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moody-alcoholic · 1 day ago

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Sub Ala Angeli

Part 5 - Miracle Worker

Summary: Ghoap x fallen angel!reader, mini fic. Sub ala angeli - Under the wing of an angel.

CW: suggestive content, intimate touching, mention/talk about death, near death experience.

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Enjoy <3

Johnny leads you down the main street, you walk past all kinds of different stores. There are plenty of people around too, sometimes you get the glimpse of other angels, guardian angels following people around.

Johnny leads you into a store, a bell rings and an old woman behind a counter smiles.

“John, Simon, it’s nice to see you again.” She says she has a strong accent like Johnny.

“Miss McBaine.” John says bouncing over to the counter.

“Mary please. Who is your friend?” She asks looking over at you.

“Angel.” Johnny says.

“Pretty name.” She gushes. You smile at her, something feels wrong. You look round the store, it’s filled with clothes. Johnny lets go of your hand and you go over to a hanger of fluffy looking jumpers. Your hand runs over them as you hear Simon come up behind you.

Johnny is still talking with Mary, you just can’t shake the feeling that something bad is going to happen.

“What do you think?” Simon asks. You run your hands down the arms.

“Anything I get we have to cut the back off.” You say letting go of the jumper.

“Guess it was easier when you didn’t have to wear anything.” He says. You nod thinking back to the angels you’ve seen on Earth, they’ve all been covered in some way, shape or form. Loose fitting flowy robes. Or light shines off them so bright you can’t make out any features on their body.

Simon takes you over to get some pants and shoes though, you pick what's comfy and Simon recommends other things. You hear Johnny still talking, the occasional laugh fills the store. It makes you smile.

Maybe you’re just being paranoid, it was probably the cryptic warning the angel gave you. Simon brings some shirts over, everything is oversized so you can cut a hole in the back. When you go over to take a look at dresses theres a sudden chill in the air.

Simon feels it too, you watch him shudder, goosebumps rise over your body. Dread pools in your stomach.

“Feels like someone’s just walked over my grave.” You hear Mary say. You swallow hard looking over at her and Johnny talking by the counter.

You reach out for Simon’s arm as her angel appears next to her.

“Simon. I think something bad is going to happen.” He frowns at you for a second then looks over at Johnny and Mary. You turn back to look. It’s like the scene before you is muted, the temperature of the shop drops.

Things happen quickly, Mary slumps against the counter. Johnny straightens up, Simon is already moving as Johnny reaches over the counter to try and help her. The silence of the room is broken by the gentle humming of her angel. It makes you feel sick, you know that tune.

She’s going to die.

You walk over to them. Simon is bent down by her head, you watch as the angel stands over her.

“Ambulance Johnny.” Simon’s voice brakes through the humming. Your heart is pounding in your chest.

“You’re going to let her die?” You ask the angel in your head. They look over at you and smile. They can’t do anything, you know what they’re feeling you’ve been here before. You look down at Simon, he’s hands are pressing on her chest.

You feel your fingers start to tingle, you could save her. You can save her, you have to believe. You walk over to them, Johnny is on the phone, you ignore him focusing on the tune the angel is humming.

You bend down by her side, Simon looks up at you. “Let me.” You say placing your hand on his. You look up at him. He looks confused but he stops, moving his hands away. You place your hands on her chest.

There’s no heartbeat, it feels wrong. You remember feeling Johnny’s hand under yours, for a second it feels like your own heart skips a beat. This could be him, if the warnings are true, you could end up in this same position only with him below you.

You close your eyes and let out a breath. The angel stops humming. You’ve only ever done this once before. On a child, not a fully grown person. You concentrate putting all your energy into praying for her heart to beat again. Your hands feel warm, your energy, your lifeforce being transferred from you into her.

You pray, pray for her to live, it feels like you’re willing the life back into her. You can feel yourself getting weaker, your head starts to swim, it’s becoming harder to concentrate. You don’t want to give up though, you won’t give up.

You feel a warm hand on your shoulder, you get a sudden burst of energy. The feeling of dread goes away, the weakness subsides and you feel calm, a warm feeling travels through you. When you feel her heart beat again you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

“Thank you.” You hear the angel say. Their warm hand leaves your shoulder along with the feeling of calm. You open your eyes looking over at Simon, you sit back on your knees, and smile at him as it feels like all your energy has just been pulled out of you.

Simon presses her fingers into Mary’s neck, he looks up at you shocked. You turn to her angel stood by her head.

“John is very lucky to have you watching over him.” They say.

“I’m not his guardian angel.” You reply.

“Ambulance is here.” You hear Johnny call as the sound of sirens gets closer. When you turn back the angel is gone. Simon comes over to you wrapping his arms around you and helping you to your feet. You lean against him, your legs wobble, your whole body feels heavy.

You’re not even paying attention to the random people rushing into the store. Johnny talks to them as Simon takes you out the way over to a chair. As soon as you sit down and lose the support of his arms your head swims and you slump to the side.

“Easy, easy.” He says his arms coming back round you, you lean against him. You straighten up as best as you can. You grit your teeth, you have to keep your wing hidden.

“Simon,” you breathe. He looks down at you as he pulls you tighter against him. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this for.”

“C’mon,” he says, helping you to your feet. You can still feel a chill in the air. You lean against him, Johnny sees you moving and comes over to you.

“What happened? Are you okay?” He asks, his hand coming to rub your arm. You nod and it makes your head swim.

“We’re going to the car, how much longer do you think you’ll be?” Simon asks, Johnny quickly looks back at the paramedics loading Mary onto a stretcher.

“Not long.” Johnny says. “I just have to get someone to mind the store, call her daughter.”

She’s alive, you did that, you broke the rules again. And you’ll do it again if you need to, especially for Johnny or Simon. As Simon guides you out the store people are coming over to look. Small town, probably the biggest thing that’s happened in a while. By the time you make it to the car you can barely keep it together.

“Si-” his name catches in your throat.

“Almost there, c’mon you can make it.” He encourages you, hitching you up against him while he fishes his pocket for the key. You grit your teeth using the last of your energy to grip onto him while he opens the door.

Black spots flash across your vision. Simon turns you sitting you down in the back of the car, you can’t hide your wing anymore. Lucky Simon is blocking anyone from being able to see in. Simon’s hands rest on on your shoulders holding you up. You hear the door open behind you.

“I got her.” You hear Johnny say pulling you back against him. Simon picks your legs, putting them in the car, and closing the door. You shiver as Johnny wraps his arms around you.

“She’ll be okay.” You say.

“Will you be okay?” Johnny asks. You don’t know what to say, you've never felt like this before. You feel tired, your body is heavy, you can’t keep your eyes open.

“I won’t let anything happen to you Johnny.” You say as your breathing slows.

“What's that love?” Johnny asks, he shakes your shoulders, it jolts you and you look over at Simon in the front seat. He looks worried, you smile at him as you relax further against Johnny.

“She’ll be okay.” you repeat closing your eyes.

___

You think you’re in a dream, for the first time ever. You wake up back in heaven, it’s just not quite right though. It’s like you’re there but not there, the colours are faded and the sounds are muted, you're not quite sure how you got here. There are angels all around you, Archangels and Seraphims.

You’re in the judgment hall, towering gold and iridescent structures surround the massive space. In the center there’s a collection of other angels, messengers, other guardian angels all watching you as the higher angels decide your fate.

You hear doors open behind you, you turn to see two angels come out and stand behind you.

“Judgment has been decided.” One of the Seraphims says, their voice echoing round the space. You’re holding your breath. All you can think about is Mary, her lifeless body under your hands.

“Take the other wing.” One of the Seraphims says. You feel sick, tears start rolling down your face. You need your wing, you can’t protect Johnny if you lose one more thing that makes you who you are.

“What about Johnny?” You ask, stepping forward. You hear mumbles rise up.

“You sealed his face by saving the woman.” The same Seraphim says.

“No!” You shout lunging forward. Arms grab you pulling you back and forcing you to your knees. It hurts sending shooting pains up your legs. You hear the growl of a dog.

“Please save him!” You plead. “Send me to hell, take my wing but please spare him!” You’re begging, sobbing at them. You know it’s not going to change anything you know it’s not going to make them think any different. You fight out the grip of the angels holding you and rush forward.

“I love him! Simon loves him!” You’ll destroy them both!” You shout between sobs. The Seraphim turns back to look at you as your arms are pulled back again. To your surprise they fly down. You’ve never seen one so close to you before. They’re bigger than you ever thought they were, their 6 wings make them look even larger.

“You’re an angel, you know nothing of love.” They spit, there’s emotion in their voice, anger, disgust.

“Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” You say to them. Their eyes widen and they float away from you.

“Take the wing!” They shout. You smile up at them as you hear the patter of the hellhound's feet rushing towards you.

You let out a scream as its teeth sink into your flesh.

…

Your body jolts up, you look around franticly. You’re in their house, their bed, you look out the windows, it's dark now. Your body is covered in a layer of sweat, your heart is pounding rapidly in your chest. It feels like you can’t catch your breath.

You panic, pulling your wing round holding it in your arms. You let out a sigh of relief stroking down the feathers. You swing your legs out the bed throwing the duvet back and stand up letting your wing go and pressing it back against you.

Now you need to see Johnny, you need to make sure he’s safe. You walk out the bedroom, you can see them on the sofa Johnny laid in Simon's arms. As soon as they hear you Johnny gets up to his feet coming over to you.

You feel tears forming in your eyes as you rush over to him, throwing your arms and wing around him, pulling him against you as you sob into his chest.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. What’s wrong?” His hands rub your back. You pull your face off his chest sniffling.

“I had one of those dreams, it felt so real.” You say looking up at him. His hands come up to your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. He leans down to kiss you, it feels good, safe. He’s gentle, his hands brushing your cheeks as the tears escape. You break from the kiss as a sob rises in your throat.

“Come sit, talk to us.” Johnny says, you nod, dropping your wing and following him to the sofa. You sit in between them. Simon’s hand lands on your back while Johnny rubs your thigh.

“What happened today. With Mary?” Johnny asks.

“I don’t know how to describe it.” You say hanging your head.

“Can you bring people back from the dead?” Simon asks.

“No, but if we’re quick enough, and have help, like today. We can essentially stop death.” You explain.

“Help?” Johnny asks.

“Mary’s guardian angel helped me. I wouldn’t have been able to save her on my own.” You say.

“How?” Simon asks. You look up at him.

“The energy angels have, we can channel it, use it to bless people or heal people. Normally just cuts and bruises, It’s only in very specific circumstances we can use it to- for example- restart a heart.” You let out a sigh, you still feel exhausted. “If we use too much energy it will kill us.”

“I thought you were immortal.” Johnny says.

“Immortal not invincible.” You say. Johnny squeezes your thigh. It feels good calming, just like Simon’s hand rubbing your lower back.

“You saved her life. She’s going to be okay.” Johnny says. You look up at him and smile.

“What was your dream about?” Simon asks.

“They were taking my other wing for saving her, like I saved the kid I was ordered to watch over.” You say leaving out the part about Johnny. It doesn’t work though.

“You were mumbling in your sleep. You called out for Johnny.” Simon says.

“In the car, you said you wouldn't let anything happen. Is something going to happen?” Johnny asks. You look between them. You feel a lump rise in your throat. Everything in your body is telling you not to tell them.

Maybe telling them will ruin it. You remember what the Seraphim shouted at you in your dream ‘you sealed his fate.’ You open your mouth but you can’t think of an excuse. Whatever you were going to say is replaced with a sob and you throw your face in your hands.

“I met Johnny’s guardian angel. They warned me you’re going to die.” His grip tightens on your leg, Simon’s hand stops rubbing your back. You look up at Johnny, there’s worry in his eyes. “They told me to save you. When we went to the town, another angel warned me that your fate isn’t sealed. They told me to protect you.”

You don’t expect them to say anything, Simon lets out a sigh and his hand runs over your missing wing. It sends chills down your spine.

“How-” You watch Johnny swallow. “How will it happen?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see the future, no one can.” You say.

“So how do you know he’s going to die?” Simon asks, there’s an edge in his voice

“We can’t see the future. We’re told the information we need to know.” You say.

“Did they say when it would happen?” Johnny asks.

“They said a week.” You reply solemnly. His hand comes up to pull your chin to look at him. He smiles, tipping his head and kisses you.

“Nothing bad is going to happen.” He says brushing his lips with your thumb.

“But-”

“No. You saved a life today, you’re a miracle worker. You said my fate is not sealed.” He looks over at Simon quickly then back to you. “That means I have a chance.” You nod.

Simon’s arms come back around you pulling you against him. You stretch your wing out wrapping it over the back of the sofa and around Johnny who shuffles into it running his hand over the tip.

He smiles at you and leans against it. He reaches down and pulls your legs up over his thighs. Simon's arm wraps over your chest.

“It’s going to be okay.” Simon says as he presses a kiss on the back of your head.

“We’ve faced worse odds and come out on the other side.” Johnny says. You believe them, at the same time you don’t know what might happen, Johnny rubs your leg. You can feel Simon’s heart beating against your back.

You don’t mean to fall asleep but sleep comes anyway. You feel Johnny stroking the feathers of your wing resting round his shoulder.

You’ll keep him safe, you’ll keep them both safe.

…

“Johnny.” Simon whispers. He turns to see you sleeping in Simon's arms. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I know.” He replies looking back at the TV.

“Want me to call the cavalry?” Simon asks.

“Yeah,” Johnny scoffs. “And tell them what? Hey Gaz, you’ll never believe this; an angel landed in our backyard and told me I’m going to die in a week.”

“Johnny.” Simon sighs. “What does that book of yours say about fate?”

“Everything is already written.” He says.

“Sounds like bullshit.” Simon replies, tightening his grip around you.

“Up until a few days ago you didn’t believe in anything.” He reminds him, running his hand through your feathers.

“I believe we make our own fates.” Simon says.

“Let’s go to bed.” Johnny says turning the tv off.

“What about her?” Simon asks as Johnny stands, your wing goes limp and your snuggle further against Simon’s chest.

“I can pull the bed out?” Johnny asks. Simon looks down at you brushing the hair out your eyes.

“No, let’s bring her to bed with us.” Simon says.

“You sure?” Johnny asks. Simon’s already moving, pulling you up in his arms. Johnny smiles, going to help him tucking your wing over Simon’s shoulder. He follows close behind, watching as Simon carries you through to the bedroom. Your chin rested on his shoulder, legs hanging round his waist.

“Maybe she can talk to heaven or something?” Johnny says.

“If she could, do you think they would listen?” Simon asks, walking round to Johnny’s side of the bed. Johnny doesn’t say anything, Simon lays you on your stomach, pulling the duvet over you. Simon sighs, coming over to Johnny and wrapping his arm round his waist.

“I’ll lock up. You get into bed.” Simon says, pressing a kiss into his neck.

“Don’t take too long.” Johnny replies. Simon smiles and leaves the room. Johnny changes scooting into bed next to you. You’re completely passed out again, your body is like a lead weight has he moves you a little giving Simon more room to lay next to him.

Simon comes back, turning the hallway light off and closing the door to the bedroom behind him. Johnny watches as he pulls his clothes off in the dark then crawls into bed wrapping his arms around him and pulling him up on his chest.

“Johnny.”

“Yeah?”

“Hell will freeze over before I let anything happen to you.” Simon says his hand coming up to stroke Johnny’s cheek. “God will have to come down here himself and get you.”

“It’s going to be okay. We have our own guardian angel.” Johnny says, wrapping his arm round Simon’s waist pulling him against him. Simon hums leaning over to kiss him. Johnny’s fingers dig into his waist. Johnny hums in his mouth moving one of his hands round to the front of Simon’s boxers.

Simon pulls away from the kiss. “We’re not alone Johnny.” Johnny hums wrapping his hand round Simon’s cock feeling it twitch in his hand.

“You’re all pent up.” Johnny whispers his lips brushing Simon’s. Before Johnny can go any further you turn behind him. He feels your arm slip over him. He freezes looking up at Simon as your wing stretches, resetting over them both.

He feels the heat coming off the wing, he moves his hand back over to Simon’s waist.

“I love you Si. We’ll figure it out.” Johnny says, pulling himself against Simon’s chest.

“Yeah we will. I love you too Johnny.” He replies, kissing his forehead. Johnny smiles hearing Simon’s heart beat against his ear and the warmth of your wing covers them all. He doesn’t feel fear, worry, he doesn’t feel anything. Just the warmth of your wing and his husband's arms.

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atleastpleasetelephone · 2 days ago

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Ain't That a Lotta Love - Chapter 4

A story that starts on the set of the 68 Special, with Elvis and his long-term girlfriend Dorothy Valens. Dorothy has been with Elvis for a long time for good reason - she's no pushover, and she has a habit of getting exactly what she wants. As Elvis' career starts to get back on track, their relationship fundamentally changes too.

Need to catch up? Masterlist is here.

Pairing: Elvis x Dorothy - an OC, his long-term girlfriend

Word count: 2.5K

TWs: Angry!Elvis, angry sex, name-calling, slapping (Dorothy slaps Elvis), possessive kink, Elvis is dominant, Dorothy calls him daddy.

It seems more difficult than usual to get everyone out of the dressing room at the end of the night, and strangely, Steve finds himself being one of the last people there. He spent a lot of the evening talking to Jerry, who he finds the least objectionable of the Mafia, and probably too much time watching Dorothy’s interactions with both Elvis and the rest of the guys. As he’d noticed when he first met her, she flirts to get her way and she always seems to be successful. Everything she does appears to be a calculated technique to unbalance whoever she’s talking to, whether it’s saying something outrageous (he can tell when she’s done that by the expression on their face) or exposing some kind of body part she knows they’ll be interested in. As he carries on his conversation with Jerry, he thinks about her doing the same thing to him. Telling him about the girls, coming way too close to him to light that cigarette, suggesting he get involved in their relationship and making him almost crash the car… And now does she have what she wants? He almost sighs out loud right in the middle of whatever Jerry is currently saying. This whole thing is frying his brain.

Jerry and Steve are the last people to leave, and as usual Dorothy thanks Jerry for clearing everyone else out with a kiss on the cheek. Elvis is mumbling something about tomorrow’s press conference when she turns and does the same thing to Steve, her soft lips pressing against his slightly stubbly cheek.

“Night, Steve.”

Poor Steve can’t stop himself from blushing for what seems like the hundredth time today, blood rushing to his face as he thinks about her doing this in front of Elvis, when he doesn’t know what she’s been promising. His blood starts to rush somewhere else, too, thinking about her and Elvis going to bed now, not helped by the other man grabbing his girlfriend around the waist and squeezing her to his side. Fuck. Where did that come from? Steve swallows hard, wishing everyone a good night’s sleep and trying to say something enthusiastic about the press conference, although he has no idea if the words come out in the right order. He’s relieved when he walks through the door with Jerry and knows he’s going back to his car and his house, away from this madness for a few hours.

“What’ve ya been doin’ to poor old Steve, Dodo?” Elvis asks her, still squeezing her tightly. “He was beet red back there. Ya been teasin’ him again? I need him, y’know, functioning and e’erythin’ fer this press thing tomorrow.”

Dorothy smirks. “Yeah, maybe a little.”

“Well cut it out, baby. I need him.”

Elvis’ tone is a little sharp and she doesn’t like her chances with what she’s about to say next.

“About Steve…”

“Mmhmm.”

She moves in front of him, her hands on his chest, looking up into his face. She’s so small in her flats that she has to crane her neck to do it, but she has his full attention now.

“Remember you told me I could choose our next additional… person?”

He frowns, and she can almost see his brain working, trying to figure out what this has to do with Steve. “Sure.”

“What if… um… what if it was Steve?”

He stares at her for a good minute without saying anything. The silence is so long, and his gaze is so intense, that she starts to feel a little afraid. His hands press into her back, holding her so tightly she thinks she might have bruises in the morning.

“What the fuck?” Is his eventual response, said so coldly that her fear spreads and she starts to wonder if she should try and weasel her way out of this. Maybe she’s underestimated just how easy it would be to persuade him.

“I just thought, that maybe…” she starts, uncertainly.

He cuts her off. “You want to fuck Steve. You want to fuck all my friends, or just him?”

She doesn’t know how to respond. Obviously she doesn’t want to fuck the rest of the Mafia. The thought turns her stomach. But she’s not convinced that anything she says right now is going to help.

Elvis obviously isn’t happy with her silence, one of his hands moving to grip her jaw. “Hm? You want to fuck them all or just him? Answer me, ya little slut.”

Dorothy’s temper flares immediately at the use of the word slut, and she twists her body out of his grip, throwing her head back like a flighty horse to get his hand off her face. Then she slaps him. The sound echoes around the little room.

“Don’t you fucking calling me a slut!” She rages. “What about all the girls you’ve been with?”

“You’ve been with them all too!” He thunders back, trying to grab her again and missing.

“Not fucking Ann-Margaret!”

“Don’t you bring her up again! You stupid fucking…” he stops himself calling her a bitch, breath coming in pants now, adrenalin coursing through his veins. This is how they used to fight, when he fucked girls behind her back, before they came to their agreement.

They stare at one another, both panting, both angry, both turned on. It’s seconds before they’re kissing, hands everywhere, bodies pressed together. Elvis grabs her ass, picking her up easily and plonking her down on the lid of the piano, pushing up her dress and tearing at her panties. Another pair ruined.

“I’m gonna make ya forget all about Steve,” he growls into her ear, as he enters her, roughly. “Fuck ya til ya forget his damn name.”

She whimpers, her head falling back as he starts to fuck her, her back pressing uncomfortably against the hard wood of the piano. She can barely remember the last time he was inside her, never mind the last time he had her like this. Her fingers dig into his hair as he nips at her neck, his teeth grazing her skin, then getting hungrier, biting her and making her yelp.

Around the time they’d started fighting, Steve had realised he’d forgotten his wallet. He sighs at his own stupidity, and wearily makes his way back into the building. It’s so goddamn late, all he wants to do is sleep, but he shouldn’t really drive without his license. He gets to the door of the dressing room and pauses. The light is still on, and there’s the unmistakable sound of… fucking?

“Who do ya belong to?” Elvis growls again, loud enough so that Steve, standing outside and somehow completely paralysed, can hear every word.

“You,” Dorothy moans in response as he pounds her against the piano.

“Who’s fucking pussy is this?”

“Yours.”

“Yours, who?”

She lets out a pornographic moan as a slight change in angle has his dick hitting her g-spot over and over again.

“Yours, Daddy. Only yours. Oh FUCK.”

Steve still can’t move. He knows he should turn away and go back to his car but the way her voice sounds, cracking with pleasure, and the strangled, desperate moans that accompany it… he just can’t tear himself away.

Eventually the orgasm building inside her hits its crescendo, and she’s squealing and flailing her arms around desperately. Her pussy squeezes Elvis’ dick like a vice and he moans too, their pleasured noises mingling with the sound of skin slapping together as he reaches his high, cumming deep inside her.

They’re both quiet as Elvis buries his head in the crook of her neck and she strokes his hair gently. Something about the silence makes Steve realise just what he’s doing, and he decides he’d better go. Wallet be damned. He walks away slowly, thinking of the words he’d heard them say to one another over and over again. Embarrassingly, he has to adjust himself as he gets into the car, his hard-on pressing against his jeans. He shouldn’t have stayed there for so long, and he mentally berates himself for being whatever the listening version of a peeping Tom is. Some kind of pervert, anyway.

None the wiser, Elvis and Dorothy gradually untangle themselves and silently shower and get ready for bed, communicating through their usual little glances and touches. As they get under the sheets she clings to him, kissing his chest and running her fingers through the little patch of hair there.

“I love you,” she whispers.

Elvis runs a hand up her back. “I love you too, Dodo.” He presses a kiss to the top of her head.

She looks up. “El?”

“Yes, baby.”

“I never told you I had a thing about two guys, did I?”

Elvis huffs out a sigh. He should’ve known the Steve subject wouldn’t be closed, but he’s still frustrated.

“No. Ya didn’t.”

“Thought you’d be jealous.”

“I am.”

She groans, rubbing her head against his chest like a cat. “But I love you, El. I just want to try this. And you love Steve.” She looks up at him, frowning. “It’s not as if I’m asking you to share me with Lamar.”

Elvis can’t help smirking a little. He tries to force the corners of his mouth back down again, but her mock-serious expression is making it very hard not to laugh.

“If ya ever ask me that,” he replies, poking the end of her nose with his finger as he tries and fails to stay serious, “I’ll tan yer hide lil girl, an’ not in a way you’ll enjoy.”

They look at one another for a beat and then both burst out laughing. She snuggles into him somehow even more.

“So… is that a yes then?”

Elvis groans. “How do ya do it? How do ya always get whatever ya want?”

It’s her turn to poke the end of his nose now. “Takes one to know one.”

***

Elvis is excited about the press conference. He prods Steve in the side on their way into the room. “Come on, these are always fun,” he declares, before bounding through the door.

His enthusiasm is infectious, and Steve pushes all thoughts of what he’d heard in the dressing room last night to the back of his mind. He’s wearing the ascot Elvis had bought him and Bones Howe as gifts, and he’s pleased with how it looks. The conference goes well - Elvis has plenty to say, and he alternates between being serious about the show and giving funny, teasing answers. Every time he’s about to give one of the latter he kicks Steve under the table, and it’s all the other man can do not to laugh out loud.

Elvis isn’t quite sure how he managed to get into such an excellent mood, but he thinks it has to do with the excellent sex he had last night and the fact that Dorothy has been virtually clinging to him ever since. Part of him is wondering if he did actually fuck her hard enough to make her forget about Steve, although he does remember somehow agreeing to let her have some fun with both of them. When he’s not thinking about a way to answer a question that will amuse him and hopefully make the man next to him laugh inappropriately, he’s thinking about Dorothy’s pussy. Of course he’s been intimately acquainted with it for years, but since the girls had been around he tended to fuck them more than her. It’s something he’s starting to regret now, missing out on so much good pussy just for the sake of variety.

He’d taken an upper before the conference, just to make sure he was on form, but it only kicks in properly afterwards, when they’re all celebrating how well everything had gone. Dorothy is sitting on his lap as he talks rapidly at Steve about his chances of persuading the Colonel to let them film in the dressing room.

“Doubt ya’ll get him ta but y’know it’s worth a try. I mean if anyone can, you can Steve, you’re like a wizard with the fat man or somethin’.”

Steve laughs at being described as a wizard, and is just about to reply when Joe interrupts. “We’re knackered, boss. Think we’re gonna head off, if that’s alright with you?”

Elvis looks up to see the assembled crowd of guys on their feet, shuffling back and forth somewhat awkwardly. They do look beat. His first instinct is to insist that they stay, but then he thinks about how he’d really like to spend a bit more time with Dorothy, and that the guys did tend to get in the way.

“Sure. Hell, why don’tcha all have tomorrow off too?”

Joe's eyebrows shoot up and he looks around, wondering if this is some kind of joke he's not in on.

“Uh, sure, EP.”

Elvis nods quickly and grins. “Sure y'all can think of somethin’ to do for a day in LA.” He looks over at Dorothy with lust in his eyes and has to bite his tongue not to tell everyone exactly what, or who, he intends to do all day in LA tomorrow.

“Sure thing, boss,” Joe replies, quickly shepherding the rest of the guys out of the door before Elvis changes his mind.

Steve looks around the room and suddenly realises it’s only the three of them left. Panic rising in his throat he starts babbling about going too.

“You probably want some time alone, I-I’ll just um… I should go…” He finds himself thinking of their alone time the night before and his face starts to colour.

Dorothy puts a hand on his arm. “I’d like it if you stayed. You’d… we’d like it if you stayed, wouldn’t we, El?” She tips her head back to look at her boyfriend.

Elvis nods, silently, although he doesn’t know if he would like it. He wants Dorothy to himself, and the atmosphere in the room is starting to seem charged and a little strange.

“Oh… okay,” Steve mumbles.

Dorothy’s thumb strokes his arm and he tries to get his breathing under control. What the fuck is she planning?

Dorothy sees the look of panic on his face and at the same time feels the irritation radiating off Elvis, underneath her. She has to do something to get this situation back under control. Her control. Make it less weird and more fun. It helps that she’s several drinks in already, and it doesn’t take long for her to think of something, getting up and starting to look around the room for a deck of cards, so that they can play poker. Strip-poker, to be precise. She giggles to herself.

“What’re ya doin’, Dodo?” Elvis sounds annoyed, and it’s probably not helped by the pills he took earlier. His eyes flick around the room at high speed, trying to figure her out, as his heart beats quickly and sweat beads at his temples.

“Looking for… aha!” She spins around, deck of cards in hand. “These!”

“What on earth for, baby?” He asks, confused. It’s not as if she’s ever been a great lover of card games.

She grins, wickedly.

“Strip poker.”

Taglist:

Please let me know if you want to be added or removed:

@arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas @pocketfulofpresley @dkayfixates @iloveelvisss @kxnnxy @presleyhearted @lvrdollep @nebulamorada @iloveelvis2 @18lkpeters

#elvis #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis fic #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fic #elvis smut #elvis fanfic #elvis presely smut #elvis imagine #elvis presley fanfic #elvis x oc #elvis Presley x oc

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marauders-brain-rot · 2 days ago

Note

Okay kay give me

4. Mind meld/telepathy/mind reading

7. Trappend in an elevator

12. Turned invisible

42. True loves kiss/brraking a curse

60. Truth serum/spell

With Rosekiller

One of them, more then one or maybe mixed idk

Barty was absolutely losing his mind. He’d tried everything he could possibly think of, and yet Evan still wouldn’t make a move. He was one more disaster away from just accepting that Evan didn’t have any feelings for him whatsoever and cutting his losses entirely.

He’d tried getting them trapped in an elevator together, something that was impressive given that they were wizards and didn’t often use elevators. And yet, he’d managed to get them both on there and get the blasted thing to get stuck between floors, only for Evan to happen to know the perfect spell to get them out, the swot. A truth serum like Veritaserum was something he vetoed early on, not wanting to take Evan’s autonomy away from him. For that same reason, a mind-reading spell like Legilimency was also out of the question.

That all brought him to now, where he was trying his last desperate attempt and then never going to think about it again. He’d managed to find a potion that would put him into a sleep he couldn’t be woken from without a kiss. It would wear off within a week if unbroken. In retrospect, he’d translated the spell from German, and he decidedly did not know German. He’d had to use a dictionary to translate the text, and it had been an old text, so he couldn’t even be certain that his translation meant exactly what he’d thought.

All in all, this plan was definitely not one of his brightest, but he was desperate at this point and not above turning himself invisible if it all went horribly wrong. He’d been lying there for an hour already, aware of his surroundings and conscious in everything but appearance, and he knew that any minute Evan would walk into the room and find him there.

Almost as if on cue, Barty heard footsteps coming into the room and stopping short. He’d know the way Evan walked even if he were actually asleep; his very presence in the room lit his skin on fire as it always had. If Evan didn’t feel the way he felt, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could take feeling like this every time he was near.

“Bee? You okay?” Evan asked cautiously, stepping closer. Barty had laid himself out intentionally, in a way he never would lay normally, almost like he were set for a funeral. “Bee, wake up.”

Evan shook his shoulder, called out to him a few more times, and then contemplated for a few moments in silence. “If you don’t get up, I’m going to slap you.”

Barty didn’t move.

“I mean it, Bee.”

Barty couldn’t move.

“Alright then, I’m gonna do it.”

Evan slapped him.

If he could’ve, he would’ve jumped out of bed with a scream. That slap had, in fact, hurt. As it stood though, he was forced to remain motionless. He knew Evan could see him breathing, so he’d at least know he was alive. But, well, he hadn’t really thought about how Evan would think to kiss him.

He could hear as Evan moved around, looked for anything that might give reason for this. Barty could hear when he picked up the vial the potion had been in, which had been sitting atop the book with the potion itself inside. He listened as Evan picked it up and flipped it open to the bookmarked page. After a second, he scoffed.

“You don’t even know German,” he could hear the amusement in his voice and knew that if he could just open his eyes, he’d see Evan’s lopsided smile. “Mom absolutely insisted on me learning it as a child; did you know I’m still fluent?”

Barty had not, in fact, known that Evan was fluent in German and was kicking himself internally for that oversight. There was absolutely nothing he could do about it now though, not when he was locked inside himself as Evan read through the page and saw what Barty had planned.

“Oh, well, isn’t that just pathetic?” Evan’s tone was soft with a hint of condescension. He sat down on the bed next to him. Barty ached to reach out and touch him. The need increased tenfold when Evan leaned down next to his ear, so close he could feel his breath.

“Did you even translate this properly, Bee? Do you even know what you’re asking for?” The way the words were softly whispered in his ear would’ve made him shiver if he could actually move. Instead, it built up within him, making him absolutely ache.

Everything around him felt heightened. He was acutely aware of every movement Evan made next to him as he sat up. He felt the other boy’s eyes roaming over his face before his hand came up to cup his face. Barty was absolutely certain that he would burst into flames if Evan kept touching him like that, and Merlin if Evan didn’t kiss him, he wasn’t sure how he could take an entire week of lying here in this room. Agonizingly slowly, Evan leaned forward until their lips were so close Barty could practically feel them against his own.

Another breath, and then their lips were finally connected.

His body came back to him slowly, and then all once, he’d been urging it on so hard that the moment his arms were free, he was pulling Evan in closer and deepening the kiss. It felt like hours and minutes all at once when Evan pulled away, leaning his forehead against Barty’s with labored breathing.

“Bee?” He asked softly and pulled away to look at him properly. “What exactly did you translate that to?”

“Oh, um, just that it would put me to sleep for a week unless someone kissed me,” he answered a little sheepishly. It transitioned to full-blown embarrassment when Evan started laughing at him. “Well, it worked, didn’t it!”

“It wasn’t just any kiss, Bee.” Evan’s tone was serious now, all laughter gone, though a smile was still on his face. “It had to be true love’s kiss.”

“Oh.” His brain felt like it had stopped working entirely. If true love’s kiss had to break the potion, then… “Rosie?”

“Yes, Bee?”

“Does that mean…?” He couldn’t get the words out. Sure, he’d known he loved Evan, wanted to spend the rest of his life with him. That didn’t mean Evan felt the same, though, didn’t mean that’s what would actually happen. Evan nodded slowly. “How did you know it would work?”

“I didn’t.” And somehow, that was better than if he had.

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jellyjellyghost · 23 hours ago

Text

Breakfast Cake

ateez x gn!reader (all platonic!)

CW: completely platonic!! no use of y/n!! fluff, revolves around eating food and celebrating birthday's, self indulgent, mentions that reader can be picked up by Mingi, not proof read, rushed, a little all over the place, maybe ooc?

WC: 1.1k

A very self indulgent oneshot since today (2/27) is my birthday! The day is almost over and I'm just really happy with how this day turned out.

I did try to have the interactions between members and the reader to be the same about/similar, but I know unfortunately that did not work out. I will definitely be writing more about Ateez in the future though, so stay tuned for that.

I am also working on a masterlist/introduction to me post so that'll be out soon! I really, really hope you enjoy!

p.s. omg I added so many tags, I had to stop myself (っ- ‸ - ς)

✧˖°.꒷꒦︶꒷🪼꒦︶ ๋⭑꒷꒦‧₊˚⊹

Here's how I imagined the cuties^^

✧˖°.꒷꒦︶꒷🪼꒦︶ ๋⭑꒷꒦‧₊˚⊹

Loud cackling can be heard through the kitchen and down the hall. Yunho is messing with Wooyoung as he tries to make breakfast. Hongjoong appears threateningly behind Yunho, a comical darkness falling over his face. Wooyoung’s eyes go wide, he goes silent and points behind Yunho. Before he can see what’s behind him, Hongjoong places a hand on his shoulder.

“Shut up, they’re still asleep.” He hisses out at the both of them.

Yunho’s smile fearfully falls from his face and he quickly moves back in front of the stove. “Ay, ay Captain.”

In your living room Seonghwa is hard at work re-wrapping all your gifts that a few members clearly struggled to wrap right. San is balanced atop a stepstool, hanging up the decorations, with Yeosang simply standing there as his personal human tape dispenser. Jongho and Mingi are nowhere in sight.

You slowly rouse awake to the feeling of something poking your side. You groan and roll away only to feel a hand grabbing your bicep. You scream in surprise, turning to the stranger in your room. You throw the blanket at the figure and run out of your bedroom before you can get a good look at him.

Your heart leaps into your throat as you bump into a large form in your hallway, the stranger rubbing your arms soothingly.

“What’s wrong?” San’s worried voice washes over you, and you instantly relax.

“You scared me.” You gasp out. “And-” You pull away from San, turning to see who was poking you in your bed. Mingi stands there with a sheepish look on his face, the blanket you threw at him in his hands.

He opens his mouth. “What is wrong with you?” You state in aspiration. “I’m sorry.”

You move forward, hugging him. “I accept your apology.” You mumble against him, then push him back. “But don’t scare me like that ever again!”

You glance back over at San, and he smiles at you. “Happy Birthday.” Mingi quickly mimics him and you grin happily.

“Is everyone here?” You question, moving towards your kitchen. “Jongho went to go get your cake.” San confesses from behind you.

“Will-” Seonghwa unintentionally cuts you off. “We heard you scream, is everything alright?” You smile reassuringly over at him. “Yeah, Mingi just scared me.” Mingi awkwardly shuffles side to side behind you.

Seonghwa shakes his head in disbelief and ushers you towards the living room. “Come on, come on.”

Your eyes light up as you see how decorated your living room is, and it makes you feel like a kid again. You see Yeosang hanging up a few more things. “Yeosang-” You breathe out. “Did you do this all yourself?” He turns at your question, and his eyes shine. “Obviously.” He smiles mischievously.

You miss the way San pouts from behind you, but he decides to stay silent. Seonghwa tells you proudly that he rewrapped all the presents. “They look lovely Hwa, thank you very much.” He beams at that.

Your apartment door swings open and Jongho appears, a grocery bag in hand. “Baby Bear!” You tease, shuffling over to him as he pulls off his shoes. He gives you a playful glare in response.

“Did you get my favorite?” You question. “Of course.” He hands you the bag as he finishes unlacing his shoes.

Fishing through the bag you pull out a jug of your favorite juice. “How did you know this was my favorite?” You gasp at him.

“You never shut up about it.” He states and you go to pinch his cheeks because you know he hates it. “It’s my birthday, you have to be nice to me.” At your words Jongho stops himself from swatting your hand away and just simply pulls back. It’s a win in your book.

You head towards the kitchen so you can put the things in the grocery bag away. Everyone moves back to their tasks and Mingi just follows you around. It’s clear his only assigned job was to wake you up, he stops following you the second he sees his boyfriend Yunho in the kitchen.

Wooyoung latches onto you the second he spots you, abandoning Hongjoong at the stove. He starts rapid firing questions at you- “Did you sleep well? Does breakfast smell good? Do I look nice? Also Happy Birthday, Do you feel older?-” as you struggle to simply put the juice in your fridge.

“Woo-” You struggle to push him away.

“Don’t make me finish this all by myself!” Hongjoong whines. Wooyoung continues to rub his face with your own like the cat he is. He only seems to be placated once you answer his questions.

By the time you’ve answered all his questions your birthday breakfast is served up on the table. Since they all keep coming to your apartment, you managed to find a table to sit all nine of you. Somehow it fits in the small ‘dining room’ area your apartment has.

You’re sat between Seonghwa and Yunho. Yunho dots on you, scooping eggs and bacon onto your plate, putting a lot more than you know you’ll eat. You grumble and scoop some of the food onto Seonghwa’s plate, who immediately refuses.

“You need to eat more!” Yunho exclaims, attempting to force feed you. You quickly snap your mouth shut, shaking your head. Yunho moves his fork back and forth. “Here comes the airplane!” You refuse to open your mouth and you just stare at him. “Here comes the choo choo train?” You give into his whims and he seems very pleased with himself.

Once breakfast is over, and a round of rock, paper, scissors later, Mingi is forced to clean up the table with Seonghwa’s help. You sit there patiently per Hongjoong’s orders.

A cake is brought out and Yeosang comes over to you with a party hat. “Is it okay?” He asks, gesturing to put it on you. “Yes of course.” You agree and he sits down next to you, gently placing the hat on your head and making sure the string isn’t uncomfortable. He gives you a thumbs up, and once you reciprocate it he pulls back.

Hongjoong lights the candles and they all begin to sing to you. You sit there awkwardly, smiling up at them all, feeling so loved. Once you blow them out they all cheer. Hongjoong sweeps in and rubs a little frosting on your face, taking a picture of you before you can even realize it.

“Thank you all so much.” You whisper, heart (and stomach) full. Yunho places a hand on your shoulder and gives you a wink. “Happy Birthday.” You stand up and pull them all into a group hug. Jongho moans in protest as San drags him in. Seonghwa complains that someone is stepping on his foot, as Hongjoog sheepishly moves back. Wooyoung is fighting his way to the center to get closer to you while Yeosang manages to hold him back. Mingi is holding you close, nearly lifting you off the ground as Yunho asks:

“Who the hell brought out the cake this early?”

✧˖°.꒷꒦︶꒷🪼꒦︶ ๋⭑꒷꒦‧₊˚⊹

As always if you enjoyed leave a like, comment or even reblog!

Have a great day! ♡

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junknstufffiles · 4 hours ago

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I have thought so much about this, and have a few ideas on how it could be possible.

First, how did Missy not know Henry was still alive. For this, I think it's because Henry disappeared from Swellview long before Kid Danger died. Henry hadn't attended school for a year which lead to him not graduating, but it also meant he didn't have contact with people who didn't know the secret, by the time he went down with the Blimp.

Charlotte and Jasper left Swellview, Piper left, Henry's mom was gone most of the time anyways, and Henry's dad continued doing whatever he was doing. Captain Man had new sidekicks, and no one similar to Kid Danger ever appeared by his side publicly.

That is an incredibly small pool to ask, who actually know about what happened with Henry. This is reinforced in season four episode Rubber Duck, where Henry talks about only having two friends. At this point he's grown so distant from everyone not even Oliver or Sidney came.

So Henry moves half way across the world, and if Missy was able to ask anyone from Swellview about him, they wouldn't know. Just that he disappeared. Maybe someone would say he left town, but that is such a stereotypical superhero cover response. It would make sense she would think that was a lie told to people to cover Kid Dangers death.

Second, Henry's move to Dystopia. This one I think is actually easier to explain.

Dystopia is an island in the Pacific, while it appears many people speak English, signs are also shown in whatever the local language is. The majority of fans would be speak and share in the local language, and that alone would limit visibility of articles or videos that Henry would appear in.

Also, having lived in two different countries, visited more, and having friends who live around the world, there are so many things that are huge news in the country or region, but never make it much further.

Local ads are very much a things, so even if BizWatch is an international company, it wouldn't make sense for their ads with Dystopian superheroes to be shown outside of Dystopia. Even when I lived in the United States, we had local sports celebrities appear in ads. Outside of my state, no one really knew who that celebrity was and had never seen any of the ads they were in.

Maybe they make it online, but I doubt the ads would have the appeal to become viral enough to spread very far online. Superheros are established in the universe, and while Captain Man was a big name, superheroes are common enough that, BizWatch sponsoring a superhero wouldn't be enough for their ads to go viral.

Another reason, is based on Blackout's comment their fame is fairly recent. Henry got his BizWatch the same night Missy stole and used the RAD. The ad on the side of the bus was brand new, because Jasper hadn't seen it yet. If Jasper hadn't had a chance to see his own ad, then the chances of a child in middle America seeing it are slim to none. And again any article they would have been in, would have been local.

BizWatch would be the first chance for their fame to develop into something that could possibly be seen outside of Dystopia. And it was still so new by the time Missy activated the RAD, that even if she had alerts set up for all superhero news all over the world, it still would have reached her after.

Missy also fully believed Kid Danger was dead, which meant she believed Henry was dead. All of her research would have that bias. So it would be focused on things in the past. Adding on that she didn't write about Captain Man, probably meant she didn't keep up with his career with the same intensity after the death of Kid Danger.

All of her research would have been centered around the time period he was alive, because that is the information that would have fueled her stories. So, she wouldn't be actively looking for current superhero information.

The superpowers one, is the hardest to justify. Because it makes sense she doesn't know about the force field. Henry didn't know about the force field until he was using it. It's not a strong argument, but I have two justifications for why she didn't write his superpowers/didn't know about them.

1. She didn't know about it.

This is a weak argument, but he spent the majority of his career as Kid Danger without powers. During the events of the Rock Box dump a lot of false information of it being a disease was spread. Sure he cleared up the rumors, but it is possible, however slim, that Missy found so many things talking about it being a disease, that she never found the proof it was a superpower. And it was not too long after that episode that he lost his powers for good. I don't like this theory much, but it's a theory.

2. The angst of it

What I believe is more plausible, is that they were talking about his force field specifically in that conversation. She wouldn't know about it, so she wouldn't have written it. As for the hyper motility, she didn't include it for the angst. Kid Danger spent most of his career without superpowers, and it wasn't long after everyone found out that he lost them again.

So, I think Missy didn't write his superpowers in, because if he had superpowers, then why would he need her. The one hero she wrote with superpowers was Jasper, and the entire story was about how inadequate Henry felt being the sidekick. If Henry had superpowers, then it would be about how inadequate Missy would feel as a sidekick, and she wanted them working together as partners. If Henry doesn't have powers, then Missy has a chance to save him, and be the hero of her story.

Anyways, feel free to disagree, I've just been thinking about this since I watched the movie. I have wanted to share this with someone, because it was something that bugged me. This is what I came up with, as an explanation. Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

Henry Danger the movie spoilers

Okay but wait if Missy knew that Henry Hart is/was Kid Danger then how didn’t she know that Kid Danger didn’t actually die?!!

Like yeah Henry changed his last name apparently but he fights crime now in a different city without a mask! The people were calling him by his name. His face was plastered across a bus and probably dozens of advertisements (some of which were pry online) for that stupid wrist watch thing!

There’s no way this girl wouldn’t have been able to find out that Henry was still alive and thus realize that meant Kid Danger was still alive (you know since she knew they where the same person)! Like all that research and shit she did and at no point did she come across Henry’s face plastered all across the internet for that watch advertisement?!

#henry danger #henry hart #captain man #kid danger #thoughts #henry danger the movie #jasper dunlop #ray manchester #missy martin #ted talks #So many hours of thinking it over #i love the movie #but I needed an explanation for this #so i did it myself

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twig---verginix · 1 year ago

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thinking about season 3 this morning. as a viewer, the introduction of the "Jennifer incident" felt almost cheap, at first– it's so painfully not present in any previous seasons that peels back the layers a little bit, forces you into blinking and saying heyyyyyy. you're making that shit up now. >:/. But I think it can work diegetically, even if it wasn't planned.

It presents it this way: not only has fucking with the timeline forever impacted the present world that these characters reside in and the only other people they'll ever interact with, but it's also impacted their past, their story. Not changed, per say, but more unlocked it. Like taking different actions in a video game and getting more dialogue. And it drives the viewer away from the Umbrellas in the process, widening the gap between where we are and where they are, knowledge-wise, which arguably does a nice job of adding to that off atmosphere that Hotel Oblivion seems to be going for.

#now is it more or less subtle than the shadowy corner effect? i'll leave that up to you #tua #umbrella academy #sorry. warning for: discussions of canon-typical levels of incest-adjacent weirdness in the following tag ramble #i thought about this when i was trying to think about something to say regarding luther and allison and sloane but i didn't come to a #satisfying conclusion following that train of thought. like damn. congrats on the other kind-of-sister i guess.#maybe something in there about Doing The Same Thing Again in a way that appears superior on the surface while not substantially effecting #much significant change. or doing the same thing in a sugary sweet way. or maybe sloane is a closer parallel to luther than she is to #allison anyway and it's an extended selfcesty metaphor for self-love and healing from childhood parental abuse.#maybe we'll never see any of the sparrows ever again. except for maybe marcus. marcus was interesting to me and he #was the first fuckin one to die.#anyway okay you see why i didn't write that post.#(if we wanted to say luther is miki and allison is kozue... would that make sloane... anthy...?)#dammit i should have just made this its own post now i have to trigger tag this #lemme put that tag up higher actually that'll be more helpful

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fragmentedblade · 2 years ago

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I've been reading about xiangqi a bit and now I'm even more obsessed with that one video of Jing Yuan

#Obsessed with the fact they made a point of him not leaving the palace #Anyway I was rewatching this because I still find very amusing that you can see when he steals that piece from the board #Which is something that makes I think more sense considering the ways in which you can check and win in this game #It seems pretty fun actually I think I'll try. Maybe with this being different this time I'll be able to convince someone to play with me #No one wants to indulge me when it comes to chess and I don't like playing online #Hmm actually this game seems less unpleasant to play non physically based on aesthetics #With chess I always have to take out a physical board and it's sort of annoying. The pocket chess I carry around is not much better #Yes I think I'll give xiangqi a try. And look for good books about it and its evolution. I hope I find something #It's always so hard to find things worth reading about topics like these. Like with fencing. Still unsure about what I got about that #After rewatching the video again I have half a mind to make gifs to keep track of his moves. I just really find it very amusing #I love how the move and what is happening in the rest of the video work with what we see him do in the actual game #Personality wise yes but strategically #I think I actually rambled about this in a post a few days ago? Oh wait that was in my main blog I think #I don't know why I make sideblogs if I end up reblogging the posts in the main after all. I always do the same thing #I'll stop now but oh I am really so so fond of him. I think I could talk for hours haha #I talk too much #Jing Yuan #Right now it doesn't seem to appear in the general tag for me but I'll check in a bit again #I really don't know how to organise my rambles anymore with this feature #I miss the five tags thing #Now no matter how much I talk it seems the general tag will always find my posts

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mommypieck · 1 year ago

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⌗︙・jjk men waking up after a wet dream about you ⸜⸜・

gojo

a small chuckle leaves his mouth when he wakes up from a pleasant dream about you. his cock is aching for attention, precum already building at the top. it's the first time he had a dream about you. not to lie, he fantasized about your cute little body before but never in a dream. he wraps his hand around his cock and tries to remember little details about the dream. the way you would bounce on his cock or your little hand wrapped around it. he's not ashamed, you're a pretty girl after all. but from your behavior, he can see that you're shy and timid. maybe he can ask you out to turn his dream true. he speeds his hand around his cock, bringing himself closer to his orgasm. he thinks about a specific scene from his dream - you spread in front of him with your fingers in your cunt. he cums at the thought, covering his hand with his cock. he giggles, gojo hopes he will have similar dream soon.

geto

he wakes up with sweat on his forehead, groaning when he notices his hard on. the girl in his dream was too similar to you, same hair, eyes, body type. he can't believe he had this kind of dream about you. it was a good dream, he has to say. geto can't decide if he should take a cold shower and forget about everything or take care of his little problem. after all, he's gonna see you today and he doesn't wanna be awkward. his lips turn into a little smile as he thinks about what would happen if you saw what he is about to do. or what if you had the same dream? mmm, you took his cock so well in his dream, would you be able to do that in real life? he's seen your tiny ass move in your little skirts, you would have problem taking him for sure. fuck it, he thinks as he wraps his hand around his cock. he softly massages his shaft, imagining that it's your tiny hand stroking him. all problems leave him in that moment, he's gonna relive that dream now and hopefully later today when he invites you over.

nanami

he groans when he finally opens his eyes to meet a familiar decor of his room. he doesn't wanna think about it, he doesn't wanna think about how hard his cock is right now. he throws his arm around his eyes, trying to breathe deeply to forget all about the dream. he hasn't had a wet dream since he was a teenager and now someone like you is gonna make them pop up again? he thought you were cute when he first met you but he never thought you would be capable of doing such a slutty things. it was just a dream, he has to remind himself, maybe you are innocent. he taps his fingers on his cock, he really doesn't wanna do this. nanami tries to think of different porn starts he's seen online but his thoughts come back to you. his hand finally grips his cock and he squeezes it until it's painful. it's all your fault, maybe it you weren't so cute, he wouldn't have to do this.

toji

she's even haunting me in my dream, toji thinks when he wakes up. his cock is already standing proudly, just begging for him to take it in his hand. he doesn't waste any time wrapping his hand around it. he always thought you were pretty, your body is basically all he ever dreamed about. it's not the first time you appeared in his dream but this time, he is certain that it was you. all of the other dreams were blurry but this one was way more vivid. he strokes his cock slowly, thinking about the way you bended for him in that dream. the only thing that's pissing him off is that you're not here with him right now, that you can't use your mouth or your little pussy on him. he feels himself getting close as he thinks about all the things he would do to you if he could. he cums on his hand, surprising himself how strong this orgasm was. there's something about you and he has to find out what it is.

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seumyo · 2 months ago

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another new year with bakugou katsuki.

One more hour ‘til the New Year.

“So,” you started, “we’re about to ring in another year. Guess I’m stuck with you again, huh?”

Bakugou paused from tidying up the scattered toys in your shared bedroom. The gears in his head need a moment to get to processing.

“Hah?”

“It’s just hitting me, you know? I’ve been putting up with you for how long now? Feels like forever.”

A scowl immediately made itself known in his lips, unsure if you’re joking or not. “The hell are you gettin’ at?”

You tapped your chin as though deep in thought. “Maybe it’s not too late to return you to your parents. They probably miss having you around, anyway.”

“You’re jokin’.”

Bakugou’s eyes blink dumbfoundedly.

“Does your parents have a no-return policy?”

His voice dropped to a grumble, and his brows furrowed. He finishes tidying up the toys and joins you on the bed, cuddling close to you (even if he doesn’t consider it cuddling, moreso invading your personal space—but you’re his wife, so he gets a pass).

“As if. You think you can just ship me off like I’m some Amazon package? No way in hell, dummy. You’re stuck with me.”

And I’ll gladly be stuck with you for eternity, he finds himself wanting to say but refrains from doing so.

“Stuck with you, huh? That’s a bold statement, Katsu. What if I do want to send you back?” You laughed softly.

Bakugou snaked his arms around you, pushing himself impossibly closer to the point where you could tease him for being too clingy, his lips tugging into a pout he’d never admit to. “You can’t. You said yes when I proposed. You walked down the aisle. You said ‘for better or worse.’ That’s on you.”

You smiled, combing your hands through his hair. It may appear all spiky and rigid, but you’ve learned that it’s actually fluffy and soft—definitely well taken care of.

“I don’t remember that part. I think you dragged me down the aisle, all grumpy and scowling.”

“I didn’t drag you anywhere. You were practically sprintin’ to get hitched to me.”

“Was I?”

“You were,” he scoffs, but it’s soft, as if thankful of the fact. “And now you’re mine forever. No refunds, no returns, no exchanges.”

The sound of your laugh is something that’ll never get old to him. He could play it on repeat and never choose to turn it off.

“Forever’s a long time, Katsu.”

“Forever’s not a long time when I get to spend it with you,” he says. It’s the truth, and he can never bring himself to lie to you. Not now, not ever.

Because if anything, Bakugou Katsuki loves with his whole heart, puts every piece of himself in the things he does and has done, and he’ll be damned if he ever lets you settle for anyone less.

“Spend it with the little brats, too.” Ah, your two daughters have him wrapped around their little fingers.

You rolled your eyes. “Confident, aren’t you?”

“Definitely.” He reached out and grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together. He looks at you with this all too familiar look, as if asking for a simple thing.

“And don’t even joke about tryin’ to get rid of me. You’d be lost without me.”

“Oh, absolutely helpless,” you tease, indulging him with a soft, chaste kiss.

Bakugou snorts. “Whatever.”

“Forever, right?”

“Forever,” Bakugou said firmly, resting his forehead against yours. His voice dropped into a quieter, almost shy tone. “And don’t forget, you’re stuck with me, too. No way I’m lettin’ you go.”

Your heart melted a little at his rare softness, and you kissed his cheek. “Fine, Katsu. I’ll keep you. But only because the return policy’s expired.”

“You’re lucky I love you.”

“No, you’re lucky I love you,” you joked.

“Damn right I am,” he replied, choosing to enjoy this serene moment with you rather than bothering to watch the same old boring fireworks to celebrate the new year an hour later.

Your husband can recreate any fireworks shows any day, anyway.

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void-my-warranty · 3 months ago

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18+ Gaz/fem reader — past bullying, PIV, friends to lovers

Gaz who used to be such a jerk to you.

You’d almost think he liked you at times, but then a backhanded compliment or a laugh at your expense would sober you right out of that delusion. It was always a stark reminder of the invisible wall between you — his effortless charm, and your nervous quiet.

You accepted it.

Socially, your breeds were just different. He was a dangerous thing you’d better not touch, better not even look at too long, in case it opened you up to his attention.

And if you were a more healed version of yourself, you might have cut ties — found new friends, deleted the group chat, and maybe even switched your classes around to avoid him. But you were seventeen and didn’t think you deserved any of those protections, so you stuck it out.

And then he joined the military, and you moved on with your life. Many years, two and a half boyfriends, and two cats later, you never expect to run into him again. But you do, on some random, gloomy day. That’s definitely him, headed obliviously in your direction while he talks to someone on the phone.

You’ve just finished assuring yourself that there’s no way he'll remember you, when his eyes land on your face and light up in recognition.

Shit.

This is going to hurt.

Instantly your mind erases all the personal growth you’ve accomplished, and puts you right back into the anxious shell you were all those years ago, as if his face were some trigger for memory loss. If only he hadn’t noticed you, and you could turn around and pretend you never saw him. But no, he’s already walking over, stowing his phone in his pocket.

“Kyle,” you respond with a fake smile when he says your name. “You look…” Your eyes rake over his faded, well-worn jacket, so at odds with the flashy clothes he used to wear. “…different.”

It’s true, everything about him seems changed, from the understated surety of his posture, to the random scar on his face now. Even his eyes feel different, when they’re connecting with yours. It’s like his personal aura of disregard has evaporated, and something entirely different has taken its place.

“Speak for yourself,” he says, in a softer, deeper voice than you remember. “I like the new hair.”

You cringe internally, waiting for that mocking smile to make an appearance. But no, he just gazes speculatively across the pavement at you, as if the compliment had no hidden meaning at all.

“Thanks,” you mumble. “It’s… uh… are you visiting?”

“Stationed,” he clarifies, reluctantly dragging his eyes away to scan the damp street. “Just got my things unpacked.”

“Oh, that’s cool.” You’ve just started to slink away as subtly as you can, first one sidestep and then another.

“D’you live here?” he asks point-blank, with a little quirk to his brow.

C’mon, lie. Say you’re on holiday or something.

“…Yeah.” Why does he have to act so different? It’s throwing off your learned defenses. “A couple streets over.”

The spark of interest you glimpse in his eyes is quickly smothered by something unreadable.

“S’ppose I’ll be seeing you, then,” he offers, lingering his eyes once more on your hair, which you previously believed was behaving today.

“Alright, see y—“

It’s Kyle who escapes down the stretch of pavement. Kyle who makes a hasty, awkward retreat before you’ve even finished speaking.

“What the fuck?” you mutter to yourself, continuing down the street.

Sure, you’re confused, but that encounter was oddly… centering.

Maybe, after all this time, you somehow grew up. You’re not even that afraid of his attention any more, as if it just doesn’t even matter that much. Even if he were exactly the same as he was before, he would never again become a main character in your life or in your thoughts. How unexpectedly liberating.

You go home that night, thinking about the person you used to be. The energy you’d waste on proving yourself to people who were never your friends. The awkward moments you’d agonize over in your head, punishing yourself a hundred times for the smallest misstep. How strange that Kyle was the one to prove how much you’ve changed.

You start running into him on a fairly regular basis. At your favorite lunch spot, at the chemist's, and most commonly, on your way home from work, heading to your respective flats in the opposite direction of each other.

Every time, you're struck by how grounded you feel when he looks at you. Your heel suddenly doesn't ache, your skin doesn't feel tight and uncomfortable. He keeps a respectful distance, but his voice is always steady, and his clothes are always functional and boring. You suppose that's what the military does to some people, or maybe it's just time itself that changed him.

It takes a month for him to ask for your number. Another week to text you, and instead of asking you out for drinks, he seems interested in your cats. He can't have any of his own, he says, with the job. He seems to like the photos you send, and the little updates about your day.

It's you who invites him over the first time, for a bottle of wine and a pirated film. He sits on the other side of your couch for most of it, with his hands clasped over his belly like he's been paid not to touch anything while he’s there. He even keeps his jacket on, so when the film is done and it's time to either talk or kiss, he just stands right up and says his goodbyes.

He's almost awkward as an adult, which throws you completely off guard. It takes your cats claiming him to get him to relax a little at your place, but eventually he'll be spread out on your couch on a random Thursday night, with one cat loafing on his lap and the other one waiting on the arm rest for her turn, twitching her tail impatiently.

Your coworker asks if you two are dating, which is so utterly absurd, you don't even know what to say. You and Kyle are friends, and that alone should be enough of a crinkle in the universe. He's just new to the city, and you get along now, so it makes sense to hang out sometimes.

Nevermind that you've been cuddling closer lately, so the spare cat won't be so left out. Nevermind that you're now familiar with the feeling of his warm arm pressed against your shoulder, the backs of his knuckles tucked into the side of your thigh. Nevermind that in your bed after he's gone, you often hallucinate scenes of other things happening between you, things that would surely never exist in a sane world.

If he wanted you, he would make a move, so you're friends.

You're a bad friend, the next time he comes over.

You're wearing one of those satin bras that shows the impression of your nipples through your shirt, and you have your hair done, and you've got on a pair of little shorts, instead of your usual leggings.

Nothing a rock-solid friendship can't handle, of course. Nothing Gaz can't handle, even if he's extra quiet that night. You expect to feel his eyes on your body, but instead you feel the opposite, the inward shift in his concentration.

That rock-solid military control is suddenly a tangible barrier between you, uncomfortable and tight. The outside of your knees touch when he joins you on the sofa, shooting a spark through your lower belly—

Christ, you need to stop it. You're probably just seeking his approval to fill a teenage wound that's not his responsibility to repair. You shouldn't need him to validate you, you're your own person now, and also, fuck him for making you feel like shit in high school. You don't want him, anyway. It would be toxic as hell to pursue someone who's capable of hurting you like that, so stop it.

Overwhelmed, you put your feet up on the couch and rub at your face, trying to simultaneously get a handle on your feelings and shield you from view. This is all so stupid and unnecessary, and you're terrified that you actually like him in a very un-friendlike manner, which will only serve to embarrass you further.

For some reason, Kyle jolts straight up out of his seat, sending the cat leaping away with an affronted growl.

“Have you got any beer?” he asks, already on his way to the fridge.

“Um… I think so. Help yourself.”

Curiously, you watch his back while he putters around in your tiny kitchen. Why the hell is he taking so long?

“Kyle, are you okay?”

He takes a long drink with his back to you, and then finally turns around, bracing his arms on your counter and almost glowering at you.

“What?” you probe, curling your feet under you, and feeling self conscious with your bare legs.

Shit, he has a girlfriend, doesn’t he. Or he’s married. Or this is all an elaborate prank to shred your self esteem.

Kyle’s mouth opens and closes silently, and then he stalls with another drink of beer. You know, to torture you.

“Look, if y—“

“I love y—“

You both snap your mouths shut at the same time, staring wide eyed at each other over the countertop.

“I know I’ve been a right prick,” he says in a rush, “and you’ve got every right to bloody hate me—“

“I don’t hate you.”

Again, you both stop and blink at each other, breathing fast. You can feel your heart pounding against the front wall of your chest.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admits. “I thought I’d gotten over you, and then I meet you again, and it’s like…”

Some kind of weird euphoria is starting to bubble up inside you, making the edges of your consciousness turn into blurry pink irrelevance. Kyle— Kyle likes you.

“Are you married?” you croak, and he just laughs, shaking his head.

“No.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No.”

You chew on your mouth, heart still fluttering. “Mind grabbing me one of those beers?”

You have sex that night, in your bed, with the cats making annoyed noises intermittently on the other side. He accidentally cums in your hand, with his palm wrapped around the swell of your pretty satin bra. He seems rather embarrassed by it, but you tell him it’s fine, of course, and just expect that you’ll have to wait another day to get yours.

You couldn’t be more wrong, because he makes you cum on his fingers twice before he gets hard again.

You walk into work the next day, feeling the most alive you’ve ever felt on a solid two hours of sleep. Your phone chimes, and you look down at first text from your new boyfriend:

Come to mine tonight? I’ve got something planned.

Drabble masterlist

#kyle gaz garrick #Gaz x reader #cod Gaz #call of duty #x reader #kyle garrick x reader #dinnertime

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luveline · 10 months ago

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Hiii!! Could I request a bombshell reader x Spencer where someone (a local police maybe) says something rude to her about her appearance or something and normally it doesn’t really get to her, but something snaps and she kinda shuts down/is rude to Spencer until he coaxes it out of her? Sorry it’s long I had an idea and ran w it loollll

ty for requesting angel! confident fem!reader, 1k

Spencer shouldn’t expect his colleague to hold his hand, especially one so confident. What sense would that make, a woman as established as you are, who smiles without a lick of worry nor smugness, wanting to hold his hand?

But you do it all the time, is the thing. In the car on the way to crime scenes, in the hallways of the office, under the round table. It started as a tethering for his distractedness, when one day he’d wanted to talk but hadn’t had the presence of mind to walk at the same time, so you’d taken his hand and led him to the office. You’ve been taking it at your discretion ever since.

Spencer knows something is wrong —you haven’t tried to hold his hand all day. And even if you aren’t interested in him romantically, Spencer has come to crave the touch. He’ll accept platonic hand holding. Anything, really.

“You’re staring very deeply, Dr. Reid,” you mutter, shades from your usual lightness.

“I’m thinking.”

“Aren’t you always?”

“About you.”

“Well,” you smile fleetingly. “You should always be thinking about me.”

“You’re truly humble.”

His joke doesn’t land, it crashes and burns; your smile fades completely into a short, sharp line. Your gaze moves back into the restaurant, waiting for the team's food order in silence once again.

Spencer’s pinky finger twitches across the gap.

“Is everything okay?” he asks.

“Fine.”

You stay quiet, Spencer worries. He takes the bags before you can when they bring your food to the collection desk, two lumps of heat he holds to his thighs as you begin the walk back to the hotel. Tonight, the team will pick at their food together and rehash the same arguments they’ve been making all day, filling in each other's gaps, and tomorrow the work will start again. He can’t have you this unhappy again tomorrow.

“You’re amazing,” he says, watching you turn to him from the corner of his eye, “you know you are, we all do, everyone who meets you. I know you don’t need me to tell you that, or to feel better, but… I’m here for you. If you want to talk. It’s been a hard couple of days, and talking about traumatic events as they happen and directly afterward make them easier to recover from.”

“I’m not traumatised.”

“Upsetting,” he corrects. “Having a shoulder to cry on is good for you, and I can be that shoulder. You know, if you need me to be.”

He can’t know this in the moment, though maybe one day you’ll tell him, further down the line when the hand holding is better defined, but you look at him and you love him. To know Spencer is to love him. Or at least that’s how you’ve always felt. You’d love to cry on his shoulder about what transpired that morning if it weren’t embarrassing to think about, you’re upset over a throwaway comment made by nobody important.

Spencer offers his company earnestly. He stammers. It’s amazingly sincere, as he usually is. He won’t mind if it’s embarrassing, he’ll just listen.

You clear your throat. “I know I’m not to everyone’s taste. I know that the way I… present myself isn’t what most men like. People love confidence, but not when it’s bossy, not when it’s– when it’s vain. And I am vain. I think about my appearance a lot, I think I’m beautiful most of the time, I try so hard to have that be true.” You eye him thoughtfully. “Do you realise that?”

He shakes his head gently, one ear toward one shoulder and then the other, as though balancing. “Sort of. I know you put effort into your appearance, but I also assume a lot of it to be natural.”

“Right, well. It’s not natural. Not really. My natural beauty wouldn’t be all the beautiful to most people. And I’ve accepted that, I know what I like about myself, and–” You’re losing the thread of your point, an upset creeping into your melodic tone and turning it ragged. “When people tell me they don’t like how I look now, I guess it hurts because I know they wouldn’t like me before, either, and I feel defeated because I know I can’t win.”

“Who said they don’t like how you look?” Spencer asks, confused, on his way to annoyed.

“Officer Friendly.” You look to your shoes, watching the steps you take. “Guess he wasn’t as nice as we thought.”

“What did he say to you?”

You shrug. “Same story. He doesn’t like girls who wear makeup. Doesn’t like uppity women.”

“Did he call you that?”

“What are you gonna do if he did?” you ask without malice.

“Morgan’s teaching me self defence for a reason.” You smile at his light joke, though it doesn’t last. He transfers the takeout bags into one hand, the other held out to you, his fingers sliding down your arm to your wrist. “You know you’re beautiful, with or without makeup. And you’re not uppity, you’re out of his league. There’s a difference.”

“You’re flirting with me.”

“No.” He wishes he had the wherewithal sometimes, but this isn’t flirting. “I’m being honest with you. Men like that don’t like you because they know they’ll never, ever have you, or anyone like you. There isn’t anyone like you,” he adds, sliding his hand into yours.

He squeezes all your fingers together twice in quick succession.

“Don’t let a jealous chauvinist halfwit make you think you’re not good enough,” he says.

You curl your fingers around his before he can take his hand back. Slowly, you squeeze his hand. Then, smiling, you let him go.

“I’ve never heard you say something mean like that,” you say. “Halfwit. That’s crass.”

“I was going to say he’s an asshole, if that’s better.”

Your laugh echoes off of the sidewalk. “That’s perfect. Say something meaner.”

The insult he uses next doesn’t bear repeating.

#spencer and bombshell reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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cryptfile · 7 months ago

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✶ nuclear seasons, [ soldier boy x reader ]

summary — he was friend’s with your mom. friend is a understatement cause when he appears in the middle of the night looking for revenge in your little apartment in the suburbs, you know he’s far from being nice.

warnings — +18 minors dni, smut, dead dove do not eat, we have a last name (also a mother!), kind of porn without plot? but not really cause it HAS one okay, we call it 50/50, fem!reader using she/her pronouns, p in v, masturbation ( m! receiving but blink and you miss it), dirty talk, age gap, choking, degradation, spitting (i'm sorry), fingering, mentions of injury, cancer (not you tho), tons of tension.

side notes — i’m never experiencing the post ovulation clarity lmao, that being said english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes, also i’m a whore for jensen ackles, and i stand for what i like proudly. // 5k+

Nightshade is a hero.

You're proud of your mother since you were pretty young. The hero that fought against Vought to death during the time Payback was active, America’s Troublemaker that you only knew as Stella Nightshade, a blonde woman that talked with the death during her golden years.

Maybe it’s your mother the one that pushed you to fight crime, to pursue the bad guys and look out for the victims that can’t stand for themselves, so even when you don’t inherit much from Stella’s gifts, you joined the CIA as soon as you can so you can do something that matters.

You’re the best in your class, work your ass off to be taken serious, to be more than the look of disappointment you receive when people ask, once again, if you have any powers like your mother and you have to admit — In pure shame, that you didn’t born as a superhero but a baby who cried loudly when is too hungry.

But as years pass you make a name for yourself, one that even if differs from Stella’s job has the same noble reasons behind. You also realize you were too naive growing up, believing in heroes that don’t deserve to be called that way.

The country has made a mistake on making superhumans so openly, and it’s clear that got out of control now, backfiring as they got so much power it’s almost impossible to take accountant of any of them.

You’ve worked along Grace Mallory from the shadows, and even when Stella would not be so proud of you for helping get his kind out of the streets, the justice is enough to feed you and keep you warm on a cold night.

You like it that way. You know Grace has a team for it, a legal army of supe-haters as you called them, yet, you prefer to stay in the dark, not let your personal life get involved cause one slip and you can lose it all— Even when you don’t have nothing at all. You like to have an outside life from work, it’s the sane thing to have, so when the CIA Deputy Director asks you about joining the infamous Boys, you politely decline assuring the woman you’ve been more helpful from the outside.

What would Stella Nightshade would say? Now that you’ve grown older and you don’t look at her the same way you used to when you encounter her files and read about your mother. You know she has done wrong, yet with the years, you don't imagine Soldier Boy himself was going to seek for revenge first thing he does when he wakes up, his plan including your mother even when she was long time dead before he even appeared in the picture.

That night especially you let your guard down. It's been a rough couple of weeks back in work, so when the night comes you're a victim of the stress, victim of your bosses and the people that surrounded you. You pour a glass of wine for yourself, light a cigarette even when you haven't smoked in years, and turn on the TV to see something else rather than the face of Homelander in every single channel you've been tuning lately.

It's a weapon. When you leave for a warm shower and start filling the bathtub, you're not aware of what that night was really going to be for you. Oblivious as you stand naked in the middle of the bathroom, holding the glass of wine between your fingers before entering the warm current that relaxed your muscles.

It seems tension is your worst enemy, makes your muscles feel like stone as you got in the water, the cigarette that hangs from your dry lips splashing with tiny droplets of perfumed water as the silence filled the air. It's what you needed, at least ten minutes with your brain shutting off completely, the pleasure you haven't experienced in forever by being so compromised with work.

It's a much-needed break. The smoke that leaves the room by the almost-closed window, the taste of wine still lingering in your lips as you sip another taste of the crimson liquor you love. You don't happen to notice when he's breaking in your apartment, silent and deadly as you were protected by a door closed and a white curtain.

You don't happen to hear him too. The music coming our from your phone is loud enough to silence the knocks on your door at first before breaking the wood, you're too deep in the still water that smelled like roses and vanilla, to even pay attention to what was going on outside the warmth of the four walls that surrounded you.

There's vapor coming out of the water and you find comfort in closing your eyes, in letting the blow of the smoke travel through your throat before suspending itself in the air, flowing as you drank.

In your defense, you haven't been like that in ages.

It's been a long time since you last fill the tub and have a relaxing session with yourself, so it makes sense you are enjoying it a little bit too much, too much cause when the invader is making a lot of noise when stepping into your property, you still enjoy the taste of the alcohol on your lips.

The ashes fall to the ceramic floor outside the tub and you should blame the CIA to make you so tense to the point it leads you to more problems than you ever had. In the dark room of your apartment, it's Soldier Boy the one who's going through any drawer he comes across, the ones closed, the ones hidden, any slit he can find, any clue that can trace your mother back to his personal vendetta.

He's oblivious to Stella's death and her daughter, so when the former superhero hears the noise in the bathroom he's fully convinced it's your mother the one who's behind that door, that she's the one who's going to tell him the truth, if she also sold him to the russians as well in the process.

He's decided also on killing her. She must need it after all that time getting older, closer to death more than ever.

Of course it's an unpleasant surprise when you can see the bathroom door opening when you're sure you left the front door closed and lock with at least two bolts to prevent anyone from getting inside, it makes you jump in the spot, quickly covering yourself from the new stranger that enters your bathroom.

"Stella?" he asks, it's the last room that the hero needs to check for himself.

You spot the green fabric of his suit immediately as you pressed your chest against the cold surface of the tub, and when the invader notices you're naked, he doesn't look away as any person with a hint of respect would do, but instead, continue on checking you out as you try to cover yourself in the water tinted in a nonexistent transparent color red.

You can feel his gaze as soon as you recognize him too, as you happen to notice that face from your mother's pictures, the propaganda in the TV when he did almost every commercial back when you were a kid. It's a shock, and dressed in his damn suit, you don't know why an old superhero is there standing beneath the yellowish bulbs of the light your bathroom happens to have.

Your cheeks adopt this pink color as you panic, grabbing the cup of wine to throw the liquid in the floor, breaking it against the marble walls just to shatter the glass in pieces, a weapon of defense as you lifted up against him.

"You're not Stella."

Soldier Boy looks amused: it's funny that you think you'd be able to kill him with shattered glass, yet he lets you keep thinking that way when he's enjoying the view.

Is he to blame? He just got out from this giant cooking oven back with the communists and he hasn't got his way with a lady since what seems are centuries, so when he spots you in the tub he simply cannot contain himself from peaking around. You should be in what? Not more than your 20's? Soft-looking skin that asked to be marked with his hands, by the force of his lips crashing in your flesh.

The thought is compelling, you're looking all feisty with the glass in your hand, threatening him and speaking something Soldier Boy cannot catch at first — Shit, he doesn't even notice the blood in your hand that's dripping all over your small rug in the floor, the power women like yourself seemed to have now and weirdly enough, a huge turn on.

"Get the fuck out!" you scream in an authority voice, the same you use back at work when you're mad, when you're usually holding a gun in defense more than a piece of broken glass "Stella is not fucking here!"

It takes a few more words to actually get him out of there, and as he closes the door behind him you finally stand to grab a towel covering from the currents of wind, trying, really hard, to think about anything else more that the fact that Soldier Boy has entered your house and your bathroom in the worst moment, far from what you were last updated with.

To be honest, it almost gave you a heart attack, leaving the bathroom to find your home torn apart, the drawers open and all the papers you've meticulously kept in place being all over the place as Ben stands awkwardly holding a shield in the middle of your living room.

"Fucking hell" you're cursing under your breath as you gathered some important things you cannot leave on the floor even when you're still wet from the shower, expelling this nice aroma that mixed the roses and the vanilla together with your personal scent — Weirdly enough, a fucking show to the hero that's already rock-hard from the peak he had of you from before.

You don't really notice it at first, too busy being mad as you let the papers you gathered on top of the table. You lose the shame you got left as the wet drops of the shower leave a trace in the floor — And as usual, you clearly don't notice it, but Ben does when the water is running down your back, and you're barking something about calling someone called Grace, holding onto a white tower with your dear life.

"Where is Stella Nightshade, sweetheart?" he speaks out loud cause he don't understand anything you say, really fighting to be nice with you like it would give him an opportunity to get under your skin.

"My mother's dead," you stand there without knowing what to say after. You know he and your mother were close, but you don't imagine he was going to actually go find her teammate when he recently woke up in a different country. "She died years ago dude, i'm sorry."

The information gathers in his head as you take a clean oversized shirt from the laundry basket covering with it as you throw the towel to the floor, Red Hot Chili Peppers it says, but he thinks it's a place in Italy more than a band like he isn't troubled already by the fact you were Stella's daughter, the person who thought was her only friend back in the time now dead.

"Does anyone know you're here?" your mind is drifting back to work again as you wondered if anyone knew he was going to break into your apartment and choose not to send any help — "Ben."

You've read his file. Hell, to be honest you've read every single file in Payback, so it's no surprise you know his name, but to the hero, it seems to be amusing when you call him by his real name, his mind fueled in a different direction as he notices you're not wearing any underwear beneath the shirt you're choosing to wear, one whose fabric's barely covering your tights.

"What do you mean dead?" he asks, furrowing his brows "It's not been so long."

"She got cancer three years ago" you explain with a sad tone, even when you disagree with Stella, it pains you to remember what sickness made out of her, consuming her from the inside at a cruel pace.

"Motherfucker," he states clearly angry, and you cannot help but look at him with a weird face, searching for the phone you left in the sofa to call any-fucking-body in the office that could send a damn army to get you: Didn't the Boys have everything under control? That's what you're told anyway, then why the fuck is the subject of matter cursing in your little messy apartment? — "Bitch just got away with it before I could do anything, isn't it? What a fucking shame."

"Pardon me?" it catches you by surprise at first, but it hits you soon after. Soldier Boy is not there to say hello to your mother or ask for her help, but instead, he's there to get revenge and actually kill Stella by his own matters.

Fuck. Of course is something new, something that makes you feel cold all sudden, your wet hair making you visible shake as you became aware of his plans.

"You know them. You know the people from the lab" it's more of a fact than a question, letting the words feel salty in his own mouth. "The ones that let me get away."

He's quickly to gather the pieces too, not as dumb as you think he is as the puzzle is finally coming up together in his head, and it's all it takes for him to take a step closer to you, cutting that space you've created since you kicked him out of the bathroom — He's angry now.

The red globe on his hand is now holding you by the throat, applying enough pressure to cut the air flow going to your lungs almost completely, his fingertips warm against your bare skin as he holds you in front of his figure, pushing you against the cold wall.

You usually would enjoy such activities, yet in the context you are trapped in right now, you began to choke, your own hands trying to push his grip back even when he’s too strong, not even flinching when you’re squirming, gasping for some air as your face became red, tears gathering in your eyes as he let you breathe for a couple of seconds when he senses you’re too close to black out.

“Talk little Nightshade” he says in a low voice. “Or else i’m breaking your pretty neck.”

“I work for the CIA!” You explain quickly as your breathing became more labored by the seconds. “Not for the people who let you out! I promise!”

He’s going to kill you. You can see the determination in his eyes, that predator look he happens to have.

What you don’t know, somehow, is that he’s going fucking insane. Your smell coming up to his nose to make him shiver, the sight of you in an oversized shirt that barely covers your shape is more than enough to push his buttons, to make him forgot about any killing he was allegedly so concentrated in fulfill, the sight of you almost crying messing with his brain.

Little Nightshade is a fucking tease.

His eyes follow your expression, the hand that gripped your neck and choke you harshly now pressing enough to only suppress the air flow in a more enjoyable way, the tension quickly shifting from dying to pleasure all over again as he kept you in place so easily.

It’s impossible to move, to do anything more than be pressed against a cold wall. Your mother has once again lied to you and you notice the relationship she painted with Soldier Boy was more of a movie in her head than reality itself. Makes you gulp in response when you stare at his expression, the face of a trained killer as you knew, fucking knew, a bit more of force in your neck and it would snap without any difficulty.

“I don’t work with them” you assure once again, maybe it’s your survivor skills hitting when you repeat it in a low voice, catching on your breath when he lets go allowing you to fill your lungs with air just enough before pressing that very spot again, the one that actually turns you on. “Fuck’s sake.”

Is that how you end? On your lame apartment?

The next is a weird thing, cause in the blink of an eye he’s close to your face planting his own body next to yours and you’re shivering at the feeling, his armor pressed against your chest as he left the shield he was holding on the floor.

The metal is pressed against your skin covered by the thin cotton of Red Hot Chili Peppers shirt, and he is so close, so close you froze there, no longer fighting his tight grip but mesmerized by his damn face, the same you watched on TV when you were a kid, the handsome man you happen to severely crush on in secret, just because you don’t want Stella to know or she will give you a long talk about how he is her age.

But he is, handsome as fuck, and now being so close to his face you can say it with all confidence. His beard is shaved perfectly and he smells incredibly good even for someone who has spent time locked away without any kind of hygiene, his green suit protecting him from the cold air that was getting through the opened window.

“Who are you?” he asks, scanning your face with a curious look as he wanted to know what expression you would have when you know why he's there in the first place — “What do you know about Stella Nightshade, your mother, selling me out?”

Fuck. So that's why he's there. You know she did it. And it's impossible for you to lie when he's making you so nervous, away from any weapon, any form of defense as you left the glass in the bathroom sink when you notice large gash on your hand, and your silence makes nothing more than leave him fuming. If he was angry before, he now reaches a higher level as his grip turns more violent now that he knows you know what he meant, why he's there claiming to talk with your death mother out of nothing.

"Call her then. Use your powers" he demands dryly, and you're shaking at this point cause it's more shame added to the long pile, the bathroom already being a humiliation by itself. "Fucking call her."

You squirm beneath his grabbing, when he's pushing you harder against the concrete wall and you can just feel him from under the suit, hard cock pressing against your belly, green in your vision as he towers over you. He knows what he's doing, and even when you try to be disgusted by it, you find yourself enjoying his closeness, how he's pinning you with no effort at all, hands on your throat while he demanded an answer.

"I can't call her" you admit in a low voice, cheeks now red as the embarrassment crept upon your face — "I don't have my mother's power."

Soldier Boy seems to not believe you for a mere second, after that you can feel the blade of the knife pressing against your skin, a threat that now becomes more real as you can feel the cold metal stomach. One swift movement and you'd be stabbed without a second thought.

It's sick how much you enjoy it when you are squirming against him, goosebumps in the zone he threats to destroy.

A force pull his lips upwards in a smile, unable to pay attention to nothing else but the sound you made without even realizing it. "You like that, huh little Nightshade?"

It seems to be a joke for him, bitting your inner cheek to prevent you from saying something stupid, from letting out a moan in response to all the sudden desire.

Despite all conditions you stay silent, holding his gaze like it's a game you're not going to lose. He didn't respond either, trapped in a second that seemed longer than the usual when time stopped around you, eyes looking like he can surpass the old fabric of the white shirt you choose to wear.

It's the tension what makes you mad. You're so into getting people like him, that your ego is bruised now that you notice you are actually attracted to all of that, to the way he's pressing you against the concrete, how all falls into place when he's pushing himself against you, invading any private space you could require.

He's kissing you soon after. Ben crumbles against the tension as the hand on your throat demands a kiss now, pulling you closer to his face without any warning nor concern as he crash his lips against yours in a rough kiss. You try to push him away in response even when you don't want to; see, it's hard to even admit you have interest in Soldier Boy in any other way more than the professional, but when he's bitting your lower lip you're letting your defense down: When is the last time you've been kissed like that?

You remind yourself you're tired from work, that the CIA has done nothing for you more than fuck your over and over even to this point, losing sight of one of the most important heroes of the word, and it's making you encourage to let go just for a mere hour.

"Lookin' so good takin' a bath" he says, and the sound of his deep voice is enough to send an electric wave through your spine, like he’s talking to himself as the hand on your hip is now tracing the curves of your body, taunting you from over the shirt he now learns to love. His beard is now scraping against your skin and you can feel his lips going down, tracing an invisible path to the crook of your neck as his hand is no longer choking you.

Jesus. Was that even happening or was that your imagination? Did you feel asleep on the bathtub? Maybe it’s a reflection as you are close to drowning, your brain doing that happy thoughts shit. You’re tilting your head to the side just to give him more space to work with and you’re just letting it be, enjoying how he’s sucking and nibling on your skin to leave a red mark behind, all teeth and no fucking control as he uses a good amount of force to make you moan in the process, the pain enough to remember who’s really on charge.

Ben forgets about asking any more questions, he’s too busy when his hand are taking decisions by themselves as they slide under your shirt, body still cold from the bath you just took, water still drying in your flesh when he’s like he usually is — An invader.

His hands are big and they’re capable of holding your whole tummy as he caress the soft skin that seems to expel a warm sensation, how it leaves goosebumps in any place he touches. You remember you’re basically at his mercy now that his hands roam with all liberty under your shirt, the look he gave you in the bathroom mistaken you for Stella, his eyes looking at any exposed skin he could look at.

“What the fuck,” you try to say under your breath, to keep on this facade you have of a composed person, one that won’t give in to be manhandled “What the fuck do you think you are you doing?”

“Well, i’m not seeing any complains” The blade cuts through the cotton leaving a large hole you know you won’t be able to sew after yet he’s right: There are no complains, nothing but eager that makes him go further as the seconds passed “In fact, can see that you’re pretty much enjoying it, Doll.”

You hate the nickname, that old man way of speaking when he’s squeezing one of your breasts with more force you can even handle, cursing at how easy it seems to be for him, how he wants to see you simply destroyed.

“You’re loving this isn’t?” he ask all sudden, studying you with his hazel eyes — “You love being a good whore f’me? My little Nightshade.”

He’s hard under the suit, covered in a green material you don’t know how to call as your hand searches for him, crave for him, convincing that it's what you must do as you trace the invisible lines his muscles made.

Soldier Boy’s messy, much like an animal when he’s groaning beneath your touch, his own body seeking for yours as your fingers grew bolder, demanding for a deeper contact — “Careful there sweetheart, i’m still fresh out of the oven. May be a little rusty."

You laugh at his words cause you know what he means, yet your hands work by themselves as you barely even touch him from over the suit, the hard feeling of his cock against your palm, hips buckling against your hand seconds after seeking for you, eyes shut for a couple of seconds.

“M’being careful” you say, catching yourself stealing a look at his reaction, taking your time on pleasuring him , gulping as he experiences the torture of your touch “Taking it slow for an old man.”

“Old man, huh? Now you're talking” He teases, and the sound of his laugh just fucks you up. Maybe it has to be with the fact he’s placing two fingers in front of your lips while looking at you, swollen pink lips he’s so fixated for a second, or it’s because he is, indeed, way older than you are — “Spit.”

It’s not a command, but it sounds like one as you’re unable to disobey, quickly spitting in his hand as you can visibly see the traces of saliva leaving a wet residue in your chin, one Ben looks at it for a good amount of time: How is something like saliva is so damn erotic? He doesn’t know it, but it’s enough to send him into a spiral.

He’s strong you think, cause he’s a superhero. He’s Soldier Boy by any meaning, so it’s not a big effort to hold you in his arms and lift you in the air as you let out a gasp of surprise, spanking your ass as one of his hands separates your legs for him, holding one up as you stand in the other.

“Relax, 'got you, doll” he says, your back against the wall as he kept a bruising grip in your hip, holding you in place so you don’t have to keep your balance — “Fuck you smell so damn good.”

The roses and vanilla aroma lingers on your skin as you finally understand what he's doing now, his hand close to your cunt as he taunts you, torturing you like you did so eagerly before, his personal pet as his digits get lost in your entrance now, your folds spilled with juice he can physically feel in his fingertips, your arousal's so nice against the palm of his hand he cannot help but kiss you, a feverish desire taking over his actions, the lewd sound his fingers made when he finally pushes his digits inside of you, velvety walls welcoming him as they seemed to squeeze him already — He has made such a good job on turning you on, it’s impossible to not react when he’s finally touching you, pumping into you in a constant pace.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he says, the look on your face is enough to make his cock twitch in his pants in response, imagination running wild as he thinks about that very same feeling in a much deeper way, how you’d look now stretched out, crying just like you did when he choked you asking for information — “Such a nice cunt, so wet f’me.”

He's looking at you, holding the image in his mind forever: Pink pussy displayed for him, white t-shirt rising over your chest, lifting your leg over his arm as his muscles flexed by the force he's using to fuck you deliberately, your lips parted as you ask for more in between erratic moans as his fingers curved inside you so he can hit that nice place he can reach with no effort at all, that one spot thats makes you moan louder.

"Ah-fuck" you let out. Ben's all about touching you for what it seems an eternity, thumb grazing against your clit when he's plainly torturing you, testing how much patience you have left now that he has full control of you.

"Don't cum," he demands, your heartbeats are louder by the seconds as he lifts you slightly, lips attacking your neck before the words escape from his mouth "Need you to come undone in my cock first."

He's leaving marks, marks you don't remember how to hide but don't bother you at all, touching you as he pleases you, taking all the time in the world cause it seems like the night belongs to him — Getting started as you shake your head in an improvised yes.

Yes. The thought is pure electricity, the sudden need to please him as you shake your head once again.

“Please Ben,” you don’t recognize what you’ve become now. “Please let me cum in your cock.”

"Go on doll, put on a show f'me" the supe says with a grin you cannot resist. "Bend and show me that lovely ass."

It’s all it takes. His fingers are now away from you, but you’re now facing the wall as you obey, bending until your cheek is pressed against the concrete and you can hear how he’s now unzipping his pants, the green fabric of his suit now to the side.

You look at him from over your shoulder, bitting the your lower lip as you check him out, his slightly curved dick pointing upwards, precum already leaking out.

“Like what you’re seeing or what?”

“Yeah, but there’s no fucking way.”

You’re feeding on his ego now, but you can’t help it when his size is far from what you consider it’s common — “Common’ doll. You can hadle it.”

You gulp in response cause you know you’re more than eager to try, just the sight of his own hand holding his lenght as he strokes himself making you drool in response. Fuck. It transforms in a need now. When he positions himself beneath you and he’s spitting down to that very place where he’s pushing against your hole, saliva coating his cock before just letting the tip inside.

Lubricated, he pushes a bit more and it feels just damn right. Even when it begans to hurt as he’s thick enough to force himself inside you.

Benjamin knows you’re in pain so he waits a second before shoving his cock inside one more time. You need some time as he stretches you out, clenching your teeth while he works.

"You're doing it s'good" he praises, hand massaging your back as he prevents himself from fucking you at his liking, “Takin' me like a champ."

"God" you let out a sharp moan moments after, crying when you felt the pain more than anything else — "Can't-"

"No doll" he hums as he pulls slightly more. “You can do this” he forces himself in until he's finally balls deep inside your cunt, letting you adjust to his size as he can feel fucking everything. Your blood flow, your velvety walls that squeeze him unused to someone as big as he was, your face distorted in what seems an intense mix of pain and pure, devastating pleasure — "Atta girl."

Strikes like lighting.

Soldier Boy's bitting your shoulder-blade as he waits, waits for it to switch into pleasure, to become intoxicating to the point you cannot longer remember your own name.

"Please move," you ask sooner than he thinks, and when he moves, you can feel it in your belly, melting your fucking brain as he repeated the process again, burying his cock as deep as he could go without any previous warning — "Ah, just like that, please-"

"Do you like how my cock is stretching you out now?" Ben's voice is way deeper than what usually is as he laughs, grunting behind you as one of his hands reach a fistful of your hair, grabbing it with force to pull your head backwards "Good girl, keep huggin' my cock."

You're drunk on the feeling, on the vibrations his voice sends every time he's saying something dirty for you, when he laughs victim of the pleasure.

"Gonna' keep you as my personal slut," he thinks out loud, pushing you against the wall every time he fucks you, using his other hand to spread one of your ass cheeks to the side so he can hit it harder. "Use you as my fucking pet so I can cum on your pretty face whenever I want."

He's moaning, your body’s sweaty as he pulls your hair without caring, not concentrated on the pain it produces as his hips continue on collide against you.

"Would you like that, little Nightshade?" he asks then in a low voice, his thumb pressing against your asshole as he fucks you harder now that you're used to his size. "Could get used to this pretty cunt. Promise to keep my cock whore nice and full."

It doesn't take long. Soldier Boy's moans are now filling the room as his pace becomes faster, slurred words between his erratic breathing when the hand on your hair comes up to finally grab you by the neck, like he can read your mind cause it's exactly what you need to get there, to experience by first hand a set of crashing waves that were getting more and more intense on your stomach.

You're close to the edge. He can smell it in the air when the sound of your skin slapping against his is loud enough to be all you can hear, mixing with the lovely moans you produce when he’s pounding into you with no mercy, fingers pressing the side of your neck with enough force you’re running out of breathe.

It’s messy, violent and you love it, love how he’s ruining you all sudden, fucking you up from the inside, making your vision turning dizzy in response. You’re immersed in the haze he’s driven you into before admiting:

“God i’m so fucking close.”

“Cum on my cock,” it sounds like he’s begging you to do it, fingers finding their way to your swollen clit to move against the sensitive flesh “Come on doll, leave me full of you.”

He’s making you move now, hands now controlling your hips as you take him as his liking, mere seconds until you’re finally crumbling, violently shaking as you finally reach your peak. He keeps on fucking you through your high, long enough so he’s pulling out all of sudden, stroking his lenght over you as his cum finally lands on your back leaving you convered with his load.

Fucking hell.

When you’re coming down from your orgasm shame seems to hit you hard, however for Ben is not enough when he’s kneeling on the floor, eyes on the mess his cock made out of you.

“Wanna go again, little Nightshade?” he asks curiously, and the question makes you laugh in response, forgetting about formalities and the trouble it meant you were intimate with Soldier Boy out of all the supes in the world.

“Hm,” you seem to think about it for a second, his breathing close to your wet pussy as he’s still wearing his clothes in contrast of you being so exposed — “But you’re keeping the suit on.”

He don’t have any complains when he’s the one pressing his face against your wet folds.

Funny thing is now when you’re forced to join the Boys days after that very encounter — A bad joke when you’re now babysitting Soldier Boy himself.

“Been missing you s’much little Nightshade” he admits after a couple of minutes alone in the filthy motel “Thinking about how cute you are, how you felt taking my cock so nicely in your living room.”

“Fuck off, Ben.”

“We’ll be quick” he promises “That stupid assholes back there wont even notice.”

You seem to think about it for a second before lifting your middle finger in response — “I said fuck off, Ben.”

For now, it’s enough for him that you’re thinking about it.

my masterlist

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x y/n #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #the boys smut #soldier boy smut #the boys x reader #the boys fanfic #the boys #soldier boy #jensen ackles #cryptfile // the boys #smut

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narcjsistx · 4 months ago

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𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 | sae, kaiser, rin, reo and isagi

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

plot: domestic shit because I love fluff stuff 🌷 the characters chosen seem to me to be the most "visible" with little girls... so yeah. I'm actually not very sure of the result, maybe I'll delete it sooner or later to do it again

— sae itoshi

If there was one thing Sae had understood since becoming a parent, it was that having two children was complicated. On one hand he was now understanding all of his mother's concerns when, as children, Rin was unmanageable

We know however that males, if brothers, are somehow a little more manageable. Females, if sisters, are not. He was the father of two girls

As much as he loved them, he agreed with you when you said it would have been better to wait a few more years. But then he looks at his girls in the face, he regrets even thinking about it a little, because he loves them too much

In his eyes he sees him and Rin when they were kids: Sayami, the eldest, looks awfully like him because of her reddish hair, but in character she is like you. Semika, the youngest, is different from him in appearance but identical in character. Sayami brings out Semika's very hidden, but existing, sociable side. The only trait that makes girls similar are those damned undereyelashes that have marked the Itoshi family for generations

“Love, when are you going to let them go?”

"No."

"Sae, we've already talked about this..."

"I said no"

"Sae."

"I already said no, Y/n.”

"Y'know, they're already 7 years old. Sooner or later it will happen..."

"Not as long as I'm alive"

...a simple child had asked Sayami if she and her sister wanted to go play with him. Sae took their hand and walked out of the park as fast as he could with his treasures

✶ Sae tries hard to talk with her little girls. In a relationship not talking, or in any case having some communication problems, can be understood... with little girls no, because they would take it as a rejection. He ALWAYS goes out of his way to talk to them as much as possible, also because he loves the moments when they come home from school and, together, they chat about what happened during the day

✶ Let's be honest, Sae doesn't have much other knowledge or passions apart soccer, which was probably imposed on him as a child. He has not the slightest intention of making any of his girls leave school: if like him they end up having to change country to follow a sport, Sae will have to be absolutely sure that they are studying at the same time. He doesn't want them to be like him, because he knows how difficult is that life

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: resting with them. Sae is often busy with his career, training and of course with his beautiful wife, but he always tries to make time in the evenings (if he's not out of town for a match) with his daughters. He likes to lie down on the bed or on the sofa, before dinner, with the girls who tell him everything exciting they did that day

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: he hides it well but LOVES when you come to watch him play. If he is normally a prodigy, in front of his daughters he must seem even better. When he scores a goal the first thing he would do is turn towards you, no celebration because it's not his style, but he would wave to his daughters who are cheering for him from the stands. Once the game is over he would ignore the interviewers, as he normally does, and simply come to you to claim his victory kiss

— kaiser micheal

Having children, whether boys or girls, was NOT in Michael's plan. I mean, how can someone who had such a complicated childhood have children? Even if he hides it, he has an enormous fear of being able to make someone of his own blood suffer, voluntarily or not, what he has experienced. He just knows that if something has to happen, it happens. And he doesn't know what fate has in store for his possible heir. He might hate his kid and disown him or her like his parents, if they can be called in that way, did with him

When he found out that he was going to become a father, and with a daughter, he seriously thought for a few moments about simply walking away. Not that he hated you, he couldn't, but it was really strange for him to think that someone of his own blood, his kid, was about to born

Kaiser can't explain how all the worries he had collapsed the moment he held Anneliese, his daughter, in his arms for the first time. Just by seeing and hearing her, he wondered how he could even remotely think that he could hypothetically hurt such a wonderful being

Anneliese quickly became the center of Kaiser's world, along of course with the beautiful mother of his little girl. It can be said that his daughter is a shameless copy of him, both in appearance and character: long, blonde hair, proud and always challenging temperament. One might doubt that she is your daughter but not that she is not Kaiser's. She is liteeerally him

...Sitting on the sofa, Anneliese is watching one of her father's old match. The assist with a teammate ends badly, but the ball returns to Kaiser's possession again and he scores a goal

“Dad, the next time you pass the ball to someone unworthy, I will be even more angry than I am now!”

"I understand, don't worry. I can't make my little girl angry again, can I?"

"Mihya, on the field you have to do what you feel, don't listen to her..."

"How can I not listen to our little girl, Schatz?"

✶ Kaiser loves to take his daughter with him everywhere: whether it's to an interview, to training or to a match, Anneliese is almost certainly with him or next to you. He loves when you and your little girl cheer for him during a match, even more if he knows that if he scores there will be your lips kissing him and the little girl's little arms hugging him. He shows a lot his family and his being a fantastic father (you tell him too, he's a little insecure about this) in front of his teammates. The emperor's family!

✶ Ness is practically the little girl's uncle. He never stopped idolizing Micheal, even more so when he discovered that now there was no longer just one Kaiser but two. Micheal is slightly jealous, he doesn't like that his daughter spends so much time with Ness... he hates seeing his Anneliese so happy with an adult other than him or her mother

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: he loves when his daughter plays with his hair, especially with the blue parts. Seeing the cerulean blue on his little girl's pale hands, as she braids it or whatever it is, makes him tender. He once dreamed of Anneliese with the exact same hair as him and he admits he wouldn't mind seeing her that way. Maybe blue tipped hair could be the Kaiser's new trademark

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: whenever you and Anneliese come to a game, the first thing he makes sure to do is that you have a seat in the VIP section. He loves seeing the stadium celebrate for him because his family is there to see him, it's something that feeds his ego. As soon as the match was over he would have you go down onto the field with him, the little girl in his arm and his other arm around your waist as he holds you close to him

— rin itoshi

In his mind Rin, the few times he imagined himself, he always saw himself as the father of a son, and nothing more. Not brothers, as much as he actually liked the idea, just a child and above all a boy. He would have been happy like that

As much as he liked the idea of a possible second child, with his job he wouldn't be able to dedicate the time he knows children deserve. At the same time he doesn't want to leave all the work to you, because parenting is something that is usually done by two. One child would have been enough

He doesn't know how but at a certain point in his life, he found himself with three daughters, all of whom were no more than two years apart. At first it was just a child, your beautiful Ayaka, then suddenly Homura also appeared and finally Rika

The idea of just one boy dematerialized pretty quickly. But he loves his girls so much that, when sometimes he thinks of his original idea, he curses himself: how could he deprive himself of the presence and love of his girls?

All the girls resemble him tremendously, both in character (the one before the incident with Sae) and in appearance, obviously talking about the undereyelashes signed 'Itoshi'. Ayaka, only, is the female version of her father. Homura and Rika have taken something from their mother, but Ayaka could almost resemble Sae too... well, he is her uncle after all, right?

"Dad, Rika doesn't pass the ball when she plays!"

"You can't handle it either, Homura! You can't even pass me games at home!"

"Girls, calm down"

"Learn to score on goal first, before complaining"

...The situation seemed to be calm under Rin's control, but Ayaka broke the calm by scoring a perfect goal into the net of the private home soccer field. New prodigy?

✶ Rin often thinks about what might happen if, in the future, he ever does something that could divide her daughters. He has no preference between them, but he is always terrified that he might do something wrong that could create inequalities that he doesn't want, because in a certain sense, what happened between him and Sae must not happen in another generation of the Itoshi. He bond and love between his daughters must exist forever, not deteriorate as happened with his Nii Chan

✶ He would try to get his daughters to try as many sports as possible. As much as Rin loves soccer, his choice was influenced by the fact that Sae played it... what if he was now a world champion in, idk, volleyball? NO OKAY. He simply likes to make all 3 try new things, looking for something that maybe they could dedicate themselves with passion

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: when his little girls organize themselves to do makeup on him. He's got a pretty mysterious look to maintain, but if Homura has decided that he's going to show up at practice tomorrow wearing orange nail polish, he'll show up that way. Not that he has any problem fighting anyone who has something to say against him, but no one dares. Rin loves to see them concentrate while putting on mascara or a completely disgusting shade of lipstick

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: if he knows that you are there to see him play, he will do everything to score as many goals as possible and, above all, quickly: he wants to keep his girls' expectations high. Once he scored a goal he would raise his hand to the sky, waiting for his girls to do the same thing because it has now become a gesture that only each other understands. At the end of the game the first thing he would do is go up to the stands to be with you, fuck his lukewarm teammates

— reo mikage

Looking after Nagi was like taking a pre parenting course. Nagi essentially has the needs of a child if you ignore the fact that he is 17 years old and 1.90cm tall, so Reo knows quite well what a child needs. Then, he always saw the maids in his house bring their young children to work when possible: Reo loved playing with them or picking them up, or just generally spending time with them. The idea of having children, sooner or later and with a special person, has actually always interested him. He always said to himself, but in reality he hoped, that he would find the person who would love him for simply being Reo and not for his money... and then you came along!

His idea has always been of only one child because he is afraid that, sooner or later, two possible children could fight over the money of the Mikage company. Everything is unpredictable, right? So he doesn't want to risk anything

His original idea was respected. When he held Hikari for the first time he simply understood that he wouldn't be able to create, obviously with you, such a cute and perfect being again

The only similarity that links Hikari to her father is the same hair color, that strong purple. For the rest she is completely her mother, and Reo loves this even more: it's cute to see a mini version of you, but with some of his features, walking around the house. His new sweet treasure!!

"So, this... this, yes, also this... that... this"

"Reo, honey, what are you doing with that newspaper?"

"Nothing dangerous. Don't worry"

"What are you doing though? You make me curious"

"I told you not to worry, honey. Trust me."

...Reo was marking all the objects, approximately 300, in a catalog of toys and children's products. If he has money, why can't he spend it if he knows it will make his daughter happy?

✶ The first person Reo told that he was going to be a father was obviously Nagi. Let's say that at first Seishiro wasn't really believing it, but when he saw that pregnancy test... oh... yes, he definitely believed it. It often happens that Hikari stays with Nagi for days at a time, as the little girl sees him as a giant she can annoy. Reo often tells his daughter not to bother Nagi too much, but it secretly makes him laugh to see Seishiro so awkward with Hikari because he doesn't know how to handle children (himself??)

✶ If there's one thing he would never do, it would be to push Hikari into running the Mikage company once she grows up. Reo hated living his childhood with the knowledge that he already had a predetermined destiny, and he doesn't want Hikari to have the same treatment. She want to become a doctor? It will become one. She want to become a farmer? It will become one. She want to become president of the world? It will become one. He simply wants her to do what she loves

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: travel the world with his daughter or of course with you too. The money is there, and what better way is there to spend it than learning and traveling? Hikari, at less than 5 years old, had already visited half the world. Reo loves taking her to different places and seeing her reactions so amazed. His favorite will remain forever when they arrived in New York, where Hikari didn't stop smiling for a second

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: it is obvious to say that he would pay to let you have the VIP of the VIP, his girls deserve the best, right?. He would feel amazing among all his teammates knowing that his family is there for him while there is no one for them. At the end of the game he would let the cameras record him hugging you and Hikari, why would he hide all the love he has for you from the cameras?

— isagi yoichi

Isagi was relatively happy as a child: his parents loved him, he played the sport he loved, he didn't do badly at school. Everything was happy for him in his early life. The only thing he often noticed were his classmates with older or younger siblings, who yeah argued with each other, but at the same time loved each other very much. He didn't suffer from loneliness from being the only child, not that, but he was always intrigued by the concept of not being the only child in the family

Since you've been dating seriously, and even before actually, he's always thought that his future family would model what he had: loving parents, one child, two if they had the chance

When Fujiko was born there was this plan in his mind: okay, now we dedicate ourselves to her, we give her everything she needs... then, if we want, we will have another child. Both you and Yoichi were very convinced that a max of 5 years after the birth of the kid you would try again, but Fujiko filled your lives so much that you decided that only she was good for the whole life

Fujiko's appearance bears little resemblance to her father's, maybe just a few facial features. If we talk about character, however, everything changes completely: it's a kind of Isagi 2.0, the same determination coupled with a lot of kindness. We will find out later if she also has bipolar disorder on and off the field like her dad- WHO SAID THAT??

"Fujiko, why aren't there any more pencil in your pencilcase?"

"Mom, I had to give them to some friends. Otherwise they couldn't write what the teacher said"

"This kindness reminds me of someone"

"Who? Who? Who?"

"Think about it: who do you consider to be the kindest person in the world?"

"My dad!"

...doing homework with your daughter, you noticed that some things were missing. Isagi is kind, one of the kindest in the world; when you told him about it he was perplexed, because he too would have done the exact same thing... just like his little girl

✶ Having now become a professional striker, he often does not have the opportunity to spend long periods at home due to champions or special training sessions. When this happens he is happy to leave because soccer is his passion anyway, on the other hand he dies inside every time he hugs his daughter or you for the last time. He loves his family, he would like to always be with you and Fujiko because you give him courage, but he understands that always moving with him from city to city, or even from country to country, is complicated and, above all, tiring

✶ He would like to direct Fujiko towards soccer, but at the same time he knows that he cannot choose something that is actually up to her. He has the belief that Fujiko would probably be good as him, unlocking her own version of the meta vision, but he prefers to see her little girl happy with the things she has chosen and loves

Favorite father-daughter(s) activity: he likes when they watch the games Isagi has already played. Television often replays reruns of recent or even old matches, and whenever Isagi is present on the field, Fujiko is the first to ask to watch them together. Yoichi enjoys seeing her so amazed by the actions on the field, commenting on anything that she doesn't understand because she rightfully doesn't know the rules of soccer. The thing that amuses him most is explaining to her who are the people he passes the ball, whether they are his friends or not, but now for Fujiko there is only Bachira with the title of dad's friend

When you and your little girl(s) show up at one of his games: the mere fact that you come to see him play is a lot for him, but since you and Fujiko once showed up wearing a jacket that said "biggest fan of number 11" on the back, he understood that he didn't it would matter if he were to be burned alive if he did it for you. Unfortunately the insults would always be there, but he would try to contain himself in front of his little girl. At the end of the game the first thing he would do is come to you and let you onto the field, making you celebrate with him

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cruel-as-sin · 1 month ago

Text

baby, am i your little secret? | logan howlett

pt. 1

↳ summary: well, logan did promise you he’d come again… but this time, you bring him home, and he’s going to take care of you

word count: 3.2k

song: older | isabel larosa

pairings: old man!logan x fem!stripper!reader

content warnings: 18+ content (MDNI), smut, porn w/ very light plot, prostitution/strip clubs, age gap (readers age is unspecified but she is an adult), lingerie mentioned, size difference, oral (f!recieving), protected p in v, multiple orgasms (reader), praise kink, gentle sex, pet names (sweetheart, baby), aftercare, a little bit of fluff at the end, readers roommate makes a brief appearance, no use of y/n, mention/implication of a gun, the glasses still stay on, practice safe sex everyone (lmk if i missed anything!)

↳ a/n: woah i was not planning on writing a second part or expecting the first one to get as much love as it got… thank you so much to everyone who liked, commented, and reblogged! i’ll probably write at least one more part to this at some point but for now, enjoy!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Logan tried to tell himself he shouldn’t go back, he really did.

He’s no good for people like you- sweet, gentle things. He’s no good for anyone.

But despite all the things he tells himself, he still ends up across the street from that damned club, feet carrying him against his better judgement, right up to your door.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It’s been a little over three weeks since the best fuck you’ve ever had stepped through your door.

You wondered if he really did plan on coming back. Maybe he was just offering a next time to be polite? But every time you remember the way he looked at you, his promise to return, the words he whispered in your ear, you disregard that theory.

He’s coming back- you know it. You just don’t know when.

Your ears perk up when you hear the bell, as they have every time it’s rung since you last saw him- but it’s not him. It never is, and the little ding that used to bring you hope now feels like it’s just taunting you.

So you continue on with your work, trying to forget about him, until that one fateful night when he finally shows.

It’s ten minutes before close when he comes in, a wary gaze searching the room behind those same cheap glasses. His eyes land on you, and you’re approaching him before you even process it, his mere presence magnetic.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He says as you walk over.

“Hi.” You reach out and put a hand on his arm. “Coming back for more, hm?”

“You left quite an impression.” The corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk. “Can I have another night with you, pretty girl?”

You glance at the clock. Shit. Barely enough time for a dance- maybe. Or…

“Not here.”

His brow furrows in confusion, and you continue.

“This is very unprofessional of me.” You say in a soft, shameful tone that you know makes even the strongest men helpless. “But… I want to take you home.”

Despite the doe eyes you’re giving him, you do mean it- more than you’re letting on. Something feels special about him, like he’s more than just a customer passing through.

But you keep your cards close to your chest as you wait with baited breath for him to accept or decline your offer.

“Alright, pretty girl.” He says with a faint smile. “Lead the way.”

You finish closing up for the night, grabbing your clothes and throwing them on over your work outfit to protect you from the cold. He lingers there as you go, trying to ignore the curious glances from your coworkers.

“If we’re gonna do this, though, I’m gonna need to know your name.” You say casually, glancing back at him.

He contemplates for a moment, seeming to almost say something else before the word leaves his lips. “Logan.” Despite his near misstep, you believe him.

“Logan.” You repeat the name, then give him yours. When he says it back to you, you love the way it rolls off his tongue.

“You sure you’re alright going home with a stranger?” You tease.

“You’re no stranger, sweetheart.” His words make you smile, and you bring him out the back door to your car, a cautious eye on the parking lot as you do.

It’s not Logan you’re worried about. No, if that were the case, you wouldn’t have even considered bringing him home. It’s the others that frequent the establishment, your regulars who get a little too handsy, the extra bold ones that like to linger by the exit long after you close. But none of them are here tonight- it’s just you and him.

The drive back to your apartment is quiet, the silence broken only by the occasional small chatter. When you arrive, you take the elevator up to your floor, pulling out your keys.

You fumble with your keys when you reach the door that signifies you and your roommate’s shared living space, eventually managing to get the door open. “Shoes go right there.” You gesture to a shoe rack next to the entryway, kicking off your own shoes as you struggle to pull the key out of the lock. You hang up your keys and watch him put up his blazer before you finally shut the door behind you.

He’s on you the moment the door closes, but you halt him with a gentle press against his chest. “Hang on. I need to tell my roommate that I’m gonna be busy.” You make sure he sees the glint in your eyes as you walk down the hall, opening the door to your room first.

He steps inside, his eyes roaming around before falling back on you. “Don’t keep me waitin’ too long, sweetheart.”

“I’ll just be a second.” You say with a smile, pulling the door closed before heading across the hall and knocking on your roommate’s door.

After a moment, you hear a brief “Yeah?” from the other side.

You open the door just a crack, poking your head in. Cas, your roommate, pauses the game on their computer and pulls their headphones off, spinning around in their chair to talk to you. “Oh, hey. What’s up?”

“I’m just letting you know I have company.” You say casually. “So I might be busy for the rest of the night.”

“Oh, yeah, mhm.” Cas says, pretending to be surprised by this revelation. “Is this normal company, or ‘I cover my ears and pray to god my noise cancelling headphones work while someone fucks your brains out’ company?”

You roll your eyes. “Hey, who said I was the one getting my brains fucked out instead of the other way around?”

To that, they just raise an eyebrow, as if to say really?

“Whatever.” You say, unable to hide the smile forming on your face.

“Mhm.” It’s more drawn out this time, punctuated by a tiny knowing smile. “Is this company of yours spending the night?”

“Hopefully. I don’t know.” You say with a shrug. “If you see a stranger in the kitchen, don’t shoot him.” Your tone is lighthearted, but you do mean it- you know Cas gets nervous around intruders, and your gaze flickers just briefly to the locked safe in the corner.

They nod. “No shooting your newest boytoy. Got it.”

You let out an exasperated huff, beginning to pull the door closed. “Goodnight, Cas.”

“Night!” They call after you. “And remember, be safe-”

You close the door before they get to finish, laughing softly to yourself before returning to your own room.

You step inside, finding Logan sitting on the edge of your bed, illuminated by the soft light of the lamp on your nightstand. He stands when he sees you, walking over to you as you close the door.

“Hey.” You say softly, looking up at him, taking in his face.

To see a man, even an attractive one, at work is one thing. But here, in your home, your sanctuary, it feels different. Almost… open. Vulnerable. You find yourself noticing details you hadn’t picked up on before- the lines of his face, the way his hardened demeanor seems to become just a little gentler every time he looks at you.

"Hey." He replies in a quiet tone. Even now, outside of your domain, he looks for your guidance, waits for you to take the lead.

You lean in to kiss him- softer, gentler, slower than the last time, savoring the taste of whiskey on his tongue. Your hands trail up his chest, to the collar of his shirt, the edges of his tie. You begin to undo it, pulling apart the knot before his hands come up to grasp yours, stopping you halfway through.

He breaks the kiss to murmur in your ear. “I’m takin’ care of you tonight.”

Your breath hitches in your throat at the suggestion. “You don’t have to-” You finish undoing his tie, pulling it away and letting it fall to the floor.

“I want to.” He cuts you off, his tone firm, leaving no room for misinterpretation. “Please.” His voice lowers. “Let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

You meet his gaze for a moment, a little stunned to see that he truly does want to make you feel good. You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised- it’s Logan, after all- but still, after most of the men you meet treating your pleasure as an afterthought, the idea alone that he wants tonight to be about you has arousal soaking through your panties.

Nodding, you lower your hands from his collar. “Okay.” You say softly.

He kisses you again, arms wrapping around you and lifting you up. Your legs lock around his waist as he carries you over to the bed, your tongue sliding across his own. He breaks the kiss for a moment to pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside before his mouth meets yours once more.

He lays you down on the bed, his hands moving to your back, undoing the clasp of your bra and pulling it off of you. He kisses a path down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, lips trailing down to your chest. He alternates between sucking on your nipples and kneading your breasts in his hands, causing you to throw your head back with a soft moan.

He kisses down your chest, large hands spreading your thighs open as he pulls your pants down. He nips at your thighs, earning a surprised gasp. He slowly pulls your lingerie aside, revealing your soaking cunt. He inhales slowly, trying to collect himself as he pulls your underwear the rest of the way off and out of his way.

He pushes his glasses up just a little before he leans in and licks a long stripe up your cunt. He groans against your pussy, sending vibrations shooting up through your core.

"Taste so sweet." He mumbles against you before diving in.

His tongue works magic- and you were right, his beard does feel heavenly against your thighs.

And oh, he takes his time with you. He takes his sweet, sweet fucking time with you.

You don't know how long it's been, nor do you think you care. You’re on cloud nine, feeling too good to even care about your orgasm while simultaneously needing it more than you’ve ever needed anything. Logan knows just how to please you, his tongue delving into your folds, worshipping you.

“Logan,” you eventually manage to whine, “Please.”

You meet his eyes, and he pulls away just enough to answer you. “You need me to make you cum, sweetheart?”

You nod frantically, and that’s all the signal he needs. He dives back in, zeroing in on your clit and sucking in a way that has your peak rapidly approaching within seconds.

You unravel, not even bothering to try to quiet your moans (you're pretty sure it would be futile, anyway). Your eyes squeeze shut, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over you, flooding through every part of your body as you reach your high. He keeps his mouth on you the whole time, riding out your orgasm until you begin to come down. His hands rest on your thighs, his steady grip grounding you, keeping your entire being from being washed away by the seemingly unending bliss.

When you can finally breathe again, you open your eyes to find him raising his head, his eyes meeting your own.

“Holy fuck.” You breathe, letting out a small laugh.

The corner of his mouth twitches up in a smirk. “Yeah?”

His beard glistens with your slick, and the sight makes you sit up a little, getting a hand on the back of his neck and pulling him up towards you. You kiss him hungrily, tasting yourself on his tongue, once again reaching for the collar of his shirt. You unbutton it fully this time, eager to feel his muscular chest and disappointed to find an undershirt beneath.

He pulls away from the kiss. “Let me.” He takes off his shirt, letting you run your hands up and down his torso as he unbuckles his belt, pulling his pants and boxers down in one smooth motion. You feel your pussy clenching at the sight of his cock, hard and aching for you.

You sit up a little further, wanting to return the favor, but he gently pushes you back down. “Another time, sweetheart.” He says in response to the pout on your face, pulling a condom out of his back pocket before pushing his pants off the bed. “I said I’d take care of you, remember?”

You watch as he rolls on the condom, mesmerized by the sight of his veiny hands wrapping around his thick cock. “I’m pretty sure you just did.” You protest, any further arguments cut off by a whine as he brushes his tip against your folds.

He chuckles, leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

He pushes into you slowly, moving inch by inch until he’s filling you completely. He starts to move, pulling most of the way out before thrusting back in, setting a slow but powerful rhythm that has high pitched whines leaving your lips within moments.

“Christ, you’re fuckin’ desperate.” He says, eyes locked on the place where your bodies meet. “Look at you, just suckin’ me in. You like that, huh? You like being filled up by my cock?”

You’re too cock drunk to manage anything other than a “uh-huh” that turns to a whine as he thrusts harder.

“You’re doin’ so good, taking me so well.” He praises, leaning down to press his lips to yours.

He continues to murmur in your ear, your moans and his words a sweet chorus of bliss. You feel his hand slip between your thighs and rub at your clit, and your second orgasm hits you hard and fast with a scream of his name. Your vision goes white, the feeling of him thrusting sharply into all the right places taking over all your senses. You can faintly hear him talking you through it, his voice ragged as he approaches his own orgasm.

“Good girl, that’s it; good fuckin’ girl.” His voice is low in your ear, his breath stuttering as he cums with a loud groan, thrusting through both your peaks, your name leaving his lips.

You feel almost like you’re floating, the pleasure nearing the line of overwhelming. You're only brought back down by the feeling of him slipping out of you, the gentle kisses he leaves along your face- but even then, you don’t open your eyes, still trying to breathe as your pussy pulses with the aftershocks of your orgasm.

You hear him get up, hear his footsteps fading away, the bedroom door closing behind him. A pang of hurt goes through you- you didn’t think he’d be the type to just leave. You can’t bring yourself to get up, too exhausted to move, so you just lay there, beginning to drift off. Then you feel a pair of strong arms wrapping around you, lifting you up against his chest and carrying you down the hallway.

You stir, looking up to find Logan half dressed, in only his undershirt and pants. His eyes meet yours, a faint smile forming on his face.

You want to ask where he’s taking you, but your question is quickly answered when he pushes open the door to the bathroom. He gently sets you down in the tub, the warm water enveloping you and making you even sleepier.

“You want me to help you clean up, or would you prefer to do it yourself?” His tone is gentle but firm, making it clear that your well-being is not up for negotiation.

“I can do it.” You force your limbs to move, reaching for a washcloth.

He nods. “I’ll be back in a bit, alright?”

You don’t question where he’s going, solely focused on the task at hand, lest the heaviness in your eyes claim you before you’re finished.

By the time he returns, you’ve cleaned yourself up and wrapped a towel around your waist, feeling at least a little more awake. He gives a gentle knock at the door, and when you murmur a soft, “Come in,” he enters.

His expression turns to one of slight concern when he sees you. You are, admittedly, leaning on the counter for support- it’s not your fault your legs feel like jelly.

You don’t have to ask; you barely even have to look his way before he’s scooping you into his arms again, taking you back to your room. For a moment you wonder how he knew no one would be in the hallway, but you’re too worn out to care.

The soft feeling of your sheets has you practically melting into your bed when he lays you down. You’re almost out the moment your head hits the pillow, but Logan’s voice keeps you awake.

“Here.”

He holds out a glass of ice water and a string cheese.

“Figured you didn’t want to eat much this late, but I thought I’d get you something.”

The action is simple, but sweet. You reach out, taking both items from him and sipping the water as you tear open the string cheese. He lingers near the bed as you finish them both off, a careful gaze trained on you, ensuring you’re okay.

When you’re done, he takes the empty cup and wrapper from you, throwing the wrapper in the trash and setting the glass on your nightstand. At your request, he heads over to your dresser, and you direct him to a plainer pair of underwear, a comfy tank top, and your favorite pair of sleep shorts. He brings them over, taking the towel and folding it over the top of your desk chair as you change into your PJs.

You crawl under your covers, curling up in preparation for the rest your body desperately craves. Logan approaches the bed, smiling to himself as you mumble something half-coherent- a goodnight of some sort, at least, that was your intention. He pulls up the edge of your covers, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead before he retreats again.

His voice has a softer edge to it when he steps away, turning out your lamp as he goes. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Where are you going?” You murmur, already half asleep, eyes lidded, but still reaching for him.

His brow furrows slightly. “Goin’ home. Figured you didn’t want-”

“Do you want to leave?” You ask, sitting up slightly. Your eyes can be heavy all they like, but you’ll be damned if you let him just walk away again.

He hesitates, lips caught in the beginnings of a no before he corrects himself. “I don’t want to intrude-”

You shush him. “None of that. C’mere.”

He protests no further, rising from where he’d leaned down to pick up the rest of his discarded clothes. He makes his way over to the bed, ditching his work pants in favor of just his boxers before cautiously settling in beside you.

You find yourself drawn to him, hesitantly reaching out and placing a hand on his arm. When he turns to you, you scoot a little closer. After a moment, he shifts to face you, allowing you to nestle yourself within his arms. He pulls you close, his body warm against your skin, his arms wrapping tightly around you. His breath hits your neck, and you close your eyes, letting the smell of smoke and aftershave lull you to sleep.

tags: @atleastpleasetelephone @namikyento @gewrgia-black @r0ttedcherubim

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett #logan howlett xmen #wolverine #wolverine x reader #old man logan #logan howlett smut #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine fanfiction #old man logan x reader #wolverine smut #cas one shots

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