big brother should have been. He was pretty sure Carol had tried to set them up once, which would have gone about as well as trying to get a Labrador to date a Persian cat. Gary would have shredded Price with his kitten claws in minutes.

Price (19:12): Depends on my shifts, boss.

Carol (19:13): Ok.

Carol (19:13): Don't give up on us.

Carol had saved him enough already. She had been the one to force him to retrain at college so he could work at her salon. Physical therapy and massage. Something to do with his hands that wasn’t killing people, she’d said. Besides, she wanted to attract more male clientele and his machismo would make them feel less emasculated about seeking support. He felt like there had been a hidden barb there, but hadn’t pressed. Price swallowed the lump in his throat and stared into his dark kitchen for a moment before he replied.

Price (19:14): trying

Carol (19:15): I know

Carol (19:15): love you big bro

Price (19:16): love you too, love to Kimmy.

He shoved his phone into his pocket as he poured his tea, taking it black despite the presence of milk in the fridge. That was at the other end of the kitchen and the pain killers hadn’t yet kicked in properly. His microwave meal seemed more or less cooked through, the steam searing his fingertips as he tugged off the plastic lid, so grabbed a fork and headed into the dark sanctity of his living room.

His flat had always been sparse, with basic furniture, a handful of books and family photographs. None of the ‘homely’ touches you’d expect of a home. In all fairness, he had never spent a lot of time here—only a few days leave if he’d been at a loose end. But even then he had preferred sleeping in Carol’s spare room, doing the school run in the mornings so she could have a less hectic start to the day, and making sure the house was clean, that there was something edible on the table in the evenings. Fat chance of that now. She didn’t need another deadbeat arsehole on her couch twenty-four hours a day. She’d done her time with that bullshit. So Price had only visited a handful of times since being discharged; once to take a look at a leak under the kitchen sink, and then to check the weird noise her car had been making when the temperature dropped.

Price slumped into the permanent dip of the right hand sofa cushion and took a moment to bask in the relief, tea and dinner hovering over his lap. Some days, he wanted to stay on the damn sofa and rot into it, but the stubborn streak that had managed to survive the last few months wouldn’t let him. He had to be doing something—anything—even if that was hobbling about the supermarket for Jenny while the lift was out of action. A last, defiant stand against the listless void left behind when they had taken the service from him.

He dug the clicker from where it had fallen down the side of the cushion and turned over just in time for the opening credits of Coronation Street, blowing over the heap of white rice and tasteless curry in front of his mouth. His mind faded out into white noise as he ate mechanically and knocked back his tea to wash the taste away. The episode hadn’t even finished before he was pulling the fleece blanket from the other cushion over his lap, eyes drooping closed. He checked his phone once more before he placed it on the lamp table for the final time.

The storm outside picked up a notch and Price felt it tremour through the old building, and he watched the rain lash against the balcony windows as fitful sleep dragged him under.

—

“This is Bravo Six in the blind; Watcher—ahh, Watcher, do you c-copy?”

Static.

”Kate… Kate, please… fuh-ck, Watcher, this S-six in—“

The rubble above his head moved. He held his breath. There was nowhere for him to move. Nowhere for him to run. It had taken an eternity to wrestle his arm free enough to get to his radio. If the rubble shifted now, it would crush him.

The pain was blinding. Like white hot pokers stabbing through every muscle. If he hadn’t been able to move his arm, he would have assumed his spine or neck were broken. Maybe both. He could feel his right leg, but not his left. Couldn’t even see it.

”Watcher, do you copy?”

Static.

”Kate, please… don’t let me die down here, don’t… please…”

His pleas were soaked up by the oppressive silence. The muffled, muted space that seemed to swallow his voice.

Suffocating nothingness.

Static.

He couldn’t move. Not an inch. His trap was closing in. Crushing him. Several tons of concrete and steel pressing down on his ribs, his legs. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t breathe.

—

Waking up felt like he was having to claw himself out from beneath that rubble himself, chest heaving, the neck of his t-shirt stained dark as he fought his way back to the surface. Early morning light was leaking through the balcony door, the spots of rain still clinging to the glass making the living room glitter like a disco ball hung from the ceiling. He lifted a shaking hand from beneath the fleece and smoothed his damp hair back over his head, mentally counting through the grounding exercises Sally had taught him.

Feel, see, hear, touch.

Like he’d been run over by a Challenger—his ceiling—phone alarm—blanket.

Price threw out a hand and managed to swipe his damn phone off the table. Cussing and snarling, he slumped onto the floor, fishing it out from beneath the lamp stand. He didn’t have enough energy to climb his way back onto the sofa, so he sat there once he’d switched the alarm off, staring into space. The world slowly filtered back in, his senses spreading out through the room, latching onto anything that connected him to the reality outside his head. Unfortunately, that also brought with it the constant dull throb of pain in his left side.

That last mission had been the final crack in a dam he hadn’t even been aware of. Over twenty years of difficult operations in the most inhospitable environs and his mind had soldiered through, unbroken, robust. Colleagues and friends had fallen before him, so he knew what post-traumatic stress disorder looked like, but it was something that happened to other people. Not him. Not in a million fuckin’ years.

But leave him trapped under some rubble for a few hours and suddenly every difficult experience, every interrogation, every period spent trapped behind enemy lines at their mercy, every close call, every fallen soldier, they all came flooding back like vengeful demons that had been caged in the pits of hell to tear off their pound of flesh.

The nightmares weren’t always the same. Sometimes, his subconscious decided to dredge up an experience from over a decade ago to torture him with. A few nights ago, it had been the interrogation that had left him with burn scars over his lower back. A month spent in an Al Qatala detention facility before Mac had extracted him. He hadn’t broken—had given them bloody nothing—and had passed the psych eval after that one with flying colours. Even the psychologist had been a little suspicious—impressed, but suspicious. Turned out all he’d done was squash it all so far down that it was invisible to a prying eye, and then managed to trick himself that he was just made of stronger stuff than average.

He was good at that though: keeping secrets. Pretending, manipulation, getting what he wanted out of people. Out of himself. It was no surprise that he’d got so good at it over the years that he had managed to dupe even himself into believing what he needed to get the job done. Stupid wanker.

Price scowled as he rolled to his feet, wobbling unsteadily at first as he regained his balance, before limping into his bedroom. He had a quick shower to wash the sweat off and threw on his gym kit. Just because his lower half was useless, that didn’t mean he couldn’t keep the rest of him in shape. The physio had told him to keep it light, that everything in his body was connected and his nervous system needed time to adjust, and he had nodded along.

Truth was, he liked the burn of it. It felt like punishment. A punishment that he could control. It was both proof that he was still, physically, worth something and a way to chastise the parts of himself that weren’t as strong as they used to be. John left the house just as his morning alarm went off.

He ignored the sideways glances from the reception staff as he limped through the automatic barriers, his car parked in the second row back because he couldn’t quite bring himself to use the damn blue badge the council had given him when Carol had completed the forms on his behalf.

This early in the morning, the gym was more or less empty. There were a few night shifters getting their end of day workout in at the squat racks, so Price dumped his gym bag by a bench in front of the dumbbells. The powerlifter to the right glanced at him as he grabbed 26kg for a warm up set, and from that point on he let his mind go blank. All that existed as he worked his way through his ‘push day’ was the burn in his shoulders, his chest, down his spine. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was in the gym in Credenhill, with Ghost grunting on his right and Soap pausing to take yet another selfie on his left…

His phone trilled.

He dropped the dumbbells to the floor at his feet and snatched it from his bag. He hated himself for feeling disappointment when he saw his sister’s name.

“Wotcha, love, everyfin’ ok?” He slumped back on the bench, spare arm dangling between his legs as the burn of the lift faded.

I know it’s ya day off, but I need a favour…

”Right…”

We’ve got a regular in Chester who needs a home visit.

”Oh yeah, cheshire set, is he?”

Nah, he’s… a foreign national. Scary bloke, actually. And that’s the problem, all the girls are refusin’ t’ go.

”Did he touch one’uv‘em?”

No, no. Nothin’ like that. He’s just… scary. Lives in one of those big detached houses, and he has loads of… well, they called ‘em henchmen. Said it’s like walkin’ int’ mafia film, John.

”If he’s so bloody terrifyin’, why not jog ‘im on?”

It’s… not tha’ simple, la.

Price’s hackles went up instantly. Not that simple could mean a hundred different things, but all the dots were joining up in a way that made Price want to load his M1911 before he drove over. “Why?”

Look, I… if ya can’t do, ‘ll go meself, but…

”Don’t you bloody dare,” Price growled. “I’ll go. Send me the time, the address, what his usual is.”

He heard her breathe a sigh of relief down the phone.

Cheers, John. I… I owe y’bevvy, yeah?

“Stop tryin’ to set me up with Gary, and we’ll call it even.”

Oi, I was jus’—okay, fine. Gary is off the Price menu.

”Carol, I swear t’…” He glanced over his shoulder as the grunting behind him had gone conspicuously silent and the brief moment of eye contact was enough to make him drop his voice. “Right. Forward me the intel, and—“

She chuckled.

”Wot?”

I will forward ya the intel, big brother. Love ya, see ya later.

Price stared at the phone in his hand long after it had gone black. The heat under his skin was adrenalin. He’d recognise the bubbling rush of it anywhere; the heavy drum of his heart, the tightness in his chest. Excitement.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, get a grip,” Price mumbled as he chucked his phone into his bag and returned the weights. It was probably some sweaty billionaire who fancied himself the bloody Godfather. Normal people—people who hadn’t spent their entire adult lives fighting real mobsters, crooks and war criminals—saw a grim face and a sharp suit and were easily intimidated. Price would scope the place out and gather some more information on whatever the fuck this arsehole had on Carol, and then he would fix the problem. He was good at that. Fixing other people’s problems. It let him ignore his own for a bit longer.

#captain john price #cod nikolai #nikprice #mafia au #long fic

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dwaekkism0811 · 3 days ago

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a world of colour

chapter 1

{ reader x seonghwa }

daycare au

ateez members included

single dad hwa, fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of divorce

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Waking up in the morning wasn’t always a chore. Usually you gave yourself enough time to run your coffee machine and do your full AM skincare routine. The sun was never up when you rose, which always made it tougher to pull yourself from the warmth of your bed. It was the cost of running your own business, one where you needed to be there to open up shop. While it was a struggle to make it out on time, it wasn’t a chore. Every morning you travelled to your passion project, your dream job.

The daycare looked a little drab with all the lights off as you parked in the lot outside. It had taken years of hard work in school and then raising the money to get yourself the rental space, but the little daycare was yours and every day was rewarding.

Unlocking the door, you moved inside and flicked all the switches outside the office. The rooms illuminated, all the colourful displays of hand-crafted art and spelling guides suddenly blooming to life. One of your favourite things the daycare did was display copies of their attendees’ creations, hand-print art and colouring sheets and everything in between. Your staff always reported that the kids were proud that they could see their art lining the space they spent so much time in every day, obviously through less and more simple wording.

A bit of time had passed and you had gotten most of the set-up for the day done. It would still be a while before the first parents would arrive and even the staff would only arrive a few minutes before official open. You believed that it was more cohesive and less stressful for everyone if you were the one to handle all that and the attendants could arrive ready for the day.

You really weren’t expecting the knock on the front glass door, the sound of it sending you jumping a little where you were sitting at the greeting desk. After the initial shock, your body started moving automatically, kicking into gear. You could see two sets of legs through the door, one adult and one mini.

At first glance the man behind the door seemed intimidating. There was something about the energy he exuded. He wasn’t looming over you, meeting you eye to eye, but there was something that made him seem bigger than he was.

“I’m so sorry, I see the hours don’t start until 7,” Your gaze automatically follow his pointing to the plaque in the window despite knowing it by heart already. “There was a work emergency and I wanted to make sure she got in before the cut-off time- seems like I went a little overboard.” The man’s energy was contagious and you found yourself laughing along. The man moved to rest his hand on his little companion’s head, fingers pressing lightly to her scalp in what looked like a calming massage.

You looked down at the little girl and was pleasantly surprised that she had a familiar face. Her eyes were wide and looking right up at you. Quickly your smile warmed, moving to kneel down to meet her level.

“Hi Seoyeon, good morning.”

She raised her hand to offer a shy wave, turning to press her face into her guardian’s pantleg.

“I didn’t even tell you my name, sorry again. I’m Seoyeon’s… uncle, Hongjoong.”

“You don’t seem very sure of that?” You joke, standing back up. The bell on the door chimes as you open it up and usher the duo in.

“I’m her dad’s best friend, I just- yeah.”

As they walk back in you feel a little tug at your work apron. Seoyeon’s little hand has grabbed the fabric and she’s turned her wide pleading gaze your way. “It’s okay I get it,” You offer to Hongjoong, then to Seoyeon, “Yes, yes, I’m coming. Don’t worry sweetie.”

You pat lightly at her back, reassuring her that you’re there, guiding them into the playroom. “I can take her early this time since it’s a one-off thing; I hope everything is okay with her father’s work.” Hongjoong thanks you, relief evident in his voice. He signs easily when you turn the drop-off sheet his way.

“Seoyeonnie, what do you think of some early colouring time?”

#park seonghwa #seonghwa #ateez #ateez fanfic #reader x seonghwa #ateez x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #ateez fic #atz #atz fic

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futuristicanoe · 1 day ago

Text

the virus of life

do you remember where it all went wrong?

Of all the bars, of all the charming places, he just had to walk in here. Right where you hated to be.

no smut & this is probably going to be a series. Mark! [ unnamed health issues, food/eating, alcohol & blood mention, uneasiness, ambiguity. mature themes. ]

He pushed the door open gently.

The door chime shook with only a hushed imitation of its usual noise. Had it been some other day, you would have missed it. But in that moment, you had a strange feeling in your gut, the sort you get after a migraine turns your brain into a mushed pulp of agitation. You could even hear the restless cicadas buzzing outside, and the sound got louder for a second as he slipped into the room like a ghost, shutting the door behind him quietly.

Your position was quite comedic.

You were looming over the mini fridge that Henry had put beside your chair a while ago— he was the owner of this rusty diner-bar-whatever, and he thought it would be a nice gesture to give you a tiny fridge, so you wouldn't need to go all the way back to the kitchen, if you wanted to help yourself with a cold something. The only reason you worked there was that you needed some money and needed it more than sleep, too. Obviously– Henry had been a godsend. Nobody looked at you twice, let alone tried to guess your age or doubt your work experience. So, it was easy to ignore how the lights flickering inside the empty fridge were plucking your nerves one by one.

Sitting behind the counter with your back hunched, you were hidden from the view completely. No need to worry about how absolutely silly you must have been to the stranger.

When you heard the soft clicking of what were undeniably short heels accompanying the earlier, supposedly graceful entry, you had been almost ready to look up and greet a woman.

Well, you had been ready to greet anyone, but someone like him.

You straightened your back, fixing your hair that was getting greasier by the second, even though you had washed it last night. It frustrated you.

After quickly throwing away the couple of ice cubes you had been holding in your hands, you wiped your numb fingers on your apron. You felt a bit flushed, still. There was no name for that, the sudden rush of warmth staining your skin red from time to time, but it had started only a few days prior, so you blamed it on everything from the passing flu to hormones.

The stranger was not expected. There was no "Hello," yet he kept walking in.

Unlike you, who did not need more than a mere sign of someone entering the room to analyse them already, your full attention drawn in an instant – for a good while, he did not even look at you. Instead, he simply took his time to look over the dingy little place, stealing glances at the old furniture and the wallpaper, a different shade in each corner. It was as if you did not exist, so you said nothing. Best to not ruin the fantasy that didn't belong to you.

Cicadas always did a good job of being entertaining, with their shrilly little noises. And if he gave that up, crawled into this bubble of momentary comfort that you had built around yourself and even had the audacity to ignore you, then it was only fair to continue analysing.

The colour of his shirt was an odd yellow, like a warning signal. And it was open at the top, no doubt adorned with tiny details that you did not really want to see up close, because they would linger in your mind afterwards. He had a suit jacket on, too. The darkest shade of grey or blue, not quite black. Or maybe it was just the weird lightning. You blinked almost aggressively to keep yourself wide awake, and regretted it right away when you felt your eyelashes sticking to each other, dry mascara making your eyes sting.

He walked to the counter, acknowledging your presence only when he was within an elbow's reach. Sat down in the squeaky chair, placing his coat and his leather bag on the one next to him.

"How can I help you, sir?"

The stranger flashed a smile. Sincere only for a second and tastefully impersonal all over.

"Good evening," he said, to which you responded with a nod and parroted the words quietly. Somewhere in the back of your mind praying that you did not look too ridiculous or too childish. Not that you were trying to impress him, exactly, just that you were neither ridiculous nor a child, and you didn't want him to get the wrong idea. "The air feels so dry today... I would like something fresh and cold, maybe. How about that?"

You got up instinctively, hoping that the soft thud your shoes made on the wooden floor did not give away how your chair was made for someone taller. You paused when you faced the shelves, looking at him over your shoulder.

"We are out of ice, sir," you said with a slight frown and squeezed your numb hands together.

"Ah, I see." He nodded, placing a thumb on his chin. Then he looked at the refrigerator, which stood in the corner, looming over you.

"That's– yes, it is working..." You felt your face warm up when you made your way to the fridge and almost tripped over your own foot. "But there is no more ice left, sir. We only have some softer things in there. For children, mostly. Like fruit juice and... ice cream."

He raised an eyebrow. "Ice cream, but no ice. I think I got it."

You smiled out of awkwardness, fidgeting with your apron.

He looked at your smile. The lipstick you had put on in the morning needed to be reapplied, evidently. Smudged traces of crimson along the seam of your lips almost made your mouth look like a fresh wound, about to bleed.

His gaze flickered back up to your eyes.

"The sign outside said something about pie, if I can recall correctly," he said, his voice suddenly monotonous, like looking at you was the most boring thing in the world.

"Yes." You nodded. "We–"

"Two slices of pie, then."

He smiled to make up for interrupting you.

You just looked at him, caught off-guard.

"Two?"

"Yes. There are just the two of us here, I'm assuming."

"No, yeah, but–" You stopped.

Was that sarcasm?

You felt a sudden need to get out of there. Alone.

"Well, I'm not feeling hungry at all, sir."

"I'd like to buy you a slice. Just because it is getting pretty late and you look a bit... out of it." He paused, as if mimicking you. "You don't want to be lying with me now. So, please."

You did not really know how to answer, but you remembered what your job was.

"I think we have some cherry pie left."

Your voice was monotonous, too.

Mirroring each other already.

"Perfect."

You went to the kitchen with a rickety mind.

It felt weird, the whole thing. The way he was overall polite but almost rude, if you looked too closely. He smelt like something – an expensive cologne, yes, but there was this chemical scent around him. Like paint. Or acetone. Something bitter and torn apart, but nothing new.

By the time you got back, he had taken off his suit jacket. You did not know he had been wearing braces beneath it the whole time. They looked nice. Even if you couldn't see where they were clipped onto his pants, and you never would, the dark lines digging into his shirt looked good.

You sat down the tray as carefully as you could.

He looked at you with a curious gaze and then stared at the plates with the same curiosity.

"You know what would make the cherry on top?" He waved a hand over his slice of cherry pie, amused by his own joke.

A cup of coffee?

"Some ice cream, of course." He answered his own question, too.

You were glad you hadn't sat down in your chair already, because you would have really hated to get up again.

The lights did not flicker inside that fridge, and it was not empty either, which was a relief. You stood with your back to him for a moment too long, pretending to look for the expiration date when you just wanted the cold air to cool down your face.

He looked almost hungry. And you did not really understand anything about him or his hunger. Or his hair. Not that unusual for men like him to come here and order a drink, obviously. But this had never really happened before – he was acting overly nice while maintaining an aura around him, the one that told you how easy it would be for him to forget you. To erase you — you shuddered as your finger accidentally touched the ice cream you were putting on top of your pie. You almost licked it clean, as if you were home. Alone.

It felt like he could tell what you were thinking of, knew exactly how much you wanted to avoid thinking while he was right there. The grin on his face disappeared only when it was necessary. As he took a forkful of his dessert and brought it up to his mouth, he looked at you.

"Hmm. This is to... pleasant surprises," he said way too formally before putting the fork in his mouth.

Dramatic.

"Oh." You did not know how you could break the silence and avoid cutting your fingers with the shards later.

You took a bite, careful with the lipstick at first before just dragging your lips across the fork carelessly.

He chewed slowly, and the cough after he swallowed suggested that he would've much preferred a cold drink. You almost winced.

The pie was very good, all cherry sweetness sticking to your gums and with the thick ice cream on top, it felt almost heavenly after a tiring day like this one.

"Splendid," he said.

You wanted to tell him it was not a compliment, because you did not make any of it. But you still nodded as a thank you, popping a cherry in your mouth and mentally grimacing at the lines of glossy redness on your fork.

He shifted in his seat, preparing to say something else. "Forgive me, I don't mean to pry, but I noticed a guitar over there, in the corner. Is it yours?"

You swallowed quickly to avoid talking with a mouthful.

"No, no." You sighed, playing with the melting ice cream on your plate. "It was my dad's. He used to play. Not- not anymore. So I thought I could give it to someone. That's why I brought it here."

You felt exposed. It was unusual for you to talk like that. Maybe it was the pie, or he just seemed like the person who would do everything but let you keep your mouth shut. All tangled up in charm that you'd never understand or mirror.

He looked puzzled and put his elbows on the table, clasping his hands together in front of his chin. "Somebody could steal it. It seems to be in a rather vulnerable position. And it has an old soul, doesn't it? You shouldn't keep it all bare and dusty like that."

Even though his voice sounded soft, the tone of his words was eating away at your patience.

"I wasn't gonna sell it. I just want to get rid of it. Better than throwing it in the trash or burning it for Christmas, no? If someone were to steal it, I mean."

He smiled gently.

Your appetite still was not present.

"Do you know how to play, sir?" You asked him, putting your fork down.

The look on his face remained somewhat unsure, though you did not know what he was so perplexed by. Maybe it was because of a stranger asking him a question like that, but he wouldn't be so surprised by something he had just done, surely.

"I do, yes." He nodded. "Would you take me for a musician at the first glance?"

You pondered his question, looking him over. Taking in the way his eyes sparkled, how his posture was steady, the modest tilt of his head demanding an honest answer.

"Sure," you blurted out, grabbing your fork again. "You do look like an artist."

"How intriguing."

He could not stop thinking about something you said earlier, but he still kept asking you about himself. "Any artist in particular?"

"No," you said, confident with your answer.

He paused before speaking up again. "So, what does an artist look like, then?"

You sighed, sliding your fingers over your forehead to soothe your headache, at least a bit. It felt good to have something you could focus on. Even if the thing in question was a man, somebody you did not know in the slightest—it was just another workday you had to live through, and it would end soon.

"It's not about appearance, you just have to know what you are looking for... Sir."

He responded with a nod. "Ah, here I thought that all of this lurid yellow would be a cause for... an association," he grinned. It almost looked like he was genuinely enjoying all of this, but his quick toothy smile was not coming from a place of happiness, still.

"What, you wanted me to say Van Gogh or something?" You laughed, feeling the tension in the room slowly easing up, and it just felt nice to laugh. But the headache only got worse when you were laughing. It only lasted three seconds.

He chuckled. "No, but it's–"

"No, you aren't Van Gogh."

His eyes widened slightly when you interrupted him, when he heard that playful tint in your voice.

"But you can wear it– you could be a part of his..." You closed your eyes before blinking harshly and catching his gaze again. "Maybe you are Mr. Gauguin, Sir."

He stared, his interest piqued once more.

"Something is telling me he isn't your favourite."

You hummed, gripping your fork tighter and covering your mouth as you chewed. He had already stopped eating, but you decided that the excuse a mouthful of pie could make for your silence was great. "I think his paintings are interesting."

"I think it is rude to judge a complete stranger," he said with a small smile.

You gulped when you felt how the pain beneath your temples was making your eyes water, stinging horribly like the mascara hadn't been doing that well enough. "Well, you told me what I should n' shouldn't be doing with my dad's guitar."

You did not have to say it like that. You did not have to say anything at all.

His face seemed unreadable as he looked at you, leaning back in his chair.

The sugary mess was making the back of your throat feel almost sore, and you jumped to your feet. Your knees lacked certainty as you walked to the fridge for a bottle of water.

"It just surprised me," he said. His voice sounded much lower than before, not bursting with curiosity. His words were just pieces of the giant mess you would call honesty, and the idea made you shiver. That a stranger would be willing to give that to you.

He laughed before adding with a lighthearted tone, "I'd have never guessed that Henry could play the guitar. He always thought I was a fool for loving music."

You froze. "I'm—" As if it was your first time feeling this way. Cornered without receiving an actual threat. "I'm not Henry's daughter, Sir."

A sense of dread hollowed your stomach out, reaching your heart and tugging on your tongue, and you needed to get some water down as soon as possible before you got sick.

He did not seem to doubt your words, like he already knew what you would answer with, and just made sure that his assumptions were correct.

He knew what to expect, you thought, a man like him would not waste his time talking with a liar. Or a complete stranger.

Maybe you had an imaginary world in your head, home down the road to let your old memories gather proper dust on the shelves, but you were just a waitress here. Not somebody's daughter, not anyone he has met before, or was hoping to meet, apparently.

"Oh," he said, "Right. Of course."

There was nothing you could do to have a look at his thoughts. You were not even looking at him.

It was just like the beginning. But you were the stranger this time. Avoiding a piercing gaze and a wave of questions that would make you feel more vulnerable than being out there in the dark. Alone.

You wondered if he was feeling confused. If he was trying to pinpoint the exact moment when he had miscalculated something. With a furrow in his brow, staring at your silhouette like he was the one casting the shadow over you and not that lifeless place, not that miserable town you have been suffocating yourself in.

It did not matter what you had felt, but that you turned around despite it. You looked him in the eye.

"I guess you don't have to pay for my pie now, sir."

He tilted his head to the side. "I did not have to do anything, it turns out." He smiled after that, like he was joking. "This could be a pleasant surprise. Please, don't frown."

"I'm not," you murmured.

"Very good."

He nodded and grabbed his bag.

You looked away, feeling ridiculous. Somewhat like a child who just showed their parents a painting, beaming with love, only for them to ignore the meaning of it. When tears began clawing at your throat and the sticky mascara had nothing to do with it, you wondered again, going quiet as if checking a pulse. Curious if that child still lived inside you.

Of course it did not.

You watched him put the money on the counter, and hated that you would have to look away from his hand.

"Thank you," you said.

He took his coat, took his bag and started walking towards the door without saying a single word.

Funny how he did not need to put the coat on, because he had a car waiting for him, and yet he still brought it inside.

He halted his steps when he reached the door, turning around on his heels.

"Will you tell him about me?" he asked.

It took you just a second– he was talking about Henry. Henry, who did not even know what your birth name was or where you lived.

"Plenty of people come here, sir. And this is the first time I've tried the thing– the pie I've been giving to them."

His mouth twitched to a smile.

"To answer your question– no, I will not. Will you, sir?" You asked.

You knew the answer when he put his hand on the door handle.

"There is nothing for me to say."

If he murmured a "see you," then it must have disappeared in the sudden of whoosh of wind as he left, closing the door modestly.

You had refused to look at the money while he was still in front of you. But something caught your eye, shining among the green bundle of figures and numbers.

You grasped it with your clammy hands.

It was a business card.

TRANQUILITY BASE

HOTEL AND CASINO

AWAITS YOU, COME

AND STAY WITH US

You flipped it over with a quiver churning in your fingers, like the other side was beginning to burn your skin.

— (132) 411 33 51 42

There was something written below the phone number, clearly added to the card with a regular pen, all jumbled and messy.

— ASK FOR MARK.

You sat back down in your chair.

The dull pain loosened its circle of rope around your jaws and settled in your stomach.