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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 1 year ago

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THERE WAS NO PLACE IN NATURE WE COULD MEET ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; it’s never fun to run into an ex; especially when the ex in question is your unfairly handsome high school sweetheart. and just so happens to also be a wanted mass murderer.

word count; 3.3k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, geto-typical angst, exes to [redacted], lots of longing, geto is kind of a cunt but also disgustingly charming, reader is understandably upset, biblical imagery (i just think he’s so serpent coded), curse user geto is his own warning tbh

a/n; i wanted this to be a drabble so bad but it ended up just a little too long for me to get away w it so … :’3 yeah. i hate suguru geto (said w affection)

the moon is out.

in the shadows of the street corner you find yourself in, seated comfortably on the sidewalk, it’s a welcome distraction. something to look at, in the midst of your loneliness; the evanescent glow of the moon, illuminating your solitude.

a solitude soon to be broken. shattered into pieces, battered and bruised beyond recognition, jagged shards littering the asphalt. digging into the soles of your shoes.

”hey.”

for a second, you think you must be dreaming.

the figure obscuring the light of the lamp post in front of you is familiar. too familiar, a little too dear for your liking. as you grasp your shitty cup ramen, seeking the warmth seeping through the polystyrene, all you can do is stare. blinking dumbly, drowsily.

geto looks something like a bad omen.

sharp facial features, even sharper eyes. so dark they almost shift from an amber-tainted cedar into an obsidian black — two abysses, staring into your soul, beckoning you closer. they were always enchanting, but now you think they look almost hypnotizing. not at all in a good way. dark hair frames his face, cascading down his back, longer than you remember it being. and he’s wearing robes.

still has those fucked up bangs, though. of all the things to keep.

the gears of your mind turn, endlessly, untangling the mess of thoughts inside your brain. ensuring you that no, you are not hallucinating, and no, you didn’t fall into a deep slumber somewhere between the moment you exited the convenience store and sat down by one of tokyo’s empty street corners. this is real. a reality you can’t comprehend, can’t even begin to process.

what stands in front of you is a ghost. but ghosts don’t exist, can’t be seen, can’t touch the living.

(so how is he able to haunt you like this?)

what eventually jolts you out of your silent stupor is not the questioning tilt of his head, nor the suffocating sensation of your heart crawling up your throat, but the feeling of soft fur against your leg. the stray cat you met further down the street meows at you, sweetly, trying to get your attention. you think she must be asking for more grilled fish.

so, completely ignoring the apparition in front of you, you turn to reach for the little plastic bag you bought as a midnight snack — digging out a bit of fish for the kitty to enjoy. she seems happy, settling down by your feet. purring softly.

geto watches, eerily silent.

(maybe he’s upset that you’re ruining his dramatic entrance. you hope so.)

finally, you have no choice but to look at him. a lump forms in the back of your throat, clogging up a little more for every second spent falling into the trap he’s laid out for you, trailing over his moonlit features with your tired gaze.

mouth full of noodles, staring holes into his attire, you narrow your eyes. suddenly disgruntled.

his lips quirk up. ”something the matter?” he asks, and you can’t even begin to describe how much you hate his voice. how devastatingly deep it is, during the late hours of the night, even deeper than it was back in high school.

slurping up the soggy noodles, you lean back a little, licking some broth off your lips. finally meeting those abyssal eyes.

”… i was gonna say those robes look like shit on you,” comes an exhale, weary, ”but you actually kinda pull them off. that’s…”

a beat. you struggle to find the right word.

”annoying.”

geto’s lips curl up, smoothly, and you find a hint of familiar amusement in the vague crinkle of his eyes. barely visible crows’ feet. then he’s moving — plopping down right beside you, robes fluttering with the breeze.

”well, thank you.” he hums; crossing his legs.

the silence that festers around you is odd. not quite suffocating, nor especially fragile. definitely not comforting. it’s familiar, yet different, and it hurts a bit more than it should. but you choose to look at him, out of the corner of your eye, and he looks right back at you. still smiling that eerie smile.

when your eyes settle on the particular cloth wrapped around his torso, you just barely manage to bite back a taunting chuckle.

”a gojo-kesa, huh?” you grin, and geto doesn’t flinch. he doesn’t miss the meaningful glint in your eyes, either. ”you miss him that much?”

”just a coincidence,” is all he answers. smiling, but you think it looks a little stiff.

your grin widens, for a second, before settling back down. a sad transition. you let it go.

”whatever you say, geto.”

at that, he visibly reacts. barely noticeable, but it’s there — a twitch of his lithe fingers, an unknown something that flickers through the scope of his iris. when he looks at you, a neutral smile is playing at his lips.

”ah. i take it we’re not on first name basis anymore, then?” he asks, casually, hiding a tinge of something mildly displeased.

a shrug. you pick at what’s left of your ramen with your chopsticks, a little too nauseous to enjoy it. ”call me what you want. i just don’t see suguru when i look at you, y’know?” leaning forward, you begin to pet the kitty by your feet. ”he was sweeter.”

geto smiles. almost a grin, but not quite there. a chuckle spills out from his lips, and something about it irritates you. ”was he?”

”yeah,” you nod. without hesitation. a summer-stained memory blooms behind your eyelids, but you try not to look at it. all you catch is a glimpse of cherry blossoms. ”you just seem bitter.”

the grin that finds its way onto your lips is self-deprecating. a shadow falls over your face.

”guess we’re in the same boat, huh?”

a hum buzzes in his throat. he casts a meaningful glance towards your hand, scratching behind the cat’s ear. ”oh, i don’t know about that.” his smile grows with the drawl. ”.. you seem just as sweet as always.”

to your grave annoyance, you can’t control the way your face changes at his words. a twitch of your lips gives away your discontentment, and something sour settles on the tip of your tongue.

(your blood begins to boil, beneath your skin.)

geto sighs, suddenly, filling the tense silence between you — a little theatrical. ”ah, but that’s a shame.” he turns to you, soft pout playing at his lips. ”i was hoping i could hear you call me suguru again…”

”— i was hoping you’d come back.”

a beat.

somewhere outside your vision, a crow takes flight into the night sky. swallowed by darkness, melting into that sea of black. no longer perceivable, by you or the world.

”but you never did,” the polystyrene of the plastic cup crinkles beneath your fingers. your eyes look dull. ”so what the fuck do you want, exactly?”

…

”i heard.” geto rests his jaw on the heel of his palm, gazing at you with those piercing eyes. like he’s trying to see inside your brain. ”… about your decision.”

”ah,” a grin splits across the curve of your lips, showing off the white of your teeth. ”of course. that’s what this is about, huh?”

with groggy movements, you throw away your nearly-empty cup of noodles, haphazardly aiming towards a trash can across the street. it bounces off the steel cover, landing on the ground with a soft thud. leftover broth spilling out across the pavement. geto doesn’t bother to hide his amusement, lips twitching upwards before he sends a curse to eat it from the asphalt.

you furrow your brows in embarrassed annoyance.

a moment passes, and something in you knows that he’s waiting. it’s like you can practically sense it, like it’s etched into your bones. the same way you always knew exactly when he would begin to get impatient during your nightly convenience store runs back in high school — after you had spent about ten solid minutes struggling to decide what kind of chips you wanted.

”what can i say?” you lean back, palms against rough concrete, breathing in the midnight air. ”you inspired me.”

geto tilts his head. smiling. always, always smiling. he smiled at you the day before he massacred that village, too. ”oh?”

with a deep breath, cool air courses through your body. burning your lungs. ”i realized being a sorcerer is completely fucking meaningless,” you exhale through your nose. ”and that trying to change that fact is even more meaningless.”

a wicked, rueful grin rests on your lips. ”so i left.”

geto doesn’t say anything. you continue, voice dripping with venom.

”i’m a civilian now,” you purr, mocking, a sardonic coo on your tongue. ”does that bother you? feel like killing me?”

…

his smile looks a little off, now. tilted in a direction you don’t want to recognize. you don’t care to examine it further, don’t care to figure out if it might look just a little bit sad, because that’d only hurt more.

so you look away.

a click of his tongue. then he speaks, with that honeyed voice, raspy and husky. almost a groan. ”well, i can’t say i approve.”

he’s looking at you. sharp eyes digging into your skin, dissecting you, a million words he expects you to grasp from that look alone.

”you’re better than them,” he states, matter-of-factly, and you try not to squirm when his eyes trail over your features. ”worlds better.” his voice sounds almost motherly, a twisted concern that makes you cower a little. like he’s scolding you. a crease between his brows.

”i don’t like the thought of you surrounded by these animals.”

a huff pushes past your lips, but it sounds shakier than you’d like it to. you hope he just chalks it up to the chill of the air. then again, when has he ever made anything easy for you?

”what, you got a problem with cats now?” you reach for the little furball licking grilled fish off the concrete, picking it up. cradling it close. ”gonna go on a cat-killing spree?”

an amused exhale. geto narrows his eyes. ”funny,” he hums, but his eyes say you know what i mean.

it takes you a moment to regain control over your breathing. there’s still something tense in your shoulders, and your heart still feels a little like it might jump out of your throat and crawl into his lap. the stray cat slips from your grasp, moving towards geto, curiously sniffing at his robes. he looks at it with no ill intent, and it puts you at ease.

”well, i appreciate the concern, buddy,” you pat his back, trying not to flinch at the contact. trying to appear relaxed. ”but frankly, i don’t give a shit. i actually like my job, unlike literally every single sorcerer on planet earth.”

geto stills.

”.. buddy?” he echoes, ignoring every other bitter word you just graced him with. for some reason, he actually seems visibly bothered. ”i’m buddy now?”

you click your tongue. muttering, tiredly. a little exasperated. ”.. what else would you be?”

and then he smiles, again. only this time, it looks oddly genuine. the same as you remember, framed by cherry blossoms and the fizzle of youth.

his movements are smooth. like he’s completely unguarded, like this situation doesn’t bother him in the slightest. elegant, in the way he leans back, palms on the concrete to support his weight. keeping eye contact with you, all the while.

when he speaks, his voice has a sweet tinge to it. nostalgic, maybe. wistful. if you hear a touch of longing, you choose to ignore it.

”i seem to recall you calling me baby quite a lot,” he hums, and you stiffen. gritting your teeth. eyes darkening, but he continues. ”what else was there? angel, i think… it was sweet.”

then he’s leaning forward. scratching the cat under its chin, gently. ”ironic, though.”

an inhale. then, an exhale. they’re a little shaky, a little meek, but at least they make the lump in your throat feel less like it’s blocking your windpipe. air fills your lungs, but it tastes like nothing at all.

something like sorrow simmers in your eyes. or maybe more like fatigue. god, you really want to cry.

(you wonder if he gets some sickening satisfaction out of seeing you like this, out of breaking you. maybe it just makes him feel rotten. you don’t know what you’d prefer.)

”suguru,” you murmur, at last. voice dripping with exhaustion. defeated, the sigh that flows from your lips. ”why did you come here?”

…

”join me.”

the words spill out into the open air, slicing the silence in half. heavy. a request, not a question. against your better judgement, you turn your head to meet his gaze.

”we could use you,” he says, and there’s hope in those keen eyes. he maintains his distance, but for some reason you still feel like prey being sized up by a predator. like he’s weighing your value.

a chuckle slips from your lips, but there’s no humour to it. ”use me…” you echo, a tired murmur under your breath. ”you're just straight up admitting it, huh? kinda refreshing.”

”that’s not what i meant.”

he inches closer. slowly, as if trying not to scare you. reaching out, to brush through your bangs, his fingertips ghosting over your skin. tangling them between your locks, inserting himself into your space. testing the waters.

you don’t look at him, completely still. barely breathing. like a wounded animal.

”i want you there,” he says, and it comes out almost as a whisper. ”with us.”

unable to resist the temptation, you indulge in a single brief glance his way. his eyes look warm, and his lips look soft as they part.

”with me.”

there’s a devotion to his voice when he continues, one he’s always had. one you thought you’d always be able to trust. ”i’ll create a world where you can be happy,” he vows. ”i swear it.”

a moment passes.

(you swallow thickly. it takes everything you have not to burst into tears. when you remember how he brushed you off, back then, it gets a little easier. when you remember all the skipped meals.)

”.. like you give a damn.”

geto smiles. you loathe how soft it looks, how similar it is to the one suguru always had. when you used to eat your ramen too quickly and started choking on it, and he brought a palm to your upper back, patting it gently. he’d chuckle, and tell you to slow down, and the softness of his smile would almost be enough to distract you from the amusement in his eyes.

”my love.”

you flinch. breath drawing back at the base of your throat, heart screeching to a halt, and some part of you emerges; the shy, sweet kid you used to be. hanging on to his every world. like he was your sun, your guiding light. back when that purr of my love had you blushing furiously, not choking back a string of curses.

it’s sudden, and you can’t react the way you want to. you want to kill him for calling you that. for thinking he has any right to call you his, anymore.

but that sweet, naive, innocent little kid still exists. even if you want to pretend otherwise. it’s there, somewhere, that part of you — peeking out from behind the curtain. and it stops you from saying anything that might hurt him.

(it’s so hard to hate him when he calls you that.)

if geto notices your inner turmoil — he must — then he doesn’t mention it. you don’t say anything, but you hope the amused, harsh exhale you partake in is signal enough for him to cut it off. now.

yet he continues. there’s love in his voice when he speaks, barely contained. if he’s trying not to hurt you he’s doing an awful job.

”… i never stopped thinking of you,” he whispers, so low you almost miss it. ”not once. i left for you, not just for myself.”

and, despite every part of your being resisting it, a sweetness settles on your tongue. so sweet it’s sickening; the thought that maybe he’s telling the truth, maybe he really has been thinking of you. maybe you’re more to him than just a means to meet an end, or a memory yet to be buried.

geto looks at the moon. bathed in moonlight, he looks a little like a god. like something reverent. his voice is honeyed. low, like a secret.

”this world doesn't deserve you.”

silence.

a subtle anger trickles through your veins, a kind of fury, subdued, carefully tucked away. sparking to life inside the depths of your eyes when you look at him. bitter, given everything. but your voice still comes out sounding something like a plea.

”and you think you do?”

another smile. this time, it looks a little sad. remorseful, maybe. ”… let me prove myself.”

his touch burns. the pads of his fingers against your cold skin, cupping your cheek. slithering down to grasp your hand. and you’re pliant, unable to react. just sitting with that aching hollow feeling in your chest.

”i wasn’t worthy, back then,” he hums, bringing your hand to his lips. ”but now…”

a kiss to your knuckle. featherlight. reverent. you try not to shiver, but when he says your name, dragging each syllable out, like they belong on his tongue —

a chill runs down your spine.

when he speaks, you feel his warm breath on your skin. it’s dizzying. ”i’m not the same suguru you once knew,” he admits, a forlorn look in his eyes. and devotion, frighteningly sincere. ”unlike him — i’ll never let you go.”

what a twisted desire. he wants to take you with him, drag you down to hell. the suguru you knew wouldn’t put you through that. but maybe you’re even more twisted, for wishing he had; for wishing he had taken you with him, ten years ago, instead of leaving without a single goodbye.

geto’s voice is soft. coaxing, like he's handling a frightened mouse. join me, he whispers, and you think of eve. when you look at his mouth you think you see serpents’ teeth behind his lips.

(you're almost sure he notices it. and you're almost sure his smile widens, lips curling up, as if preparing to open his maw and swallow you whole.)

a sickening sense of resignation roots itself somewhere in your gut.

you pull your hand away, and he lets you. the loss of warmth hits you like a freight train, but you aren’t sure you could think clearly with his skin on yours. when you part your lips to speak, only air comes out, just barely forming a sentence. like there are no more words to say. like the world stopped spinning around you both a lifetime ago.

”i don't love you.”

…

for just a second, his smile falters.

”no?” he hums, and you wish it didn’t hurt so bad to see him hurt. his eyes carry a kind of patience, something gentle. ”it’s fine… these things take time.”

a bitter chuckle. ”like you’d know anything about waiting,” you spit, and it comes out sounding venomous. a phantom ache sprouts in the spot where his lips touched your skin.

geto closes his eyes.

”you don't need to love me,” he says, finally. kind. you hate that he still sounds so kind. so understanding, like nothing you do could be wrong in his eyes. ��as long as you're beside me, that's enough.”

he turns to look at you, and his smile looks very real, for a moment. impossibly fond. ”i have two daughters. i’ve told them about you,” he smiles. ”my family… you’d like them. i know they’d like you.”

dark clouds cover the moon, suddenly, and a shadow falls across you both. illuminated only by the streetlight. in the distance, you hear a car whooshing by.

”don’t stay at the bottom,” he beckons, and your name slips from his lips again. soft, his tongue bending around the vowels. coaxing. stirring your heartstrings like a puppeteer.

then he’s standing up, dusting off his robes, large hands smoothing down the fabric. turning around, towering over you; obscuring everything else. all you see is him, under the glow of the lamp post. a halo of artificial light.

”come. let me show you the world we can create.”

he gives you a sweet smile, two abysses gazing into you. the promise of something twisted, new, forbidden. you think of red skin and yellow flesh; the bite of sin.

and for a second, you see it. the world. a world where laughter comes from the bottom of your gut, and the trees are always ripe for picking, red apples hanging from the branches like glowing rubies. a world where sweetened fruit never give way to rot.

paradise.

geto stretches a hand out towards you. fingers unfurling, one by one, like a blooming camellia. close, right there in front of you, so close that you’re tempted to take his hand in yours, let him carry you away. burn everything else to the ground.

(you think of the serpent. you think of god.

only one of them banished eve.)

”so,” he smiles. ”what do you say?”

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jadewritesficshere · 1 year ago

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Sitting Pretty

This is just pure filth like barely a plot ok 😫🥴

Eddie Munson x Female!reader

18+ONLY

Warnings: pet names (baby, pretty girl), slight degradation and condescending language (use of slut) (this really isn't degradation in my mind but that's cause I'm used to a lot worse so technically it is but), boot riding, squirting

Eddie dropped the box on the coffee table with a loud thud. It landed next to the other boxes he had carried, and the one you had. After a long day of work, he was tired. He wanted to sit down, relax, and do absolutely nothing. Of course, when you called and said you needed help moving boxes, he came. He knew he was entirely fucked. Wrapped around your fingers. You could tell him to jump and he'd ask how high.

Eddie pushed a strand of hair out of his face, it briefly getting caught on his fingers, making him shake his hand to get it unstuck. He glared at the partially grey hair still wound around his fingers (you said it made him look distinguished and metal. He couldn't complain too much at that). You set your own box on the table and smiled at him,"Thanks Eds, I know you're tired. It means a lot to me you would do this." Eddie hummed,"mhm. What is this stuff anyways?" "Oh, my uncle and aunt were getting rid of a bunch of stuff, so they gave it to my parents, who got rid of more stuff, aaaannnd dumped it on me," you shrugged," I'll go through it and see if there is anything good, then send it to the secondhand store."

Together, you and Eddie started going through the boxes. Eddie pretended to be wounded finding a dungeon master's guide, you found a harmonica and attempted to play a Corroded Coffin song (which had Eddie wheeze laughing and joking about adding a harmonica solo to their next single), he had tried on a pink jacket at your insistence while you had put on a hat that didn't fit (both of you traded items and agreed they looked better on each other then yourselves before promptly tossing the items back in the box), and then you struck gold.

You pulled out a pair of light brown leather cowboy boots. The intricate stitching on the side had caught your eye at the bottom of the box. The tips of the shoes slightly pointed and squared off. You blink at them and hand them to Eddie. Eddie looks at them before scoffing," Nope, those will squish my feet. You see the ends of them?" You roll your eyes," Eddie, if they hurt people's feet why would cowboys wear them? They work on their feet all day!" Eddie was tempted to tease you and say cowboys aren't real, but then you pout at him. The pout making your lips stand out caused him to hesitate. "Please?" He sighed and couldn't help but give you a quick kiss before grumbling and sitting to put the boots on. He could hear your faint cheers as he sat on the recliner.

Your focus was on the box in front of you until you heard Eddie clear his throat and ask,"Well, what do ya think?" You turned and-

Damn.

Eddie stood there with his hands on his hips. Your eyes trailed over him. His curly hair was frizzy from the humidity and a long day of working and sweating at the auto shop. His skin pale, save for a smear of oil on his cheekbone. His tank top showed off his arms beautifully, muscles straining, his bicep wrapped from a new tattoo he had gotten. The tank top tight against his skin, showing you his waist. You could see the bump at his belly button where his piercing was. His jeans were slightly loose, the only light wash pair he owned that he threw on when he hadn't done the laundry. Those stupid cowboy boots sat on his feet, the slight heel giving him extra height. He turned and held his arms out, striking a few poses. They weren't heels, but they made his ass pop (God, now you wanted to see him in heels). The light jeans making his ass look bigger, perfect to hold. Slap even.

"Ya know, they actually are kinda comfortable," Eddie turned back to face you with a smile," they don't- oof!" Eddie lands on the recliner with a grunt from you pushing him. He glares at you," you have to quit doing that! You're gonna strain my back or some shit." "Hm...stop being so fuckable then," you climb on top of his lap and lean close to his ear to whisper," besides, you like it." Eddie clears his throat and grasps your hips. You roll your hips slightly into his, watching him inhale sharply. The scruff of his unshaved jaw beckons you forward, kissing it lightly before trailing down his neck.

You nip and suck at his neck, smirking as he tilts his head to give you better access. His hands that firmly grasp your hips, shift to grab your ass instead. You hum as you pull back, staring at the glistening neck and the lovely purple mark you left. It may be childish to leave a hickey, but you couldn't help but want to mark Eddie up, adding shades of purple and red near his existing tattoos. Eddie's eyes are blown, his pale face flushed a deep red. You shift on top of him, rolling your hips into his again, feeling his hardening length. The feeling of you grinding against him makes him groan. Unbuttoning his jeans, you awkwardly try to unzip them, leaning back into Eddie's hands. He takes that moment to squeeze your ass. You whimper at the feeling and lean forward to kiss him, thoughts of removing his pants forgotten.

His lips are soft, slightly chapped, but still so plush against yours. Your mouths move in tandem, tongues darting out. Eddie licks into your mouth, groaning as he takes control. He sucks on the tip of your tongue before pulling back. Both of you taking deep breaths. "Take these off baby," Eddie mumbles, tugging at the hem of your shorts. You nod and clamber off him.

You push your shorts and panties down, balancing a hand on Eddie's knee as you step out of them. You go to get back on Eddie but he stops you," Now hold on, baby." You let out a whine in annoyance. Eddie chuckles and clicks his tongue at you," You seem all pent up, what's got you like this?" "You, now let me on-" "Nah, I think it's something else. Like my boots, Baby?" You nod emphatically, attempting to straddle Eddie again, but he puts his leg out in front of you. The sole of his boot presses against your stomach, and he pushes you back lightly. "Prove it pretty girl."

You pause and tilt your head slightly before grasping Eddie's boot covered ankle. Eddie nods to his foot and taps your stomach with the sole. You step back and bend at the hips, eyes locked with Eddie's, and kiss the tip of the boot. He chuckles and motions you with a finger to continue. You give the boot another kiss, and another. The leather firm against your mouth. Eddie smirks," You can do better then that." "I'm not licking the boot." You stand up and drop Eddie's foot with a thud. Eddie relaxes back spreading his legs, "Who said anything about licking? What's that saying...save a horse, ride a cowboy?"

You blink at him as your mouth falls open. Eddie taps the boot against the hardwood ground, causing clicks to echo. "Go on pretty girl." You can feel your arousal slowly drip down your thighs at the thought of Eddie's request. It was demeaning, dirty, and damn if it didn't delight you. You slowly kneel at Eddie's feet, lowering yourself until your core hit the leather.

The fabric was stiff and slightly rough against your pussy. Your arousal dripping onto the boot, causing it to slicken and make it easier to move. You look up from where you're situated to look at Eddie. You can't help the moan that escapes at the site of him. The once slightly baggy jeans are now very filled out from his bulge. One hand resting on it, squeezing lightly. The top of his unbuttoned jeans showing off his happy trail. The opal belly button piercing glinting in the light. The tattoo of the dragon above the jewelry moving with every deep breath he takes. A hickey on his pec from last week. The rest of his tattoos scattered about, glistening from sweat. The scruff on his jaw and neck. The grey hairs at his temples. The smirk on his face, even though it is flushed. The demeaning look he gives you.

You grind against the boot, faltering slightly under his gaze. "Look at you, sitting pretty," Eddie coos at you, patting your head. He knows you hate that, making you feel small. Stupid. "Such a good slut, making my boots all wet." His words make you clench around nothing, throbbing with want.

You buck your hips quicker against his boot. You shift angles slightly and moan as the boot rubs against your clit. The sensation is too much. The pleasure invades your brain, coherent thoughts gone. You feel the pressure building in your lower stomach. A tingly warmth spreading out from your core. "Fuck I'm-" your breath hitches and your hips fumble losing rhythm. "Come for me baby," Eddie grasps your jaw firmly, tilting your head up to face him," Drench my boots like the good slut you are, pretty girl." You gasp as the pressure builds to a crescendo. Your eyes close and you moan head falling back in pleasure. Lights flash behind your eyes as euphoria spreads throughout your limbs. You distantly feel the wetness gush as your hips buck wantonly. Your brain goes fuzzy with static from euphoria. You briefly hear Eddie moan a fuck.

You come back down to earth, loosening your grip on Eddie's thighs. You hadn't even realized you were gripping them. You scoot away from his boot, still on your knees. The light brown leather is soaked, turning a dark brown. A puddle of your release is on the boot, making you feel warm from embarrassment.

"Fucking hell...you squirted," Eddie shakes his head and chuckles. You stand on shaky legs, Eddie helping hold you in place. You glance down at the puddle slowly dripping off his shoe and onto the floor. "Can I ride you now?" You ask saccharinely.

"You're gonna have to give me a minute," Eddie's eyes dart away from yours, clearing his throat. He shifts and you glance at the movement. His jeans are slightly loose again. The light denim jeans having turned dark at a wet spot. "Made me come like a fucking teenager," Eddie stands grabbing your hand. He tugs on your arm, leading you towards the bedroom.

You were definitely keeping the cowboy boots.

#Is this the same Eddie from Wrecked yes yes it is will I ever write a part 2 to that uh maybe #I love this older Eddie with a belly button piercing he has invaded my brain and taken up residence in my heart #I realized after I finished this you are basically doing a Winnie the Pooh in over half of this #You really did soak his shoes making them shine #Anyways no Eddie isnt a cowboy but he could be he has the swagger for one #This isn't even really degradation in my mind but I know it is to some so #eddie munson x you #Eddie Munson x y/n #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson/you #Eddie Munson/reader #Eddie Munson x female!reader #Eddie Munson smut #Eddie Munson/female!reader #Stranger Things #Also please go read and enjoy cowboy Eddie fics cause they are so good #ALSO if anyone is reading this I did try to make like a header picture thing but it kept deleting paragraphs when it was added #So I went without cause really we dont need that we need the words #Is this well done no but it is done and I am well so #Jade is Talking

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artemismoorea03 · 1 year ago

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DP x DC: WHAT THE FUCK, FENTON

I think I've seen something like this somewhere before but I'm also not sure so if there is already something like this, I'm sorry.

WARNINGS: Mentions of Character Death and Grief, Implied/Referenced/Suspected Child Abuse, Depression and Self-Harm? (only implied, but non-graphic) IT HAS A HAPPY ENDING, I PROMISE.

Danny Fenton was dead.

At least, that's what everybody in Amity Park was told after something happened in Fenton Works. Maddie and Jack Fenton insisted that Danny was dead and that a ghost was responsible. Danny's friends and Sister were weirdly quiet though, but not grieving.

No.

Grief was never an emotion that Dash Baxter saw on any of their faces. Instead rage took it's place. A rage that seemed to be shared by Mayor Masters who sudddenly started cracking down on housing laws, regulations, and other issues. He changed is mind of 'Ghosts are the enemy' to 'Ghost Hunting is no longer permitted' much to the annoyance of his "friends".

Dash didn't understand what was happening, what happened to Fentur-Fenton, or why the all the sudden changes but what confused him most was how he felt about it. When he had gotten the news he felt physically sick. He missed two full days of school just because he felt sick. When he went to school and heard some wanna-be A-Listers spreading rumors about how Fenton was in a bad place and had just taken himself out.

Before any of Fenton's friends could even think about shutting them down Dash shut them down by breaking one of their noses.

A few days later he sat with Foley, Manson, and Valerie at lunch. They were surprised and asked him what he was doing there while his friends acted appalled but Dash didn't reply and just put his head down on the table. It wasn't until near the end of lunch that Dash finally spoke.

"I'm sorry... I'll try to be better... for Fenton."

This surprised all of them. Even Dash but what surprised everybody even more was when he started to cry. In the end it was Foley who came over and put his hand on Dash's shoulder.

Nothing was said, but it was enough to comfort Dash and leave him with more questions.

Why weren't they the one's crying? Their best friend had died and they were comforting him? This was bullshit! He didn't even like Fenton!

Right?

It was later that year when Casper High went to Gotham City for a football game against Gotham University. The game was going well until half-time when Star approached them while they were on time out.

"Um... hey guys not to totally like throw off the groove or anything but... isn't that Danny?"

Every member of the gootball team and the cheerleading squad turned to where Star pointed and Dash's eyes locked onto a familiar black haired, blue eyed kid in an expensive uniform. Dash had a split second thought of 'There's no fuckin way that's Fenton. Maybe a look alike?'

But then the kid shrank down slightly between two other teens one with curtained black hair and one with darker skin and Dash knew.

Dash threw himself towards the fence, climbing over the fence and onto the bleachers as Danny held up his hands and stood up quickly. He was pale and anxious, the two teens with him looking ready to fight as Dash grabbed him by teh front of the shirt in front of his whole school.

"WHAT THE FUCK, FENTON?!"

"D-Dash! I can explain, I-"

Danny started rambling out a frantic and bullshit excuse but Dash was just hearing static, ignoring the two teens next to them telling him to put Danny down. Dash then hugged him with a pissed off growl while Danny went stiff.

"We thought you fuckin' died, Man. What the hell..." He whimpered, tears burning his eyes as Danny relaxed and after a moment hugged Dash back.

"Sorry, Dash."

Dash was about to yell at him more when he heard Mr. Lancer shout out.

"TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD, WHAT IS HAPPENING, BAXTER?!" Dash let Danny go and gestured for the teacher to see which was when Dash heard his teacher actually swear for the first time ever. "What the fuck?"

"H-Hi, Mr. Lancer..." Was all Danny could say as an awkward reply.

#dp x dc prompt #Not technically meant to be Swagger Bishie but you do you #Dash is a softie whether he likes it or not #Let Mr. Lancer say fuck #out of everybody he deserves to say it at least once #my prompts

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comfortless · 1 year ago

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write swagger. anything for swagger. anything. i’ll take a crumb, I’ll take medic x swagger i’ll take any overdone trope give me something for this man!!!! i love u and your writing sm syl i’m sorry this isn’t a köni request but..

Spin Cycle

Roland “Swagger” Kaminski x mercenary fem!reader

CONTENT / WARNINGS: 18+ minors do not interact! violence, enemies -> lovers, implications of sex (no actual smut), swagger points a gun at your head sorry, reader may have a gun kink.

i hate(love) you, lele!! i listened to this guys voice lines so many times they’re just embedded in my brain at this point. lil rushed & not proofread, so there may be some mistakes, sorry!

wc: 3k

Cold. Wet.

This isn't the weather for a battle. This isn't a night to die. But some lack taste in the intricacies of being victimized, and as her sight settles on the enemy maneuvering through the war torn warehouse, she realizes he certainly doesn't have a preference in which way he's ripped apart. The mask covering his face tells her everything she needs to know, he's dead already, hiding beneath an ugly cover to conceal his identity; an unknown, evil thing in her eyes. She would be doing him a favor. Mercy for the man marching around wearing a face not his own.

She slowly positions her pistol, quietly aiming as her finger brushes the trigger. Once, to prepare herself for more blood on her hands. Twice, to make peace with his creator in his stead— he wouldn't have the time nor the delicate nature for it. Thrice, because she likes the feel of the cold metal against her fingertip; it grounds her, tethers her to the reality of what she’s here to do. Lucky numbers be damned, it was all for the thrill of it.

She pulls the trigger and the bullet rips from the barrel as she bites her lip.

To her chagrin, it buries itself in the wall behind her target. To her relief, it definitely struck. The man buckles to the dirtied floor with a groan, gloved hands reaching out to apply pressure to the gash in his calf. It's not enough to kill, they both knew it, but it would put the buck down long enough for her to reload and fire a shot right into his brain. She wonders if she could tell what his face actually looked like when his mask was blown off and gray matter spackled the floor behind him.

"Knew you were in here, you slimy bastard."

The voice pulls her from her thoughts, and if she were forced to have any sort of virtue left she could be honest and embrace the fact she isn't the most coordinated mercenary out there. Her pistol clatters to the floor. She quickly slips further into the dark, not bothering with her lost weapon for the time being as she positions herself behind a crate to hide.

"Your aim is shit. Your hands must be shaking."

The man's voice continues to rasp. He's taunting her, wants to lure her out. There's something playful about his voice that sends a swell of unease from her chest to the pit of her stomach. The man had just been shot, and that surge of confidence couldn't stem from a wounded man unless he had some sort of a plan. She's been here so many times with so many different flavors of prey that the warning signs aren't lost on her.

She swears she hears the click of him replacing his magazine, the static of his radio, the sound of ripped fabric and a lightening quick application of a makeshift tourniquet. The thought that the gunfire gave out her position crosses her mind.

"Come out, fucking coward."

She's been here so many times, in the dead of night, playing this one-sided game of cat and mouse. She's seen blood, felt the sting of a bullet carving it's way through her, and she's never been afraid. Not until tonight.

This isn't a night to die, yet she's pissed off the fucking grim reaper.

A church bell rings out in the distance, some small mercy. It plants the seed of an idea and she follows the path her mind carves with her hand grasping for a knife at her belt. The knife rips through the quiet air of the warehouse, coming to a clatter some three meters behind him after she tosses it. The man takes the bait, fires several shots in the direction of the noise as she quietly finds her escape. Delivered from death by the heavenly portal of a broken window.

But when it comes to the intricacies of being victimized, it's very rare that things play out so simply. Hunting is a messy task, and one slip up can so quickly prove that prey often have fangs, too.

Her target, some Polish elite soldier, Roland Kaminski, isn't a buck at all. Bucks are easy, they're skittish and stupid. You fire off a shot at one of them, they buckle or prance back into the plush foliage of the forest for cover. When thundering footsteps can be heard in the dark, just past the safety of the broken window, she realises she's not dealing with another deer. Shes got a frenzied boar at her heels.

She's defenseless, her arms scattered in the darkness of the warehouse the boar is charging from, and she finds she lacks the will to break her ankle jumping down onto the pavement below. This is the line where the hunt becomes a proper fight. Her pulse beats like the thunder tearing apart the sky above her, every muscle in her body pulled tight like a spring waiting to maul her impending threat.

The fight never comes.

One moment, he's charging through the wreckage inside like a behemoth with a taste for human flesh, and the next he's simply staring at her while he's shrouded by the dark. It's almost comical, really, her thoughts flood with pictures of horror mascots as she teeters on the windowsill, staring right back into the wide, dark eyes of his mask. They remain in a stasis for a moment, both breathing shallow, both watching the other. Then, he does something that surprises her. Surprises and infuriates her.

He pulls his radio up to his mask, breathes out a heavy sigh as the sound of static cuts through this pair's silence. The grim reaper has the audacity to pretend his frustration over arches her own, and she's gritting her teeth wondering how likely it was she could free his esophagus from the column of his neck with her mouth alone.

She feels his gaze rove over her, lingering along the empty holster at her hip and the garter on her thigh.

"Target's down."

He's lying to his team, lying because he pities her, and she can't think of a thing more insulting. A mercenary is no different than a prostitute, money for flesh, pain or pleasure. She's aware of it, she's seen her fellow mercs gunned down without a second thought from their enemies. She's heard the men in her company boast of ravaging paid women without thought. For some time, she's considered they may all be beasts, but the grim reaper is sparing her. Sparing her, because he doesn't see her as a threat at all. A defenseless woman clinging to a broken window like it's the only tether she has to the world at all. He's no boar, no blood-stained reaper, just a person. He doesn't see her as pounds of flesh to march into battle before him. She sees humanity, and he sees an insect unworthy of his bullet.

"I tried to kill you," she breathes out, enunciates each word careful and slow as she tries to get a read on him, praying her assumption isn't true. There's the creaking of broken glass beneath the toes of her boots as she pivots herself to fully face him, standing in the window with the backdrop of a dark sky threatening violence. The man shrugs his broad shoulders, turns away, as though nothing has even happened. Her stare drifts to the tourniquet on his calf, and it dawns on her that he isn't even limping.

"I wouldn't even need a minute with you." He sounds bored. The pity stung enough. She wasn't just a hapless rabbit in his eyes, she was a gnat. A nuisance to top it all off. "Who are you working for?"

She falls silent, teetering on the ledge of the windowsill in silent debate. The jump would end in injury, but the darkened sky and the rain could cover her. There’s a building less than half a mile away and if she just made it there then—

“Answer.” Roland’s gruff voice sounds out in the quiet warehouse again, and she hazards a glance up just in time to catch those dead eyes of his peering at her from over his shoulder.

“I don’t know.”

“No?”

“I don’t have a name.”

Roland merely huffs at that, rolls his shoulders a little. He’s confident, a bit too arrogant for a man that’s been shot. She may have seen a boar, and he may have seen an ange, because he has the audacity to give her a comforting pat on the shoulder with a gentle swipe of his thumb along her neck.

Tells her, “Get lost.”

Follows it up with, “Let us never meet again.”

She doesn’t die on this frigid, rainy night, but a part of her is lost with him. Lost with a man that looks at her as though she had tiny angel’s wing, buzzing at her back. Lost with a man who’s entire existence is an enigma to her. Shoot to kill, and she hadn’t. Shoot to kill and not ever would she again, not to him, not to the man who gave her mercy when she deserved none.

— — —

She finds herself working alongside the Polish GROM. Realistically, she had returned sopping wet to her shabby hotel and spent hours researching how to work her way in. She doesn’t know why, but she’s found herself enthralled in a shadow, worshipping him in her own way. All for a chance to see her should-be reaper. And she’s no elite, can barely keep her trigger finger steady, but supplementing for a fallen soldier is the standard and she’s got enough falsified experience under her belt to look the part of a proper gunman.

It pays enough to keep her afloat until the next thing piques her interest or her contract ends, whichever comes first. Her room is simple, a barren mattress and dark walls, a concrete floor. It doesn’t feel homey, but no place ever does nowadays. Small blessings are found in the fact she doesn’t have to share the space, it’s hers and hers alone.

She spends her first few hours inspecting the place for bugs, then takes to staring up at the ceiling, listless, because what the hell had made her so impulsive? Roland could have already had his head blown clean off by anyone else by now. Did she even want to see him? To choke him with his own words or thank him for his kindness?

All of this uprooting driven by impulsivity for a man who told her not to meet him again and yet she’s here, walking about the compound like she truly belongs.

She should have cut her hair, tried to make herself look different from the trembling mouse on the ledge that night, but a part of her wants him to see her. Recognize her, bring him down from that gilded throne of his where women like her are just nuisances instead of a proper challenge.

Only, she’s not a challenge. Not at all, because the second she meets him in the stairwell her mind starts swimming and all she can do is stare. He looks a bit tired, likely having just returned from some dreadful mission, even wearing all black he’s covered in sprays of dust, the denim of his trousers painted darker in some places, blood.

“Ja jebię.”

He hadn’t forgotten.

His breath sounds shaky, and she’s not sure if it’s because the gas mask in its proper place or if he’s actually surprised, startled. If anything could shake him down from his pedestal she imagined meeting the woman who tried to kill him once again would do it.

“How’s your leg?”

“Better than your aim, pizda.”

She imagines that he would probably like nothing better than to put a bullet through her right then. The man merely laughs, something breathy and low. She’s surprised him, probably both startled and impressed that she even had the balls to face him again. She likes that, likes that little laugh, that his voice isn’t angry, that he’s playing with fire just as much as she is.

“What are you doing here?”

“Contract,” she states simply, not bothering to hide the way her gaze rakes over his body in the yellow haze of fluorescent lighting. “Just a few months, filling in a gap.”

He mutters something under his breath, a string of Polish and French that she doesn’t quite catch. She knows that he knows she’s infatuated, taking to follow after a wild coyote like a house pet.

It’s a dirty word, infatuated; dangerous in a way that scares her more than facing down the barrel of a gun.

Roland takes a step towards her, brushes her hair from her face with a touch too rough and leans in close to look at her, inspect her as though she’s not even really here, some figment of his vile imagination. She just… lets him. Despite her better judgement she lets him grip at her face like she’s nothing but putty in his hands.

“Here to kill me?” He asks his question as he retreats from her and drops his hands to his sides, staring at her as though she’s not an implant in his force, but an implant on the planet itself.

“Not this time.”

He gives her a tilt of the head and a grunt in response before brushing past in a hurry.

— — —

The following morning, she wakes to several rapid knocks at her door. Sounding just impatient enough to pull her from her sleep with her heart fluttering like a small bird in her rib cage. She readily hops out of bed and dresses before turning the knob to reveal something she didn’t expect— Roland. It’s the first times she’s seen him without his gas mask, but she recognizes him immediately. He’s more handsome when he doesn’t look the part of a famished buzzard seeking out carrion.

“Kaminski.”

“Swagger,” he corrects and she can’t help but laugh at the usage of his callsign. She wants to know how he got stuck with that, something so embarrassing it makes him sound as though he’s some teenage boy desperate to fit in or perhaps even a pirate, not the man she sees before her.

“We aren’t on the field.”

“Today we will pretend.”

He grabs her arm in the very same boorish way he had grabbed at her face just yesterday, and leads her down an empty hallway in silence. Each step seems to echo louder than the last. She wonders for half a moment if he does intend to kill her, hazards a look up at him expecting to see some flame of gruesome determination in his eyes only to be met with a calmness that makes her reconsider.

Today isn’t a day to die, either, it seemed.

He leads her to a room of bulletproof glass and well-placed targets. Pulls his gun from his holster after inspecting that she hadn’t thought to bring her own. She feels silly when his touch goes to prod at her hip, dips along the waistband of her trousers to seek out a weapon that just isn’t there. She’s ill-prepared and now her face feels hot all while Roland didn’t seem to have so much as a care.

“I’ll teach you to shoot,” he huffs as he steps behind her and places his gun in her hands, an ugly thing she recognizes to be a SIG P226. The metal feels cold and heavy in her hands, but she handles it well enough. It doesn’t particularly help that one of his arms curls around her middle to keep her steady. It’s even worse that one hand remains splayed over hers as she holds the gun.

Shooting when you’re in a desperate situation is difficult enough. The thought that death could be approaching doesn’t keep most grounded, not her at least. It makes her shaky. This is far worse. The man is so close she can smell him, gunpowder and something pungent and clean like mint. She feels his warmth cover her back, his fingers digging a bit into her side.

“I’m ready.”

He grunts in response, maneuvering her a bit closer to a small window carved out in the glass.

“Then shoot.”

So, she does. She misses, of course, and she feels even more silly when he mutters something into her shoulder and deliberately moves and angles her arm properly. The only thing good is that the gun’s recoil is soft, because if she were pushed any further against him she may very well melt down into putty.

Again and again she takes aim and fires at the brightly colored target through the window. After what feels like hours she’s finally hit some place that makes Roland give her an appreciative pat to her tummy.

“I’m improving.” She feigns his confidence, puffing out her chest a little in pride.

“Are you?”

He steals the gun from her hand and draws away to face her properly. There’s a tension she can’t place, something strange in the flicker of his eye.

“You saw—“

Her words are cut off when the man tackles her to the floor, covering her entirely as he pins her from either side. A sharp intake of oxygen is stolen as her spine tingles in pain from the sudden force. She yelps, he laughs, and none of it is funny because he’s still holding a loaded fucking gun. Only, worse, when he presses the muzzle against her cheek and uses his free hand to fix her wrists to the cold floor beneath her.

He tuts at her when she doesn’t try to fight him off, only looks up at him with wide-eyes and parted lips, a face too warm to only depict fear. If he didn’t know before, he knows now. She catches a mischievous glimmer in his eyes right before she tilts her head to kiss the cold steel clutched tightly in his fingers.

Roland stiffens above her for a moment, every muscle in his body pulled taut, jaw clenched and eyes fluttering.

“Not pizda,” he whispers as he clicks the safety back on and shifts to holster the weapon. “You are like a…”

“Ange?”

“Non,” he laughs. “Aniołku.”

If she didn’t know before, she knows now.

— — —

Any training session is spent with Roland.

Every mission they’re tethered to one another.

Any free time she finds yourself having is spent with him, even seeking him out herself just as often as he comes pounding at her door.

It feels both natural and absurd, sharing meals with the man she almost murdered, covering him as he covers her, both finding themselves less and less willing to be on their own as the days pass by. The progression just doesn’t halt, a train plowing off track, the man has his blunt talons curled into her and she just doesn’t have the sense to beat him back because she knows she’s got her teeth embedded just as deeply into him.

It doesn’t even come as a surprise when she starts her mornings peeling herself away from him, still sleeping peacefully in her bed. His room lacks taste— too barren, too bogged down with well-oiled metal and violence. She’s spruced hers up in the free time she has with small items, things she can pack up and carry with her to whichever side she finds herself pulled to next.

The thing she keeps most sacred, however, is a little photograph of him, one he had insisted on her keeping on the bedside table, despite being in flesh, wrapped tightly around her each and every night.

She picks it up, turns it over in her hands a few times before the weight of a heavy hand splays itself out across her middle, languidly tugging her back down.

“Stay,” he murmurs, someplace lost between dreaming and waking.

“Just for a bit,” she whispers in reply, nestling close, curling against his chest.

“Forever, aniołku.”

With a soft inhale, she falls back against him in a tangle of limbs and warmth, a part of her lost to the fantasy of permanence.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

ange: angel (French)

Ja jebię: fuck me

pizda: cunt

non: no (French)

aniołku: angel

#cod fanfiction #mw3 fanfic #roland kaminski #roland swagger kaminski #cod swagger #Roland Kaminski x reader #swagger x reader #i hate this guys name my god #cod x reader #cod x you

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dutiful-wildcraft · 6 months ago

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Strange Candy

After a strange encounter. A chubby witch must now figure out how to escape the interest of 3 very dangerous demons.

Fat! Original Female Character/Roland "Swagger" Kaminski/Nikto/Sebastian Krueger

Tags: enemies to lovers, monster au, blood, gore, masturbation, liberal use of italics, soul mates elements, chubby oc, stalking, multi-parts

(This is a self indulgent project that got a little out of hand, and the first semi-serious piece I've posted, so polite critique is welcome!)

Banner by @/cafekitsune

Roland “Swagger” Kaminski hardly read over the document before whipping his signature down and sliding it back haphazardly to his superior. The man had simply rolled his eyes before urging him to actually read over the document before departure. Swagger couldn’t have cared less.

The contract was for the United States. Some bullshit intel regarding the smuggling of volatile chemicals. Orders were simple: seek, and destroy if appropriate. Half of their money up front, the other half when the job was finished. Not that Swagger cared about the money, none of the team did, they all had more of it than they knew what to do with. No, most of them had joined the private military group for their own…peculiarities.

Being an untethered demon came with its own challenges, but Swagger was tenacious if nothing else. Had always known exactly where he needed to be, and when he needed to be there. Confident that all these twists and turns would lead him to his Chosen. To sate him when the time was right.

Whether he would keep them or crush their bones between his jaws was still yet to be determined. Either way his troubles would be over.

He’d had the same dreams since he was a wee beast. Loud music and blinding strobe lights. Smoke rolling languidly from ornate silver sensors. A witch of his own, hiding somewhere in the world.

As he strutted across the tarmac he couldn't keep the shit eating grin off his face, there was a humming beneath his flesh, a simmering excitement beginning to bubble its way up his throat. And as they drew closer, Swagger knew in his little black heart that his time had finally come.

It had taken a few days of ground work before they'd gotten a reliable mark. As they would come to find out, one of the city's most popular nightclubs also posed as a front for illegal smuggling.

Very creative, Swagger huffed amusedly from his position. Feet kicking in the rafters as he watched the bodies writhe to the beat below him. He had been quick to slink inside and let his compatriots handle the intricacies, having hardly paid attention to the briefing before sauntering off in the opposite direction. The other two would do perfectly fine on their own with the petty human mission. He had other business to attend to.

He scanned the crowd through the round lenses of his gas mask. The head piece having become an unfortunate necessity over the last few years. The longer he'd gone without his Chosen, the more controlling himself had become…troublesome. Demons were insatiable creatures to begin with, requiring hardy meals of flesh and bone and blood that swirled through the living like the sweetest nectar. The longer he’d continued untethered, the more voracious his appetite became. Frequent contracts kept him placated enough, but holding in his strength and shape, especially when hunger clawed at his belly, made him unsuitable for more delicate operations.

He wrinkled his nose against the onslaught of sheer stink in the room. Sweat and weed, and far too many humans drenched in cheap cologne. Making it nearly impossible to sift through the cocktail of what could be human or Other.

Almost.

A scent wafts through the round vents of his mask, rich and sugary. Chocolate over cherries that was nearly lost among the rest. He stands, immediately alert, desperately searching for the source. Blinding lights dance across the glass of his lenses, music pounds, and Swagger finds himself dizzy with deja vu of it.

Here, here, here. They were here.

His body begins to tremble, sickly acid pooling in his mouth like some eager slobbering mutt. He slinks through the rafters, scanning body after body. His black little heart seizing in his chest when his eyes zero in on her.

His Chosen.

She gyrates gracefully to the music. All long ginger waves and cherry painted lips. Multicolored lights dancing over the black velvet minidress that hugged gorgeous full breasts and a soft belly, the exertion of the night painting her cheeks and neck with a hot flush.

She was perfect. Looking so warm and soft and fucking luxurious.

He could feel the tether rip through his chest, slamming his heart against the cage of his ribs as he drank her in. The once thin thread he had felt before now twisting and growing into a heavy rope, curling around his heart, suffocating him with the weight of its abundance.

A feral grin splits across his face as he watches it slam into her too. She stumbles, brows knitted with a palm against her sweaty chest. She whirls in confusion, trying to find the source in the undulating crowd.

I’ve got you now -

An explosion shakes the building, followed by the shrill bleating of alarms and pouring emergency sprinklers. The dance floor scattering in a flurry of frantic screams and flailing limbs. And in the split second his eyes tore away from her, she was gone. Lost in the sea of falling ceiling and fleeing bodies.

No, no, no.

He’d just found her! He couldn’t lose her now! Red hot anger rolls through him like a tidal wave. Roiling smoke spilling out from underneath his mask with the heat of it.

His comms crackle to life.

“They destroyed it themselves. Evac immediately.” comes a familiar german accent, Krueger, his unofficial lead for the operation. Always so fucking calm.

He snarls, dropping from the high rafters with a thud, moving lightening fast to snag a straggler in the panic. Lifting them clean off the ground, and slamming them bodily onto the floor. He pins them there, using his weight to hold down their frenzied thrashing. Stupid, clumsy, humans.

Roland yanks up the edge of his mask, lips twisted into a snarl, noxious fumes rolling out in waves from between his teeth. He opens his mouth, tongue lolling as he lets the acid there spill messily onto the flesh below him, relishing in the sizzle and burn as it melts through skin and muscle. The writhing stops soon after, and with little fanfare he plunges his fingers into now hollow sockets, snapping off pieces of blood soaked skull to devour like a gruesome party tray.

“Kaminski, now” comes another voice, very russian and very annoyed.

He sits up finally, scrubbing blood off the scruff of his chin. The familiar weight of his tether tugging at his chest. His witch was fine, still firmly connected to him, he could find her again soon enough. He stares, just a bit dazed at the flames roaring around him, the headless corpse beneath him still spilling blood lazily over beer soaked laminate. Perhaps he had overreacted.

He clears his throat, yanks his mask back down and dusts himself off. Pocketing the loose teeth he’d saved into his tac vest for a little snack later. With a tired sigh he trots outside as his teammates' annoyed tone buzzes in his ear once more.

What the fuck?

Ruby stands annoyed amongst the crowd of onlookers. Watching with healthy suspicion as the nightclub she favored most roared with flames.

Tonight was supposed to be her little bi-weekly ritual. Self care and all that. Get dolled up and take herself out for something fun. Dance her heart out, and maybe a little more if something pretty came sniffing. Dousing herself in magic was never a smart thing to do given her heritage, and she rarely bothered with any magic that changed her appearance, but she had really put in effort this evening. Full hair and skin routine, silky sweet lotions rubbed into her skin. All on top of the little black dress and blood red color painted onto her lips.

All of which had been sorely ruined when falling strobe lights nearly crushed her, emergency sprinklers soaking her to the bone. Now she stood like a soaked rat in the crowd of onlookers, hair frizzy and wet heels sliding uncomfortably, thankful for waterproof mascara at the least.

Something strange was afoot, and she wasn't about to chance a little charm to wick the water away, less even that draw something more unsavory to her.

Something had struck her on the dance floor. She could still feel it now, not painful, but tight, like a thread around her heart. The strange weight still clinging to her ribs was proof enough that something was certainly wrong. She had hardly had time to look at the faces around her before the alarms blared. Was this something cosmic? A curse?

She pondered her dreams. The same visions had been repeating for weeks now, neon lights, flames. Clairvoyance was not her specialty. Visions had never plagued her, nor did she seek them out. She had been taught early that the future was not finite, lines shift and flutter. She had deemed the art useless long ago, too unpredictable, and certainly not because the art had always been like sand through her fingers. What was the fun in always knowing anyway?

In hindsight it should have been obvious. That maybe the dreams hadn't just been dreams after all, but warnings… like she was supposed to just know that! Instead she had stubbornly fixed herself a sleepy time tea and ignored them without a second thought. A girl’s gotta get her beauty rest after all.

She had been in adamant danger. Maybe the weird feeling in her chest was another side effect? A more physical warning to urge her away? A little too late, she groused inwardly.

Another small explosion rocked the concrete below her, snapping her from her thoughts.

She scanned her surroundings again, her eyes falling to a trio of men in the distance. All clothed in masks and oddly tactical gear for just firefighters. She had caught a few murmurings around her. Something about a chemical fire and judging by the masks, that at least checked out? She slipped through the crowd, eyes pinned to the men. Determined to at least get a practical explanation for her paranoia.

She approaches with purpose. Heels in hand as she marches up to one of the men. Barefoot and lacking a fuck to give she asks whats going on, having learned a long time ago that if you say anything with enough confidence most people would just yield. She stares at the nearest one, his face nothing more than a black void behind a thinly netted veil. She no more than gets the words out before he is cutting her off.

“Keep back” he replies in a low german accent, holding a hand up to her in mild warning.

She huffs, feeling another set of eyes on her she spares a glance to one of the others, a bulkier man, with icy blue eyes surrounded in black fabric. There is something off about how they glow in darkness, and Ruby quickly averts her gaze, rolling her shoulders before she tries again, “What happ-”

“Confidential” he barks this time, the timber of it hitting her just so over the roar of flames. It sounded distinctly different from the calm warning he’d given her moments prior, like he'd pushed it right into her head.

She should leave. Instead, she pivots her legs, taking on a power stance as she crosses her arms. Lips pressed into a fine line, fully prepared to be annoying until she spots the third man coming toward them.

He approaches with purpose, flames dancing in the dark lenses of his gas mask. She cant see his eyes, but an unease washes over her, blood turning to ice. Adrenaline preparing her to fight or flee.

Her chest tightens, and in a split decision she does just that, tucking tail with as much dignity as possible and turning on a heel. He was certainly coming as backup, and the last thing she needed was to be the asshat on the news who started beef with the emergency crew.

Maybe she was just shaken up, it isn't everyday that you get nearly blown up. She'd survived, despite ignoring her dream’s incessant warnings. And maybe the tightness in her chest and belly was just gas. A serious case of the bubble guts after a truly dangerous encounter. She sighs, settling on taking the long way home and having a peppermint tea for safe measure.

–

Judge greets her as Ruby swings open the door to her dusty loft apartment. The big shaggy hound stepping carefully out of his nest on the couch, old bones creaking with a drawn out stretch. He trots over to her, big shaggy tail thwapping hard enough against her side table to make her keys jingle. She smiles at the old wolfhound, scrubbing her nails through the wirey fur of his chin. He schmoozes in closer, resting his big head against her belly as he leans on her bodily. She'd only been gone a few hours but the old man always acts as if it'd been days.

Exhausted from the night,she slides down her door and onto the floor. Wincing at the squelch of her soaked dress as her ass hit the hardwood.

She meets Judge's big brown eyes and sighs. “I think we got a problem buddy” she tells the gentle giant, who on cue begins giving her a once over, snuffling seriously at her ears and clothes.

Would he even be able to tell if something was off? Could familiars even smell curses? He continues his inspection, a steady rhythm of careful sniffing as he noses down her legs.

“What's the verdict buddy? Am I going to turn into a toad? Have perpetually burnt toast?”

He finishes with a final snuffle to her face, huffing out a stinky breath, forceful enough to blow her hair from her face. With a tired yawn he lays down over legs, his large body hanging off of her at an obviously uncomfortable angle.

If Judge wasn't bothered, It can't be that bad, right?

And yet….

She closes her eyes, taking deep breaths to center herself. She tries to see it. This pesky thing attached to her, and it appears. Nebulous in the ether of her mind, a wispy red thread stretching out from her and into the infinite darkness. She concentrates on it, reaches out to grasp it with both hands and yanks, like ripping off a band-aid.

It doesn't budge, only briefly pulling taught like a fishing line before falling slack again, floating easily in a nonexistent breeze.

She tries again, twisting her fingers through it, tugging it this way and that. Tries to pull the string apart between her fingers. It stretches and pulls, but gives no indication of damage.

Well shit.

Roland perches on a building ledge across the street, watching her through the large windows of her run down apartment. It's homely, with large bookshelves lining one wall, filled to the brim with old worn out tomes who couldn't quite make out the titles of. A myriad of plants hang from her high ceilings and fire escape. She’d even hung soft linen curtains and warm strings of tea lights throughout her space. Giving it a soft orangey glow.

He wasn't going to follow her quite so soon. But when the silly witch toyed with their tether like that, she was begging him to come find her.

Nosey thing wasn't she? He'd lit up like a christmas tree when he heard her speak, stubborn confidence in a soft southern drawl as she'd sassed Krueger. He restrained himself as best as he could before approaching, giddy to get a better look at her. Only for the little witch to flee. Which was fair enough.

His attention is pulled again when she comes shuffling back in, faced washed and now clad in an oversized t shirt and sweatpants. Grabbing a leash from the side table she swings her way back out the door, oversized hound in tow.

Leaving again so soon? He'd been fully prepared to wait until she slept. Slink into her apartment and simply snag her there. She was either very brave or very stupid. Either way she would be under his wing soon, warm and protected.

He tails her from the rooftops, ogling the sway of her hips as she trails behind her mutt. Waiting patiently as the dog stopped every few feet to sniff a trash can or street corner.

Swagger waits, anticipating her route and slinking down into the alley near her complex. Eager to see her close up. As anticipated she passes through, eyes scanning the darkness where he lays shrouded in shadows.

However, the mutt pauses, sniffing at the air before standing stone still, a fine line of hair splitting up his back as his hackles raise, growling into the shadows. He would have preferred not to scare her first but no matter.

He saunters out of the darkness, hands in his pockets as if this were a serendipitous reunion. She freezes, grasping the little bejeweled can of pepper spray tighter in her free hand. She stares at him wide eyed as he makes a careful approach, her eyes flickering briefly to lead attached to her first line of security.

“Easy, ma petite. I'm not going to hurt you” he coos softly. Pausing a safe distance away from the slobbering beast standing between him and his witch. She'd be smart to let it go, however if the dog bit him, he would most certainly be biting back. Dog isn't the worst thing he's eaten over the years.

“Look, I'm sorry about earlier, if this is some kind of interrogation tactic, I can't help you. I don't know anything about that club thing” she says slowly, taking a careful step away from him, one he follows immediately with his own.

He likes hearing her talk. Her voice is low and soft with a drawl he's only really heard in movies. It's endearing in a way.

“Not here about that.” he says simply, taking another step closer.

Something unreadable flickers behind her eyes and he watches as her pretty plush lip wobble, eyes going misty.

“No need for tears, witchling” he reminds her softly. Even though she looked so pretty with tears in her eyes. His cock gives an interested twitch at the thought of licking those tears from her cheeks, tasting the salt of her on his tongue.

“Witchling?” she croaks, brows furrowed in confusion. Her soft body trembling as she tugs her pet closer to her side.

Swagger cocks his head. Did she not know? He thought it was odd to see her on her own like this, had the great covens truly left their kindred to the wolves?

His poor thing, she was lucky she was his chosen, she'd be nothing but blood on the pavement if any other demon had happened upon her first.

“Yes princesse, it's in your blood. I can show you” he offers lightly “Just need to come with me.” he takes another step forward, raising his arms in mock surrender.

She continues to sniffle, eyes flickering back and forth in thought before she looks at him again.

And it happens all at once, her fear stricken face shifting to one of pure malice.

“I'm not going anywhere” she hisses.

He barely notices the flick of her wrist before the concrete rattles below him. No time to dodge away as jagged cement teeth emerge from the earth below him. A bastardized carnivorous plant made of stone and rebar.

He howls as misshapen teeth split though muscles and bone. A sickening squelch echoing through the alley as his arm is ripped messily from the shoulder. The concrete monstrosity crunching audibly before sinking back into the sidewalk with its bloody prize. He clutches the bleeding stump. Stumbling and whirling to get his eyes back on his witch.

Gone, not even the sound of her footsteps. The sly shit hadn't wasted a second. He should be angry, furious at the witches' deception.

Yet he stands there panting. Listening to the residual aura of her power fizzle and crack in the air around him like lightning. He feels elated. The static of old magic buzzing beneath his skin, raising his hair on end as what blood he has left flows between his thighs.

He curses, clumsily propping himself up against the alley wall, using his good arm to fish his cock out from his tac gear. Not only was she gorgeous, but she was clever, powerful.

He pumps himself lazily with blood soaked fingers. Groaning as he gives himself a squeeze. Swiping a thumb through the copious precum weeping from his tip and dragging his slick over the quickly drying tack of blood on his length.

He's dizzy with it, whole body pulsing with pain and pleasure and the electric buzz of her still left the air.

He pumps in earnest now, lewd slick sounds fill the alley as he pants like a dog. Fucking his fist to the thought of his pretty thing running from him. Tits bouncing and sweat slick as he chases her through back alley streets.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He spills into his hand with a choked sound. Pulling spend down his blood soaked cock in lazy strokes until it turns a pretty pink.

He remains there for a moment, catching his breath as he grows soft and the adrenaline fades. Leaving nothing but the radiating pain in his shoulder and the reality that he is literally standing around with his dick in his hand.

He tucks himself back in, giving himself a good natured pat over the groin, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

He can't even find it in himself to be mad. Only amused at his witch's clever little show. Oh yes. She would do perfectly, they just had a few wrinkles to iron out.

He winces a bit, the uncomfortable stretching of bones and flesh growing and stitching itself back together, reminding him of his new issue.

A quick meal would speed up the recovery, but it wouldn't go unnoticed by Krueger and Nikto. He pushes himself off of the wall, thinking up his next plan of action.

He already knew where she lived, and even if she ran the tether would bring them back together regardless.

He'd let her rest. Think on her actions.

For now. Dinner was in order.

#wildcraft writing #roland swagger kaminski #nikto cod #sebastian krueger #call of duty #chubby oc #swagger x oc #nikto x oc #krueger x oc #oc: ruby martin #this is completely self indulgent #I hope you guys like it

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sunnysoulzz · 2 years ago

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Swagger oneshot cause I can’t get him off my mind ;)

Warnings: swaggersouls x f!reader, thigh riding

—

It was late, you and Swagger were sitting on the couch watching tv, if you were honest, you weren’t watching the tv at all. Your mind was completely filled with thoughts of the way Swagger would dick you down. You pressed your thighs together, you looked over to Swagger who was staring at the tv. You were cuddling into his side, his arm draped over you. You reached down and placed your hand on his thigh. He looked down at you, meeting your gaze. You stared up at his, your face red and eyes filled with lust, he knew that look all to well. He furrowed his eyebrows before smirking, within seconds you were places on his thigh, the rough material of his jeans pressing into you. “Go on then princess, get yourself off on my leg” his eyes started to fill with arousal as you slowly started to rock yourself on him. The layers between you two didn’t make it easy, it didn’t take long for you to remove your shorts, you were left in just your panties and one of his tshirts. You placed your hands on his shoulders, helping you stabilise yourself as you continued to to press yourself down on his thigh. His hands rested on your hips, his eyes were still staring at the tv but you had his full attention. You bit your lip, suppressing a moan as you moved your hips back and fourth. He moved one of his hands to grab your chin, pulling you in closer to him, “come on sweetheart, let that pretty voice out” he smirked, you could see his erection growing though his pants. It didn’t take long after that, you rocked your hips fast, desperately chasing that high. Swagger was now staring down at the wet spot forming on your panties and his jeans. You came with a loud whine, your legs were weak and shaky, you practically fell forward onto swaggers chest. He held you against, his hands still on your hips, “you think you can help me with the problem you’ve caused me, love?” He looked down at you with a grin, your face grew red again before you reacted down to unbutton his jeans, this was gonna be fun.

I’m back from the dead! This time writing for a dead fandom!! Anyway I’ve fallen head over heals for swaggersouls (honestly most of the misfits) and so I’m probably gonna write more for them, this isn’t my official return YET. But I do hope to start writing again soon <33 love you all ;3

#swaggersouls #swaggersouls x reader #misfits #misfits x reader #gay baby gang #swaggersouls smut #swaggersouls x you #swaggersouls x y/n #swagger x reader

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lonely-night · 2 years ago

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STAR TREK VOYAGER 5.20 “Think Tank”

JANEWAY: Thanks for the help.

KURROS: Consider it a friendly gesture of goodwill in the hopes that Seven will change her mind.

SEVEN: I have not.

KURROS: You are making a fatal mistake. We have already analyzed hundreds of scenarios. Voyager will not survive without our help.

JANEWAY: Your scenarios, not mine.

KURROS: Your confidence is unfounded, Captain. Reconsider. Order Seven of Nine to join us.

#voyagereditmine #voyageredit #janeway x seven #j7 #star trek voyager #VOY #istg this scene #janeway is like 'she said no'#the swagger <3333 #and the last gif #this whole gifset being made its because of that scene #WHAT WAS THAT LOOK #why she looks like she's gonna pounce on janeway right there #LADIES PLEASE YOU ARE ON THE BRIDGE #(thinking about the acting choices being made in this scene only is ksdgjfkjsdhk)

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bad268 · 2 years ago

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Can I request some fluff with SwaggerSouls? There's a severe lack of content for the man and damn I'm sad about that.

To the Kitchen! (SwaggerSouls X Reader)

Fandom: RPF

Requested: Clearly (I was gonna post this for 420 followers, but I went through and blocked bots...Then the peach said post it Wednesday, so we post it Wednesday!)

Warnings: language (everything I write should be automatic tw language), drugs (marijuana)

Pronouns: None used

W.C. 1906

Summary: Fitz gets a new neighbor who is great at baking cookies, and some special sweets.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^@/Swagger's YouTube profile pic)

I had been living in (hometown) for my whole life, but a spur of the moment decision led to me packing up everything to move to Melbourne. Maybe it was not my best decision since I knew no one, but I could not turn back now.

I found a small apartment in the middle of the city. It was the only one available in the area that I could afford, but it was cute. It was my first day, so I thought the best thing would be to introduce myself to my neighbor. I was on the end of the floor, so I only had one neighbor. I remembered that the best way to make friends was to make food, and I happen to know how to make some of the best cookies anyone's ever had.

I made a small batch to bring over to them since I did not know how many lived there, and if they needed more, I could always bring them more. I set them all on a paper plate and took them over to their door. When I knocked on the door, it sounded like five guys cheered, and my eyes widened. There was no way five people would fit in an apartment as small as mine, but I'm not judging.

After a couple of seconds, one of them opened the door, and he immediately closed the door shouting, "you're not pizza!" I heard a couple of them groan in response.

"But I have cookies?" I replied back, confused. Suddenly, the door opened again. This time, it was a taller guy. "I wanted to introduce myself and bring cookies, but I can leave-"

"No, we like cookies," He cut me off. He gestured for me to come in, and I saw four more guys and a girl. I stayed out in the hall, so he just introduced himself. "I'm Cam, but my friends call me Fitz."

"Interesting, I'm your new neighbor, Y/N. I used to bake a lot back home, so I thought I would make you some cookies, but I realize there might not be enough for everybody," I laughed holding the cookies out for him. He took the plate, and thanked me before I took my leave. "I hope you guys like the cookies. I'm going to head back to my place, but if you want more, just let me know."

"Of course, it was nice to meet you, Y/N," He said, closing the door. I headed back to my apartment, fully ready to chill for the night. I was ready for a night of getting high and binging my favorite show until the early hours of the morning. Maybe I would end up making some special desserts.

Unbeknownst to you, the guys were skeptical. In Fitz's apartment, they were debating if you actually made those cookies. Mason was convinced they were store-bought based on how they looked, but once he tasted them, he was in awe. He was sure a professional baker made those cookies, and he really did not believe you made them. Matt and Toby thought he was crazy, but once they tried the cookies, they were on the same page as Mason.

They broke out into a full debate, and it still wasn't solved when Swagger showed up with the pizza. No one even noticed him walk through the door until he slammed it shut.

"What the hell?" He yelled, setting the pizzas on the counter. "Ooo who bought cookies?"

"Try one," Jay enlarged, passing the plate closer to Swagger.

"Are they poisonous or what?" He asked with a laugh before taking the last one and eating it. "Holy shit, who fucking made those?"

"My new neighbor, what do you-" Fitz started asking, but Swagger was already gone. He was already in the hallway, walking up to your door. Everyone held back for a minute to see what he was going to do. He just started banging on your door. It was so loud, they thought the entire floor would wake up. "Swagger, shut up! You're gonna get me kicked out!"

It took me a few minutes to realize that the loud knocking was at my door. I thought it was coming from the show, but I also could not find it in me to get up from my spot on the floor. I fell off my couch a while ago and could not figure out how to coordinate my limbs enough to stand, so I just shouted, "It's open!"

The door swung open, and in walked a man, shaking something in his hand. He was talking too fast for me to comprehend what he was saying. He was walking around the couch, still speed-talking about something important, but I cut him off, "You're gonna have to talk a lot slower if you want me to understand."

It was then, he looked down, and he must have seen the look on my face looking back at him from the ground because he hesitated before asking, "Are you okay?"

"Just high, but what'd you want?" I responded slowly.

"I need to know where you got these cookies, and where you got your weed cuz holy shit, you are fucked," he laughed.

"Thanks, I made them, and the weed I brought with me from (hometown)," I replied as he came over and laid next to me on the ground. "What're you doing?"

"Getting in the mindset of someone who knows how to bake the best cookies I've ever had," He laughed as he finished off the cookie. "Also, I ate an edible earlier, and it's just now kicking in."

I let out a gasp and turned onto my side to look at him before asking, "Do you wanna make high cookies? I brought a lot of shit from home, and I used to always make high cookies."

"Is it just making cookies while high or weed cookies?" He asked as he also turned to his side, looking directly into my eyes.

"Weed cookies, obviously," I stated with an eye roll. "What do you think I am? An amateur?"

"No, but we better get started before we're in the stratosphere," He laughed, moving to sit up, and then stand. He held his arm out to pull me up, but instead of heading straight to the kitchen, I took a couple of more rips from my bong before offering it to...wait. Who was in my apartment?

"Wait a minute," I said, pulling the bong back. I started laughing uncontrollably, "Who are you?"

"Oh shit, I'm Fitz's friend, Swagger," He laughed before reaching for the bong. This time, I let him take it, thinking his story checked out.

"Alright, as long as you aren't tryna kill me, we'll be good. Now, to the kitchen!"

"What did I say about starting fights you can't finish?" Swagger threatened after I threw a little bit of flour at him at 2:30 AM one night.

"Who said I can't finish this?" I replied, holding the flour container closer to my body. "I think I'm the only one with ammunition."

"You think flour is the only ammo? I have the batter!" He retorted.

"You wouldn't dare waste the precious batter," I gasped in shock.

"Don't tempt me. I will," He joked as he smeared a little bit of the batter on my nose. I gasped, moving to grab more flour.

"Why you little shit-" I was just about to throw the flow when I paused, hearing someone walk into the kitchen. This gave Swagger enough time to fling some batter at me from the whisk, but I reached over and snatched it out of his hand before he could do it again.

"What the hell are you guys doing?" Matt asked as he came into the warzone of a kitchen.

"We're studying to become dentists," I deadpanned as I licked the batter off my nose and Swagger poured the remaining brownie batter into a pan as if nothing happened. "What does it look like we're doing?"

"Making brownies at 2:30 in the morning? But why? We literally have to get up at 6, and you guys are being loud," Matt said. "Do I look like I'm gonna be sober during this 10-hour road trip with you lot? No. I am gonna be higher than a motherfuckin' kite, Matt. If you want one, you better start helping," I explained as I leaned on the counter and licked the batter off the whisk.

"There's no way you'd eat the whole pan," Matt laughed. "Surely, I could have one."

"Hey, I get some!" Swagger complained as he put the brownies in the oven, set the timer, and wiped his hands off with a towel. He came up behind me, hiding his face in my neck. "I helped, so I get some."

"You always get some, baby," I laughed. Matt gagged, jokingly, as he watched our interaction. I spun around in Swagger's arms, whispering to him, "I wanna sleep. What if we make him clean up?" Swagger nodded, leaning into me more. I threw my head back to look at Matt, "If you want some brownies before we leave, start cleaning, and take them out in 22 minutes."

With that, we left him alone in the kitchen as we headed up to our room. Once we got there, we were ready to collapse into bed after showering and changing.

"It is already 4 Swags," I groaned as he came out of the bathroom. He climbed under the covers on his side of the bed and pulled me into his side. I buried my face into his chest as I wined, "I don't want to have to wake up in 2 hours."

He laughed at my childish behavior before kissing the top of my head, "We could watch a movie, and catch some sleep in the van?" "Sleep? In the same car as Mason and Chad? I don't think we're talking about the same car, babe," I chuckled as I pulled back enough to look up at him. "Trust me, I love them, but they are loud as fuck."

"Ah, but you love me more right?" He teased me.

"Only a little bit," I joked back. He let out an offended gasp as he started pushing me away. I laughed at his antics before retracting my statement, "No, I'm kidding babe. If I didn't love you, would I have said, 'I do'?"

"I guess you're forgiven," He sighed as he turned the lights off. His arm was still loosely wrapped around my shoulder but not nearly as tight as it normally is, so I pulled back, pouting at him. He started laughing as he pulled me back down, "I love you too, now go to sleep."

It was silent for a couple of minutes, and I was just about to fall asleep. However, the creak of our bedroom door caused us to shoot up to see Matt, "Pst, guys. Sorry, but I burnt the brownies."

"Goddammit, Matt!" I groaned, throwing my head back into the pillows. "Are you kidding me?"

"It's 4:20, we could make another batch before 6," Swagger suggested as he looked over at his phone.

"Oh, it's 4:20! We have to go make a batch now because it's 4:20!" I replied, suddenly full of energy, as I jumped out of bed, and pulled Swagger back down to the kitchen.

~~~~~

#swaggersouls #swagger souls x reader #swaggersouls x reader #swaggersouls x you #swagger souls x you #swaggersouls x y/n #swagger souls x y/n #misfits #bad268 #ship268 #thing268

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acourtofquestions · 4 months ago

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Rhys is just Aelin without the fire & with the wings

#Rhys #Rhysand #high lord Rhysand #high lord of the Night Court #Aelin #Aelin Ashryver Galathynius #Aelin Galathynius #Aelin of the wildfire #Queen of Terrasen #ACOTAR x TOG #ACOTAR #TOG #I said what I said #they would either be friends or enemies #character paralells #Maasverse #thank you Pinterest fandom inspo #random thought #there’s some paralells #ridiculously beautiful piecing all too telling impossible colored eyes Lucious hair swagger for days great fashion wears all black #knows how to make a statement dark sarcastic humor stubborn passion and pretty poetic love that’s fierce without end #special moments with the stars trauma but a cinnamon roll but could kill you with a glance super powerful can talk their way anywhere too #Queen of the Assassins #King of the Night #besties or else #can you imagine their sarcasm wars #Aelin could probably fly if she tried and I didn’t just say that for the rhyme #she would never get over the batboy nickname and we know he’d use uncle kitty way too much and my personal fav bird boy #oh I love a good crossover #lol Feyre and Rowan though

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penguin--person · 1 year ago

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Oh my god. More swap au at some point, AND a temnova focused fic? I can’t breathe I’m gonna throw up(positive). I need my ao3 invitation IMMEDIATELY. You are like, one of backbones for the PAFL fandom and I thank you greatly for your work. If you get an influx of comments on your fics by some account with a dumbass name involving ”krispy” within 2-4 days, it means I am finally free and can test easy. The past month or so, all my waking thoughts have been about PAFL, and ever since I read some of your fics, they’ve been involved in the unholy amalgamation in my brain. This is like the third “ask” I’ve sent you I’m so sorry I think I’m done now have a good rest of your day/night/whatever time it is, remember to eat and drink water, stay safe n healthy, and don’t overwork yourself! Idk what else to say so yeah lmao I’m so excited to be able to read your fics again

AUWAWAAAAAAAAHWHWAWA!!! WWAWAW!!!! WAWAWHAWWW

THANK U SO MUCH BOSS!!!!WAWAW!!!! thank you so so so much this was a wonderful thing to wake up to!!! do NOT be sorry at all ever for being so nice and kind and cool EVER send as many as you'd like!!!!! and i'll always explode!!! wawawa!!! thank u again!!! teehee!!!

#fave #hehehe #the doodldes are by ferry btw teehee from the reactions to hugs thing #but for me its REACTIONS TO YOUR SWAGGER ASKS!!!!#pafl #looks left . looks right. ok heres a secret. the temnovy fic . its an x reader fic ❤️ n im not sure whether i'll have to rate it 'medium'#or 'explicit' bc . its COOL though i do like it!!! no actual sex happens but dear gord shes gonna do some cocomelon shit to y/n #hope u like my fic where sanya brutally beats up reader btw!!! silly ...#teehee #but!!! thank u again!!!#:3!!!!#nonymous #think this was you..

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skyeconch · 11 months ago

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Y/N : Y’know what? Fuck you!

Swagger : Ha! I already did!

Y/N : . . .

Swagger : and I did it real good 😌

Y/N : . . .

Y/N, grumbled : You did (⸝⸝⸝╸▵╺⸝⸝⸝)

This is Swagger ⬆️

(The left) The 3D Swagger blender made by @/RenderedBread On Twitter or their Tumblr account @/renderedbread

#Cod #Call of duty #Call of duty x reader #Call of duty incorrect quotes #Cod Swagger #Cod Swagger x reader #Cod Swagger x you #Cod Swagger x y/n #Call of duty operator #Call of duty Swagger #Roland Swagger Kaminski #Roland Swagger Kaminski x reader #Roland Swagger Kaminski x you #Roland Kaminski x reader #Roland Kaminski #original : unknown #Original : Tumblr #my works

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saintobio · 5 months ago

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RIDE OR DIE .ᐟ

in a world where horsepower meets heartstrings, and bookstore meet-cutes lead to motorcycle mishaps, you soon realize that opposites do attract in ways that blur the line between fiction and reality.

▞▞ PAIRINGS. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader

▞▞ GENRE. fluff, smut, established relationship, biker boy x book girl au, 18+

▞▞ TAGS. biker!kuna, backpack!reader, profanity, reckless driving, mentions of violence (not to reader), bruises, police, fellatio, cunnilingus, protected, explicit smut, sukuna being a cute bf

▞▞ NOTES. 8.3k word count. my biker!kuna fics are unstoppable atp 😮‍💨 and as an irl writer gf to a biker bf, this is a very self-indulgent fic. got lazy with the smut so i copied bits from my other gojo oneshot. reblogs are highly appreciated <3

▞▞ INSPOS. my fav biker boys on biketok: that10r, dylan.r.one, raven.coop, onyx_r7, senor_torque, blacchornets, aushendrivessafe, tiiidddooo, bongo & takaro 🖤🏍️💨

After dating you for six months, Sukuna realized that nothing in the world could capture your attention like your cherished collection of fictional books—except, of course, him. But before he entered the picture, you were always immersed in solitary bliss at the cafe or library, lost in the intricate worlds of your latest literary fascination to the point where it was almost impossible to pull you out of it.

Yet, it became an unspoken understanding between you both; he respected your need for uninterrupted reading time, allowing you to lose yourself in stories populated by your favorite characters, while in return, you supported his desire for a thrilling experience of riding his bike despite the inherent risks that came with it.

He vividly remembered the first time he saw you while riding his bike through the city. You were crossing the street then, carrying a bag of books you had just bought from Barnes & Noble, and the sight of you in a cute sundress had him completely distracted from the road. So in an attempt to catch your attention, he revved his bike to ‘flex’. But in his effort to impress, he missed the red light and had to brake abruptly, causing him to lose control and drop his bike to the ground.

That was the very first time he had ever dropped his precious R1 after a year of riding it. If it had been his old R7, he wouldn’t have cared as much, but his R1—his expensive, still-on-the-loan, matte black, fully customized R1—hit the pavement along with him. For bikers, these kinds of things hurt.

Now, talk about embarrassing. You even stopped to look at him in concern that day and if only you could see his blushing face behind his helmet. But at least, looking back at your meet-cute, he could tell you that he did, in fact, fall for you. Literally.

And there can’t be anything truer than that.

“Aww, she’s cute,” Choso remarked, gesturing his chin towards you with a teasing grin as they dismounted their bikes at the parking lot. You were there sitting in a cafe with a book on your lap, unaware that you were being conversed about by these two men right outside.

Sukuna jabbed him on the side and motioned for him to stop staring. “Fuck off. She’s mine.”

As Choso lifted his helmet, a group of girls outside the cafe couldn’t help but swoon over the two bikers, whispering and commenting on how hot and attractive they looked. And being the fucker that he was, completely absorbed in the attention from the girls, Choso had momentarily forgotten about Sukuna as he swaggered towards them with a confident smirk, glancing back at his friend and playfully raising his eyebrows.

“You go ahead. I’ll go check out the scenery,” Choso said in his usual mischief, “Unless you want to join me?”

Sukuna, still sporting his helmet, smugly showed him a picture of you as his phone’s home screen. “Sorry, already got my hands full with my princess.”

“Whatever. Tell Y/N I said hi,” Choso replied with a chuckle, before turning his attention back to the admiring group of girls.

You sat in your customary corner of the cafe, near the window, with a barely touched cup of coffee before you. Your attention was still and all riveted to the pages of your current book, remaining oblivious to the world around you as it looked like you were just getting to the good part of the storyline. Sukuna decided it would be a charming surprise to approach you as he entered the cafe, his arrival catching the eye of another group of girls who noticed him immediately, but he ignored their glances when he made his way towards your small area.

In his usual black leather jacket, Sukuna pulled a chair backward and straddled it, casually resting his arms on the backrest. With both legs on either side, he settled in, observing you intently behind his black helmet. A faint smirk played on his lips as he quietly watched you absorbed in your reading, and for now, he said nothing and enjoyed the moment silently.

He gave it a minute or so for you to realize.

5… 4… 3… 2… “L-Lovey?” By the time you finally noticed his presence, you saw your widened eyes at his reflective visor when you looked up at him.

“Hey, baby girl.” Sukuna pushed the button to lift his visor, revealing his narrow eyes that were locked onto yours. He had that boyish grin sitting handsomely on his lips.

As for you, you looked like you were blushing. That, or perhaps there was some sort of fluttering happening inside your heart at the unexpected sight of him. It was probably taking you a moment to separate fiction from reality, because not long ago, you were too fixated on the fictional boy written on the pages of your book. Now, your very real and actual boyfriend was here. For you. “Um… How long have you been there?”

“Not that long,” he assured in his usual low, velvet voice. “I just arrived, actually. Didn’t wanna disturb my baby.”

Your curious eyes fell on the red tribal decals on his black Nexx SX100r helmet, reminding you of the same face tattoo designs he had mentioned wanting to get, but you were refusing to let him have. “New helmet?”

Sukuna nodded, smirking as he tapped the headgear with his gloved hand. “Yeah, you like it?”

“I do,” you replied, smiling. “It’s very you.”

“Thanks, baby.”

You glanced at his sleek black Yamaha R1 outside the window and immediately closed your chosen book for the day. “Okay, well…” You met his gaze again. “I have backpack duties today, don’t I?”

He was quick to dismiss it. “No, no. You can finish reading. I don’t mind just sittin’ here and watching you for a while.”

But, being the stubborn girl you were, you were already packing your book into your bag. You didn’t even listen to a word he said. “Did you bring my helmet?”

“‘Course, princess. Your helmet’s right there strapped onto the backseat.” Your boyfriend leaned in closer and pointed to his sportbike. Just as he took your bag from you, his eyes lingered on your lips for a moment. “So, you’re gonna be my pretty little backpack today?”

You mustn’t have realized it, but the two of you had become the subject of envious stares in the cafe. Most of the girls who looked your way were clearly jealous. Yet your cute, clueless self didn’t even seem to notice as you clung to his arm. “Yes, lovey. I miss being your backpack.”

Did you know? Sukuna always melted from your enthusiasm. And he couldn’t even resist pinching your cheeks. “Alright, then.” His hand moved to squeeze your nose. “I'll be your personal chauffeur, and you’ll be my cute little backpack who’s clinging tightly to me the whole time. Sounds good?”

“Yessir,” you answered with a playful salute.

“Good girl.” He then took your hand in his, leading you out of the cafe and onto the parking lot when he all of a sudden felt a tug on his arm.

You had a visible pout displayed. “Lovey, wait!”

“What is it, baby?” The question came out of him softly, tilting his head when he looked at you.

“My kiss,” you said sweetly, making Sukuna feel like Cupid shot an arrow to his heart. “You forgot.”

How can one person be so unbelievably adorable? Just how? How on Earth did he land the cutest girl on the planet? The cuteness aggression was certainly urging him to fall on his knees right now. With the weakness he tried to restrain inside, he was trying his hardest to laugh it off on the outside. “Oh damn, you’re right.” He pulled his helmet up, leaning in forward to place a warm, tender kiss on your soft lips. He could hear the hearts of the surrounding girls breaking at the sight. “Can’t believe I forgot to give my baby the most important item of the day.”

Satisfied with the kiss, you followed your tattooed boyfriend like a shadow to meet his bike, ‘Fury’, as he affectionately named it. The sportbike rocked a midnight black wrap and the cool customizations he added made it a standout even more. Of course, what kind of person would think Sukuna would stick with a boring base design? One of the best things about his R1 was its front light, infamous in the bike community, as it resembled a menacing face that added to its aggressive allure. It was also equipped with a powerful 998cc inline-four engine, leaving no questions why ‘Fury’ roared with a throaty exhaust note that echoed through the streets. Sukuna chuckled inwardly at the thought. He hoped you wouldn’t mind, but this big bad boy would have been the love of his life if you hadn’t come along.

“Love, I was thinking,” you interrupted his trance as he slipped the smaller helmet over your head, deftly securing the straps under your chin, “Do you think we can swing by the bookstore on the way?”

His lips curved into a smile. “Sure, we can. You wanna pick up more books to read?”

“I do,” you confirmed, yet hesitated at the end of your tone. “Well, there’s this book I wanna read, but… it has eighteen plus stuff.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow in intrigue, his visor still up as he effortlessly lifted you onto the back of his bike with one arm. “Oh, so it’s a spicy book, huh?” he teased, recalling the discussions he had seen on ‘biketok’ where he went by the username r1.skn. His TikTok account was an unexpected blend of motorcycle enthusiasts and book lovers, and that unique intersection of interests amused him endlessly. “Think my followers would love to know what my backpack’s gonna read next.”

Even with your helmet on, he could sense the shy smile behind it. “No, please don’t film our ride today!”

“Hmm… What kind of spicy book are we talking about, baby?” he asked, settling onto his bike and revving the engine. When your arms were securely wrapped around his torso, he took that as a go signal to hold the throttle and smoothly shift from first to second gear. “Is it very naughty?”

You hugged him tightly from behind. “Um, it’s about this biker guy and a bookish girl,” you introduced the plot coyly, “And yes, it has some steamy scenes.”

He glanced at you through the bike’s mirror, ensuring that you were safe and secured behind him. Sukuna then shifted into third gear as you entered an empty road, gradually picking up speed. The roar of his bike was louder than his voice. “Really? I bet the biker guy is a dominant one.”

“Yeah.” Your grip tightened on his compression shirt, almost as if you were trying to feel his abs through the fabric. “He’s got tattoos, too.”

What a tease. “You better picture me as that biker guy when you read that book, princess,” he playfully warned, “You’re mine, both in real life and in your fantasies.”

“Yes, but my lovey is hotter.”

“Good response, baby. You have taste.”

As you reached the stoplight in the city intersection, Sukuna slowed down and adjusted the small camera mounted on his bike to make sure it still had the perfect angle of you two. He couldn’t help but chuckle as he now had evidence of how touchy his cute, little backpack could get. You sensed him filming your interaction, but instead of pulling your hand away, you leaned further against his back and playfully touched his toned chest. He was surprised and amused at the action, gently pulling your hand down when your silly hands squeezed his chest, but you remained undeterred by placing them near his crotch the next. Your boyfriend hoped to God that none of the surrounding cars were recording you two for your affectionate display in the middle of the traffic.

“Brat,” he teased back with a shake of his head. “A brat who always gets what she wants, especially in bed.”

Your whine followed, along with a light slap on his arm. “Hey!”

Why was this red light taking too long? He was getting all bricked up the more he could feel your tits pressing against his back. Although, he considered it a blessing and curse, because the only distraction that was served to you two was when another bike pulled up ahead of cars lined up behind you. It was a white Kawasaki ZX-10R. And its owner? A jerk who had a clear death wish.

“Hey there, sexy,” catcalled the rider of the 10R, stopping exactly where he could see your rear. “Cute helmet.”

Sukuna knew you well enough to know that you were offering an uncomfortable, yet polite smile underneath the helmet. But it was the tug at your boyfriend’s shirt that made him glance over the biker with a hint of warning in his eyes. “What’d you say?” His voice carried a menacing edge. While he hadn’t been in a brawl in a while, he definitely didn’t mind the idea of one now. “Back off my girl or I’ll smash your head on the ground.”

The ZX-10R rider chuckled, hands in the air like an idiot. “Alright, man. No harm meant.”

“Shut it.”

“Okay, jeez! How about a little race to settle things? See who’s got the faster ride?”

Sukuna scoffed, finding it hard to believe that a random guy, especially an obvious amateur, had the audacity to challenge him to a race. Didn’t he know? Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t nicknamed the King of the Streets for nothing. He had been riding motorcycles for twelve years now, starting with a modest 300cc and graduating to his current 1000cc superbike. His riding experience was unmatched. He also knew every biker in the area as it was his turf. Yet this ZX-10R rider had appeared out of nowhere with such laughable confidence.

Thanks to him, your boyfriend’s competitive spirit was ignited. “You’re on.”

“Cool,” the other biker replied.

Meanwhile, you tensed behind Sukuna and gripped his shirt tighter than before. “Love, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

He turned his head, gently held the top of your head, and gave you a sweet ‘helmet kiss’. “I’ll keep you safe,” he reassured, “Just hold on tight for me, okay?”

As soon as the light turned green, best believe the street became a racetrack. All the cars were left behind to dust with the roar of motorcycles as both bikers increased their speed, side by side, in a fierce race. Sukuna shifted into third gear as he passed the next intersection, then into fourth gear when the ZX-10R caught up to him. He could feel your hold around him tightening more than ever as the rush of the wind blew through your helmet’s visor.

He thought you might hate it, but you were surprisingly loving the thrill of the scene.

“Go, baby!” you cheered, holding onto him for dear life. Cute.

“Not bad, man!” the other biker shouted over the wind, pulling ahead slightly at Sukuna’s moment of distraction. “But try harder!”

Tch. Sukuna gritted his teeth and focused all his senses on the road ahead. He weaved through traffic, maneuvering his bike skillfully and taking advantage of every opportunity to gain ground. In no time, he caught up with the ZX-10R rider, and they soon raced neck and neck. They exchanged glances as they sped between cars, with the other vehicles blurring around them in motion. The thrill of the competition fueled their adrenaline, while you, as the passenger, felt your heart pounding with excitement.

Both bikes continued to zoom down the road. And it was also during that time when Sukuna locked his mind and body into analyzing the situation. Let’s see, he thought, should I push Fury to its limits?

He calculated his next move, feeling the strong breeze on his face and the vibrations of the powerful engine beneath him. The ZX-10R rider was good, but Sukuna knew he had the skills and the bike to outpace him. He just needed to time it right. Between a ZX-10R and an R1, a quick Google search would tell you that the 10R pulls faster than an R1 engine wise. While both bikes were top-tier, high performance vehicles with a 200 horsepower and a top speed exceeding 180mph, the 10R’s disadvantage is being 7 kg heavier, which instantly gave Sukuna an edge in this situation. Being the lighter bike between the two would certainly make him marginally better at handling and acceleration.

With that, your boyfriend capitalized on his bike’s strengths and shifted into sixth gear at the next intersection, surging ahead and crossing the finish line just as the ZX-10R was left stuck at the last stoplight.

Sweet, sweet victory. Sukuna sped onto the freeway, shouting triumphantly into the air. “Woohoo!” He could feel the jolt of adrenaline satiating his need for a thrilling ride.

“B-Babe.” You, on the other hand, tugged at his shirt in worry. “Babe, we’re going too fast. The cops—!”

The sound of the siren snapped Sukuna back to reality in an instant. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, frustrated by the abrupt interruption. “Can’t even have a minute to celebrate my win.”

While he could have engaged in a high-speed freeway chase if he wanted to, especially having already escaped the police once, having you with him now made him opt for better judgment. His promise to keep you safe was his foremost priority here. So, swallowing his pride with a tightened jaw, he slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road as the police car trailed behind.

The officer swiftly exited his vehicle and approached you two. “Evening, folks,” the stern voice of the elderly officer broke the tension. “License and registration, please.”

Sukuna retrieved his wallet and handed over his license and registration, then turned to you, placing a protective hand on your thigh. He could tell his poor little backpack was feeling anxious.

The cop then glanced between you and Sukuna, his gaze lingering on you with concern. “Ma’am, are you alright?” he asked, his focus more on your well-being than on the biker himself.

You nodded, trying to appear composed despite the adrenaline still coursing through you. “Yes, officer. I’m fine.”

The officer soon directed his attention to the R1. “What’s the fastest you’ve been on this thing?”

Sukuna couldn’t resist a cheeky reply. “Speed limit.”

“Very funny,” said the unamused officer, who retreated to his vehicle to run Sukuna’s information while leaving you and your boyfriend to exchange glances once more.

His expression softened. “Sorry about this, babe. I didn’t mean to get us in trouble.”

“It’s okay.” You reassured him with a squeeze around his waist. “I trust you.”

Interrupting the tender moment, the officer returned and handed back your boyfriend’s license. “Do you know why I pulled you over?” he asked, receiving a shrug in response. A lecture that Sukuna heavily hated soon followed. “You were speeding back there. I clocked you going 20 miles over the limit. It’s always you fellas with the 1000cc bikes who think they’re invincible. Even 600cc guys are scared of the police. You need to slow down, especially with a passenger.”

With your insistent look, Sukuna nodded to the cop, apologetically. “Understood, sir.”

The officer studied Sukuna for a moment before releasing a sigh. “Look, I get it. It’s a nice night for a ride. Just remember, it’s not just your life on the line. You’ve got someone else to think about.” He pointed at you while handing your boyfriend a ticket. “You’ve gotta take good care of her.”

Only then did Sukuna’s cold mien soften up with the cop. “I’ll be careful next time, officer.”

“Right. I’m letting you off with a warning this time, but I’m writing you a ticket for speeding. Slow down, alright?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

The officer returned to his car, and Sukuna pocketed the ticket with a mixture of relief and frustration etched on his face. “We didn’t get to pass by your bookstore,” he lamented, giving you an affectionate caress on the back. “I’m sorry, princess.”

You touched your headgear to his, sharing a helmet kiss. “There’s always next time,” you reassured him with a smile in your voice. “Besides, this is a real-life experience that no book can ever give me.”

By the time you arrived at your apartment, darkness had already settled in, leaving a cozy glow from the distant cityscape as you switched on the lights and placed your helmet on the nearby console table. Immediately, your British shorthair cat dashed toward you with a loud meow, his pretty auburn eyes gleaming with excitement at seeing his mom.

“Hi, Casper,” you cooed at the feline, but his attention swiftly turned when Sukuna entered your apartment a few minutes later—someone he clearly wasn’t fond of.

Upon spotting Sukuna, your cat hissed, expressing his displeasure toward your boyfriend, who playfully stuck his tongue out in response. “I’m back, asshole.”

“Don’t call him that!” You chuckled, attending to Casper by mixing up his food in his bowl. “He’s probably never going to warm up to you at this rate.”

Sukuna smoothly removed his jacket and flopped down on the couch. “Boo! Casper sucks,” he hooted, cupping his hands around his mouth, “He’s just jealous because you love me more.”

It had been a while since Casper had seen Sukuna since you were the one coming over at his place more often. Still, the cat’s disdain for your boyfriend persisted, and you suspected it was because Casper could detect the scent of Sukuna’s dog, a large Doberman, whenever he was near. You can only imagine how crazy your household would be should you and your boyfriend move in together in the near future.

For now, his occasional visits sufficed. Although, there were days when his presence in your apartment stirred more thoughts in your mind than just simple cuddles and movie nights. How could you help it? He was oblivious to the thoughts running in your head as he sat lazily on your couch, his legs spread wide, lifting his compression shirt just above his sweaty chest. His toned abs were impossible to ignore, especially as he ran his fingers through his hair, breathing heavily.

“Babe, it’s so hot,” he said, fanning his face, completely unaware of the chaos inside your head. “Wanna shower before bed?”

His suggestion was innocent enough, but your immediate agreement was driven by a different kind of excitement. “Okay,” you replied with a sheepish grin, “I’ll see if you have any clothes left in the closet.”

You see, you and Sukuna had just started dating a few months ago—precisely 6 months and 3 weeks to be exact, so the relationship was definitely still fresh and vulnerable. But needless to say, while he was indeed a sweet and dreamy boyfriend that you could only ever read about in your stash of fictional books, there was also a side of him that awakened the more mature side of you.

If it wasn’t obvious enough, Sukuna was more experienced in the intimacy department than you. And him being your first did bring in thoughts of inadequacy in terms of your performance in bed. You haven’t done it enough to call yourself a pro, but you also did it enough to say that you already knew what, how, and where to please him the most. You owe that experience to the multitude of smut scenes you had read about on Tumblr and AO3, because those exact stories provided essential insights that guided your actions on your first time.

Now, whenever the sexy beast within you was unleashed, you didn’t even hold back anymore.

The shower was already running when you stepped inside the small space, your boyfriend letting the cold water fall on his naked tattooed body in rivulets. Each drop of water sounded like rainfall, and with him pulling you closer by the arm, he began kissing you with a passion that made it feel like you were caught in a rainstorm.

“Lovey!” You giggled, pushing your palms flat against his chest. “You said we’ll just shower.”

“You know what I meant by that, baby.”

The water continued to cascade down your skin, your hair now damp and your body now wet. Sukuna’s eyes darkened in lust as eyed you up and down, his hands tracing the curves of your body, before crashing his lips back onto yours once more. This time, his kisses were more aggressive as he bit your lower lip, and took the opportunity of shoving his tongue inside your mouth. He was devouring you with rough and wide movements, allowing your tongue to roll around his in a playful tangle. And with his fingers now grabbing a fistful of your hair, and his other hand sliding down your chest to squeeze your breast, you felt a stretch on your scalp when he pulled you by the hair to look up at him. “You think you’re so innocent, don’t you?” he teased, kneading your right breast before his hand moved south to palm your dripping cunt, “Deep down, you’re just as naughty and wicked as me.”

“N-No.” Your breath hitched when his lips traced light kisses around your neck. But it wasn’t just his kisses and touch that made your knees weak, it was the feeling of his hardened member pressed against your stomach, fully erect and ready to be inside you. “Mmh… You’re the naughty one.”

Sukuna went in for another open-mouthed kiss before he nibbled on your earlobe. “I don’t deny that, princess,” he pivoted your body around, and made you lean against the glass wall so he could get a better view of your buttocks. While you, you could see your tits pressed against the glass from your reflection in the mirror, a sight that your boyfriend went absolutely crazy for when he looked up. “Ah, fuck. That’s so hot.”

You could feel his fingers playing with your entrance from behind, and you watched him bite his lip through the mirror, his eyes dancing in lust as he wantonly stared at your body. “Ngh,” you bit back a moan, the feeling of his fingers teasing your entrance making you curl your toes, “I… I-I like that.”

“I bet you do, baby.” Good lord. His voice was deep and raspy, and the sexiness of it was enough to make you wet. He even showed you evidence per se, when he pulled his digits out, spreading two fingers apart to show you the clear, slimy substance that coated it. You were already a blushing mess when he showed you your cum, and felt the heat in your cheeks worsening as you watched him, eye-to-eye, suck your juices from his fingers. “Aww, my baby tastes sweet.”

“It’s the pineapple juice,” you joked, allowing him to cup your jaw and place a sloppy kiss on your mouth. “Mmm—I forgot to tell you.” You pulled away to look at your boyfriend. “I’m ovulating.”

Sukuna tilted his head, squeezing your bum tenderly as he replied, “Are you suggesting I get you pregnant?”

“No, silly!” You chuckled shyly while he positioned himself behind you. “I was trying to say that I get extra horny when I’m ovulating.”

He smiled, aroused more than ever as he heard you say those words out loud. “Too bad, I was thinking of creampie-ing you.”

A gasp flew out of your lips when Sukuna’s long, slender fingers performed circular motions on your clitoris, stretching your labia apart so he could insert two fingers at your entrance. “B-Babe!” Your widened eyes were in great contrast to his lust-filled ones as he found entertainment at your submission to pleasure. You gripped his wrist and tiptoed when he started scissoring his fingers inside, forcing you to raise your leg so he could continue to move his hand in and out of your sopping cunt. “Ahh—ah! S-Sukuna!”

He hadn’t heard his name from you in awhile and he found that amusing. “Hm, baby? Saying something?”

You squeezed your legs together to hide the clench that you were feeling inside, looking up at his crazed brown eyes and tracing his pectoral muscles with your fingers. You couldn’t hold it anymore, you were a willing slut ready to be pounded on by this tattooed man. “Please, f-fuck me.”

He reattached his lips back onto yours and pulled away just enough to keep your foreheads connected. “Not yet, baby girl.” A sly smirk spread off his lips. “That book you were reading earlier at the cafe,” he began, pulling his fingers away to turn you around, “It was smut, wasn’t it?”

Feeling a wave of embarrassment as he brought it up, you responded with a coquettish smile. “Maybe.”

Sukuna then pushed you down on your knees, letting you kneel down in front of his hard, veiny cock. He had stroked himself a few times—his other hand lifting your chin up—before he slapped his length against your lips. “Think you can show me how they did it in that book?”

“Why…” you trailed off, wrapping your hand around his cock, pumping the long, meaty shaft before placing your tongue on top of the swollen tip. He was all crazed and aroused when you kept eye-contact and started putting his member inside your mouth.

“Damn.” Your boyfriend threw his head back, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “Let’s make all your fantasies a reality, baby.”

Well, he was sweet for that. But also mischievous, too. He knew you could be just as naughty as him because he had seen the books you were reading and most of them were definitely far from innocent. Could he blame you? Sometimes, reading about it was better than experiencing it. Yet with your boyfriend’s ego, he wasn’t one to allow your fictional men to be better than him in all aspects. Physically. Emotionally. Sexually.

You let him guide your hand into stroking his shaft before you ejected spit on the pink head, using it to lubricate his aching member while you lowered yourself further to fit his firm balls inside your mouth. It gave you utmost pleasure to hear his guttural moans when you swirled your tongue around his bollocks—tasting the same flesh that carried all of his sperm, and releasing it from your mouth to give his cock the same attention. At first, you kissed his swollen tip and treated it like a lollipop, then you started sucking every inch of his length by bobbing your head at a stable rhythm. “Mmm.” You could hear curses leaving his pretty lips as he held your head in place, snapping his hips forward until you were gagging from the intense penetration on your throat.

You learned all these after a single read at your favorite 18+ book.

“That’s a good girl.” His praise rang in your ears like a sweet melody.

Even without a reflection to look at, this was the most erotogenic exchange you two had ever done as a couple. And along with that, his half lidded eyes were staring down at you, judging you and your every move.

You did your best to give him a stellar performance, did your most at pleasuring his member, and did everything that he liked whenever you were sucking his cock. And just like that, thick ropes of cum were sent straight down your throat. The musky, metallic taste didn’t stop you from swallowing all of his seed and you had to show your tongue to make him know that you did a good job at taking all of his semen. Nothing was wasted.

Not even time, because as soon as you finished giving him a blowjob, he was already carrying you out of the bathroom without drying yourselves off. You were thrown into your double bed, manhandled into spreading your legs apart before your animalistic lover plunged his face onto your pussy.

“S-Sukuna—! Mmm—fuck!”

He had your back arching because of how deep his tongue was going inside, tasting your walls and kissing your cunt like he would do with your mouth. He was smooching off your labia like a hungry beast, eating you out as if he wasn’t satisfied by the juices that he was sucking from you. You were already in your seventh heaven, unable to think straight when he added his middle finger to the movements of his tongue. If fingering your pussy and lapping your clitoris weren’t enough to drive you crazy, maybe grabbing a fistful of pinkish hair was a sign for him to stop before you could truly lose it. You could feel fire pooling on your lower abdomen and your legs were already shaking uncontrollably, your toes curling wantonly—with the suction he was doing on your cunt, you ended up screaming for his name and engulfing his mouth with your Earth-shattering release.

“Haah! ‘Kuna, p-please…”

As he detached his mouth from your entrance, he started climbing up, visibly pleased with the way he ravaged your cunt. He was wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb, pressing his lips down on yours to make you taste your own fluid. A string of saliva connected your mouth to his before he grabbed ahold of his erect member once again. It hadn’t even been more than two minutes and you were already being hauled into another position. “Let me fuck you from behind.”

“Lovey, w-wait.”

“Ass up, baby.” His patience was growing thin when he dragged your body by raising your hips close to his crotch and pressing your head down against the mattress. Your boyfriend cared none for the embarrassment that settled on your heated cheeks when he spread your buttocks apart so he could ogle at the exact hole that he was about to enter.

“No, wait!” you begged, looking up at him with a plea, “Condom, please.”

The realization hit his face. “I think I’m all out, baby. Let me check,” he said, pulling away and stumbling towards his discarded pants on the floor, hoping desperately that he would find an unused packet of condom. Just to his luck, he had one more packet hidden between the folds of his leather wallet. “Got it!”

He hastily ripped the packet with his teeth, taking the rubber out, and rolling it slowly to cover his entire length. You remained on all fours, watching him as he ejected spit on his fingers, which he soon used to lubricate your entrance.

Did he give you any time to adjust? That word didn’t even exist in his vocabulary when he sunk all seven inches inside of your cunt, wrecking you open to the point where you could feel a stinging sensation on your entrance after being stretched by his fully erect cock. “Best pussy in the entire world.”

You were suppressing your moans from coming out too loud while you bit on a pillow, nails digging on the sheets as your lover penetrated your tight vaginal walls. “Ahh! M-More… More.” He was treating you like a fleshlight as he continued to rut your sopping cunt with his fat cock, absolutely enjoying how your warm pussy was milking his full length.

“Can your fictional boys fuck you like this, baby?” he breathed, all deep and velvety as he gave you the most rhythmical skin-slapping thrusts. He was so deep in your cavern that you could feel the base of his cock slamming against your ass. You didn’t even notice the hand that was snaking on your front to massage your bouncing tit because you were far too lost in the shockwaves of sexual gratification. “No other man can fuck you this good.”

It was like he was riding his own bike. With how fast his pace was increasing, you were already too limp to feel his hard thrusts.

Your brain was short-circuiting from the amount of sensation that was entering your body, intoxicated by the waves of libido in your system that was heightening more and more as he continued to satisfy your insatiable heat. You could barely think straight. You lost your sanity. All the modest parts of you had completely dissolved into a bitch in heat. Like a needy little whore. You didn’t even have any control of your own words when you started telling Sukuna, “I… want… you to keep… fucking me… like this.” Another forceful slam elicited a mewl out of you. “A-Aah! Haah!”

“Shit, I’m gonna cum.” Your boyfriend held a tighter grip on your hips, your moaning face leaving an imprint on his mind as he propelled your body forward and raced towards his ecstasy. After yet another thrust or two, or three, or four… Spurts of warm seed started exploding into the rubber. Sukuna’s thrust had become unsteady, his body falling down on the bed but his member still remaining inside of you. “I can’t get enough of your pussy, baby.”

You were catching your breath after he broke your mind into becoming this sex-obsessed freak. “Lookie! My bed’s all wet now.”

He smiled and finally pulled out, only to lean down again and plant a soft kiss on your forehead. “Let me carry you to the couch,” he offered, but first he had to pull the condom out of his cock to reveal a cum-filled rubber. “Christ. I came a lot.”

In other words, his cum would have been dripping out of your pussy for days.

You extended your arms, awaiting to be lifted like a princess by your lover. “Carry me now, please!”

“I will, baby.” Without hesitation, he scooped you up in his tattooed arms. He, too, was heavy breathing, but he still effortlessly held you. “I’ll take care of cleaning your sheets while you sleep.”

He was already walking towards the living room as you kicked your feet in the air, giving his cheek a gentle squeeze. “Can you clean out Casper’s litter box, too?”

Sukuna made a face of disgust, glancing at the cat before gently setting you down on the couch. “Only if he stops being an asshole,” he joked, but your pleading expression melted his resolve. “Alright, fine. I’ll take care of your bed, your cat’s litter... what else? You’re lucky I love you, you know.” He moved to the window, drawing the curtains closed to shield you from prying eyes. “Do you think your neighbors saw us fuck earlier? I forgot to pull the curtains on your bedroom.”

You laughed, pulling the sheets up to cover yourself. “Well, there’s this couple that’s been giving me strange looks lately, so it definitely isn’t the first time they’ve seen us do it.”

“It’s like that movie we watched,” Sukuna mused, trying to recall the title.

“The Voyeurs!” you both exclaimed in unison, sharing a laugh before you gestured to him. “Get dressed, lovey!”

Sukuna returned to tuck you in under the thin sheets, leaning down to give you a peck on the lips. “And you get some rest now, baby.”

The morning sun filtered through the curtains as you woke up, stretching lazily in bed to find Casper purring next to you. That’s strange, you thought. Your cat normally wouldn’t go near you when your boyfriend was around, so you turned to your side, expecting to find Sukuna still sleeping beside you, but the spot was empty. Confused, you glanced around the room, noticing that his motorcycle gear was also missing from its usual place.

“Lovey?” you called out through the empty apartment. “Where are you?”

With no response received, you walked towards your bedroom and found the sheets had been changed and everything was tidy. Searching the bathroom yielded no clues to Sukuna’s whereabouts either. And a quick trip downstairs to check his usual parking spot confirmed your suspicion—he had left without a word.

You frowned, reaching for your phone to send him an annoyed text.

YOU: love, where are you?

YOU: i’m not some kind of booty call that you can just leave the next morning without a say

The minutes ticked by as you waited for a reply, feeling a mix of frustration and worry because of his absence. Were you overthinking this? Perhaps he was just out to get you lunch. Or maybe he had an emergency. You tried to calm yourself down by breathing deeply and thinking of any possible explanation other than the worst-case scenario. Maybe his phone died, or he got caught up in something urgent. But after an hour of no response, worry began to gnaw at you. Did he just ghost me?

“Oh, God.” You paced back and forth in your apartment, checking your phone repeatedly for any sign of a message or call from Sukuna. “Oh, God. Oh, God! I’ve read about this a lot. Why are guys such jerks?”

You tried to rationalize his absence, hoping for a reasonable explanation, but your mind persisted racing through various scenarios, with each one more disheartening than the last. Maybe he’d gotten tired of you, or perhaps he was scared of commitment. The frustration and confusion were almost unbearable. Was the sex last night not good enough for him?

That situation lasted the entire afternoon. And you wanted to rip your hair out at the fact that your boyfriend had been gone for hours, his phone unreachable, and his friends having no idea where he was.

So as the evening approached and your anxiety grew, you decided to call Sukuna again. It was the 47th missed call. But just as you were about to dial his number once more, you heard the familiar roar of his R1.

“What the hell.” You rushed to the window and saw your boyfriend pulling into the parking area. Relief flooded your system as you watched him switch off the engine, dismount his bike, and walk leisurely towards your apartment building’s lobby like he didn’t just leave an anxious girlfriend without a note the morning after he fucked her brains out.

You waited for him to arrive at your doorstep, your heart calmer but still ticking with anxiety as the clock rang in your ears. You were ready to give him a lashing for being unresponsive to your texts and calls. But as the door swung open, your boyfriend knowing your passcode by heart, you didn’t expect that your anger at him would end up being for a totally different reason.

Because there he was, standing by your door looking slightly disheveled but with a sheepish smile on his face. He held a Barnes & Noble bag in one hand.

“Hey, baby—”

“What the heck happened?” You rushed to him, noticing the scrapes and bruises on his face. “Are you okay? I was worried sick!”

Sukuna removed his helmet and winced slightly, the corner of his lower lip was smeared with dried blood. “Sorry, my love,” he spoke softly, going in for a comforting hug, “I wanted to surprise you, but things got a little complicated.”

You pulled away to touch his bruised cheek. “You’re hurt. Why aren’t you answering my texts?”

“Phone’s dead,” he answered, showing you his lifeless phone before handing over the bag. “And this is for you, my beautiful princess.”

Taking the bag, you said, “You didn’t have to do this.” Then your eyes scanned his face for any sign of serious injury.

“I wanted to,” he insisted, his voice filled with affection despite his exhaustion. “I’m sorry for making you worry.”

You eyed the Barnes & Noble bag, realizing that the book inside was the exact one you had mentioned wanting yesterday. Your emotions swirled in a mix of frustration and tenderness. Should you lecture him for being so reckless, or cry because of how romantic it was that he went out of his way to get the book you had been searching for?

But first and foremost, how and where did he get all those bruises?

Before you could ask, he already had an answer prepared. “Long story, baby. Let's just say I had a little run-in with another biker who had the same idea as me.”

You grabbed his hand and guided him to sit on the couch while you hurriedly fetched your first aid kit. As you tended to the scrapes on Sukuna’s face, Casper the cat approached cautiously, sniffing his scent before surprising both of you by leaning against your boyfriend’s leg.

“Meow~”

“Casper!” Sukuna exclaimed joyfully, picking up the cat with a playful flourish like how Rafiki carried Simba in The Lion King “Babe, he finally likes me!”

You rolled your eyes affectionately and joined Sukuna on the couch, gently tilting his chin to examine his bruise. “Tell me exactly what happened,” you asked with a hint of sternness, “You went all over town just for this book?”

Your boyfriend carefully set Casper back down and nodded. “Yeah, it’s the last one they had. Had to fight for it, though.” He then rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I don’t even get a kiss or a thank you?”

At once, all your defenses crumbled. You let go of the gauze in your hand and pulled your boyfriend into a tender kiss, wrapping him in a warm hug afterward. “You’re insane, you know that? I was so worried about you, and now I find out you spent the whole day looking for this book.” You sighed, overwhelmed by the rollercoaster of emotions the day had brought. Despite everything, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of love for the man who had gone to such lengths to make you happy. “But thank you, lovey. That’s really sweet of you.”

Sukuna, now grinning broadly, held you closer around the waist. “Always welcome, my baby.”

“Now, tell me about that biker,” you began, taking a q-tip and some ointment, “How’d you get into a fight?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe it,” he recalled, amused at the thought, “He was going to get the book for his girl, too. But I got there first, and he wouldn’t let me have it.”

Jesus. You couldn’t decide whether to laugh or sigh at the absurdity of two bikers squabbling over a book in a bookstore. “You should’ve just let him have it.”

“But baby!” he protested like a child, “I couldn’t come home empty-handed. I already feel bad we didn’t get to pass by the bookstore yesterday.”

What a stubborn boyfriend you have. “I already told you it’s okay, lovey. You’re the best boyfriend already. I appreciate the effort and I’m even more in love with you now than ever,” you reassured, placing a light kiss on the tip of his nose, “Now, is there anything I can give you in return? As a thank you?”

Oh, boy. You already assumed he would request for something concerning activities in bed. But his face suddenly lit up as if a lightbulb just appeared above his head. His idea was surely not what you had in mind.

“How about I teach you how to ride my bike?”

The sun hung low on the horizon as Sukuna stood beside his Yamaha R1, patiently explaining the basics of riding ‘Fury’ to you. He seemed to be heavily enjoying this whole thing. Meanwhile, you, donning a helmet and gloves, were fully geared up, nervousness evident as you cautiously swung your leg over the bike.

“Ah, dammit.” Your boyfriend was grinning like an idiot as he saw you sitting on his bike. “You’re gonna be one hot biker girl. I can’t! You’re mine. Don’t let them see you like this, babe!”

“Stop exaggerating!” you retorted, your voice tense with nerves as you gripped the handlebars tightly. “This bike feels… big.”

“Like my cock?”

“Stop it.”

Sukuna erupted into a chuckle before proceeding to move closer to you. “Alright, babe. Remember what I showed you about the clutch and throttle control,” he encouraged, “Take it slow.”

Nodding, you started the bike and felt the powerful engine rumble beneath you. With your boyfriend’s guidance, you eased out the clutch and gave a tentative twist of the throttle. The bike lurched forward, causing you to panic and squeeze the brakes hard.

“Oh, my God!” You let out a squeak of surprise. “Oh, my God! I’m gonna die.”

“Easy there.” He held your waist protectively. “Let’s try one more time?”

You took a deep breath, trying to ignore the intimidating power of the machine beneath you and instead focus on Sukuna’s instructions. Even with his guidance, you found yourself repeating the same mistake where this time, you braked too hard again, causing your body to jolt forward dangerously. You would have fallen from the bike if not for your boyfriend catching you right on time.

“I can’t do this…” You shook your head, frantically. “I’m not cut out for this.”

Sukuna held you steady, his hands firm yet reassuring. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said softly, looking into your eyes. “It takes time, alright? You’re doing fine. Maybe we should start with something smaller.”

You let out a heavy exhale as Sukuna carried you off his bike. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Like a lower cc bike?” he suggested, giving your helmet a playful tap. “Let’s start you off on a 150cc bike. Yuuji has a CBR150R we can borrow.”

“I wouldn’t want to wreck your nephew’s bike,” you teased, watching from the side as Sukuna effortlessly mounted his own bike.

He revved the engine and reached out for your hand, helping you settle in behind him. “Then, you can just stay being my backpack princess for now”

With your arms securely around his waist, the bike accelerated, the wind whipping against your helmet visor. The view of the sunset was perfect for this ride. “So, does that mean I’m not your ride or die anymore?”

Sukuna took your hand from behind, lifting it to his lips for a kiss. “Nah. You’ll always be my ride or die, baby.”

#ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna smut #sukuna fluff #biker sukuna #biker au #biker bf sukuna #jjk x reader #jjk x you #biker boy x book girl #jjk smut #jjk fluff

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rav3nmuse · 1 year ago

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Music Suggestion While Reading

foot locker manager!sukuna x executive black!fem reader

content warning: banter, reader is kind of bougie, sexual tension, finger sucking, oral/fingering, hate fucking, panty stuffing, throat training, cumshot, pet names (miss, sweetheart, baby), Sukuna has an accent (he gives me Houston idc 😫)

.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:｡.･*:.･*:｡.･*:｡.･

sukuna, who had been working within the mall for a few years now, had worked his way up to manager of the Foot Locker within it.

sukuna, who never took life too seriously, applied the same approach to his leadership style. His store was by far the most fun in the district. Always blasting music..bumping everything from Moneybagg to DMX (and trust, he knew every word).

everybody wanted to shop at his location. The men saw him as their homeboy; talking about basketball and women as he helped them find the perfect pair shoes to compliment their fit. And the ladies because the handsome, hilarious manager makes them smile. Greeting them with a ‘miss’ or calling them ‘gorgeous’. Smooth and fast talking, laying the charm on thick.

helping single moms find their babies the perfect shoes or the kid going to state championships the perfect basketball sneaker.

“Little man starts second grade this year. We gotta have him looking right.” “You’re going to state this year, bruh. Can’t be playing on worn out shoes. Trust me, did that and almost threw the whole tournament for us. I’ll use my discount, don’t even worry about it, lil bro.”

sukuna, who was always laced; Diamond stud earrings, a gold watch, matching necklace and the latest sneakers. Tattoos littering his muscular forearms and chest. Not to mention his signature Dior scent. Looking good and smelling even better. Any girl that he had come in contact with instantly folded at the slightest bit of flirtation. All the Sephora and Victoria’s Secret Workers were in love.

“Good morning, ladies.” “Girl, that’s Ryo I was telling you about. He fine ain’t he?”

every woman except the newest regional manager, (y/n) (l/n). Who was notorious for your no nonsense attitude and authoritative style was shocked to see how he ran his store and even more so how he greeted you as if you weren’t his boss.

“How we doing, miss? Can I help you find sum’?” “Yes, the manager. Ryomen Sukuna? Is he the one who runs this location?” “You’re in luck, baby. You’re looking at him.”

sukuna, who carried on with business as usual, watched you give glances and eye tolls as you jotted down notes on your clipboard. Strutting around in that short pencil skirt, tight shirt and tall heels. Wet and wavy flowing down your back and face done up. He hadn’t seen a bitch as bad as you in a long time, if ever.

sukuna, who couldn’t help but to stare and ogle as you followed him around the store. Completely puzzled by how someone so fine could be so damn mean..listening to you spout off orders about how this shelf should be organized and how that display was against regulation. And especially how the music was distasteful.

“No disrespect, miss. But I run this store so let me do my job and stay out of the way. I do the best numbers in the district every month, I don’t see the problem.” “You won’t be for long if I have anything to do with it. This is a business, Mr. Sukuna. Not a nightclub.”

the week went on with you monitoring the store and making notations for final review. And after almost seven days together, you were at odds and each others throats.

(Y/N), who was taking notes and auditing in the office during closing when you were interrupted by an irate Ryomen.

“Yes, Mr. Sukuna. Can I help you?”

sukuna, who had spent years building a repertoire with his customers, was upset that a lot of loyal buyers refused to come back until the ‘mean bitch’ was gone.

“You’re ruining my store, that’s what! When the hell are you leaving?” “Correction, I’m fixing this mess and you better be grateful because corporate is two seconds from getting your ass out of here.”

the two of you got into a bit of a quarrel, resulting in rising tensions..in more ways than one!

sukuna, who had you cornered against the desk couldn’t help but to laugh at the stark difference in your height. Especially when you began to rant and rave about how unprofessional he was.

sukuna, who had seen your type before and knew exactly what you needed to quell that horrible temper, ran a finger underneath your chin and tilted your head up mid sentence. Causing you to stutter over your words and become flustered.

“Why don’t we stop all of this fighting and settle it then? Tell the truth..you don’t really want me fired, do you?”

sukuna, who puts that charm to good use by mumbling into the crook of your neck..moving his hands up your body and smirking against your ear. Seeing as clear as day how much you liked it.

“What are you trying to do, bribe me?” “Bribing only works if I want something out of it. I’m just tryna’ make you feel good, sweetheart.”

sukuna, pulling you into a deep kiss, shoves his fingers into your panties and works you around on the tip of his digits as the two of you make out. Making certain that the door was bolted and the store was empty so that no one could disturb him or what he was about to do.

sukana, who had you exactly where he wanted, sets you atop his desk, pulling your skirt down and panties to the side. Only after you got him out of his shirt; admiring that sexy body and countless tattoos..along with the third leg he was hiding behind his work pants. Playing with it as he kneels down to devour your pussy. Working his thick fingers around in that juicy cunt, lapping up juices and letting them dribble down his tongue.

“Oh fuck…”

sukuna, who lets you suck his fingers clean as he slides inside of you, starting off with slow thrusts because he knew you couldn’t take it all at once. Watching it press into your skin.

sukuna, who had a week’s worth of tension and lust built up took out every bit of his frustration on you..pounding your shit into oblivion.

“Ah shit! Right there, Ryo..fuck that pussy. Take it!” “That’s it..that’s why you need, baby. That lil’ attitude fucked out of you. Some of that good dick, isn’t that right?”

sukuna, amazed by how creamy you got for him only a couple strokes in couldn’t restrain himself or his strokes. Making you tug your own panties between your teeth and bite down to withstand it as he folded your legs up.

sukuna, who had enough of your bitching, decided to put you on your knees and fuck your throat. “Much better use for that pretty mouth, don’t you think?”

making you touch his abs with his forehead by the time he finished.

sukuna, unable to hold back, painted your face and titties with a warm stream of nut, releasing loud groans with it..really loving when you proudly put it on display with your tongue out and a smile.

sukuna, who kisses you after filling your mouth up, knows that he doesn’t have to worry about losing his job or you after this. Knowing you’ll keep the dirty little secret as long as you can come back for another ‘inspection’..anytime you’d like.

#yahhhh this was a good one #music suggestion while reading #once you said dmx - I need to find songs that would fit his swagger #sukuna definitely bumps makala - to impress the French speaking girlies when they come into the store #back that azz up also came on while I read this and yah- sukuna def plays juvenile #I’d come back and visit the shop too for some good peen #jjk drabbles #jjk sukuna #jjk #sukuna x black reader #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #Spotify

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iamnotoriginalphil · 1 month ago

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Teacher's Pet (Agatha Harkness x f!Reader)

Synopsis: Professor Harkness takes on so few students. You're determined to become on. A non-magic AU with professor!Agatha.

Words: 7.4k

Warnings: Praise kink, possessiveness, obsessiveness, drinking, teacher/student relationship, age gap (but all over 18+), smut, fingering (R receiving), oral sex (R receiving), biting, Dom!Agatha, sub!R, power imbalance, unhealthy dynamics

You’d heard the whispers around campus about Professor Harkness’s class. The rumours were passed around like a ghost story told under the cover of night at camp. You stored them, collected each one like a gem, richer for every word you were gifted by the rumour mill. Drunk students would try one up one another at house parties, wanting to share the worst of her and win the competition.

You were fascinated with the legend of her before you ever laid eyes on her.

It was at a faculty party, your history professor extending an invitation to all of his most promising students. You’d shown up, expecting nothing but other old men, ruing the day the students grew so rowdy, passing around stories about their own college days when they showed far more respect to their professors than your lot ever did.

Instead, you’d found her, nursing a glass of red wine in the library, a heavy book open in her palm. She glanced up, piercing blue eyes settling on you with disinterest, and yet you felt like you’d been struck by lightning. You took a deep breath as her eyes left you, going back to the book in her hand, and made your way further into the room.

Your finger trailed over the spines of the book, most leather bound and weighty, older than the mess of paperbacks in your dorm room. Scanning the titles, you realised each one was on World War I. You wrinkled your nose, continuing on.

You knew you should have been trying to network with some of the most eminent professors in the history department, but now you were finding it hard to break free from the woman’s gravity. So you stayed, looking over the books, trying to find something that would suggest your professor wasn’t as boring as you suspected he was. And if you kept sneaking glances at the other woman, then it was an added bonus to your evening. Dark hair and pale skin, red lips curling up at the corner, dressed in clothes that must have cost more than your entire wardrobe combined, she was the most wonderful thing to look at in that room.

She did not pay you any attention.

“Ah, there you are.”

You glanced up, your professor swaggering through the door, a glass of scotch dangling from his fingertips. In the corner of your eye, you saw the woman tilt her head in his direction.

“Oh good. I’m so glad the two of you found each other,” he said.

You looked over at the woman, finding her staring down your professor with a look of absolute disdain. Clasping your hands in front of oyur body, you waited for some kind of explanation. Your professor drew closer, the bounce in his step seemingly suggesting he hadn’t noticed the way the woman was looking at him.

“Agatha, let me introduce you to my best student.”

He scooped you up on his way, the hand on the small of your back directing you towards her. You’d done your best to keep your distance from her, not sure she’d appreciate you interrupting her. Now, propelled towards her, a sense of anticipation mixed with anxiety curdled in your stomach into something you didn’t like.

When he said your name, those blue eyes focused on you. You wouldn’t say there was interest there, but it certainly was something more than the disdain she’d shown him.

“Agatha’s interests lie more in historical folklore surrounding witchcraft,” he told you.

“Oh,” you said, “I was hoping to look at that for my senior thesis.”

“Agatha Harkness,” she said, eyebrow raising, holding a hand out to you.

You grasped it in yours, her warm skin soft where it met your palm. It was like an electric shock went through you from her touch while you tried to fit this view of a woman with the figure of legend you’d been collecting stories on for the last few years at college.

“Don’t you go trying to poach my best student, Agatha,” you professor tutted, “I’m still trying to convince her to instead look at something more modern and practical.”

“You believe another World War I scholar is practical?” she asked, the drawl of her voice letting you know exactly what she thought of that opinion.

“I would say there’s more need for them in the workforce than witches,” he replied, still good-naturedly, but his gaze had hardened.

“We should talk,” she said to you, turning her head back to you, blocking your professor out of the conversation.

“I’d like that,” you said, knowing you sounded breathless and probably too eager, but you weren’t about to miss this opportunity.

She finally let your hand go, fingers stroking softly along the length of your palm. Your lips parted and for just a moment her gaze lingered there before looking back to your professor.

“You may go now,” she told him, not bothering to keep it behind the cover of polite respectability.

He sputtered out some argument. She rolled her eye, placing a hand on the small of your back, so different from when his hand had been there, and led you out of the door. Eyes followed the two of you, most focused on her, a ripple of something going through the rest of the party. She pushed the front door open, leading you into the cool air of the night.

“So,” she said, leaning back against the railing of the porch, “you’re interested in witchcraft, are you?”

“Yes,” you replied, softly, almost embarrassed, and yet certain in your conviction.

“You should know that oaf is taking such an interest in you because you’re such a pretty young thing,” she said, “his last favourite is now positioned somewhere nice like Yale or Cambridge and he keeps taking the credit for putting her there.”

“I have no interest in World War I,” you said, hoping that was answer enough.

“Clever girl.”

The thrill of her praise would sustain you long after the party was over.

“If you’re serious about pursuing witchcraft for your senior thesis, come by my office tomorrow morning with a proposal,” she said.

She maintained eye contact as she took a long sip from her wine, her lipstick leaving a mark on the glass. You couldn’t stop yourself watching her, already under her spell. She passed the glass to you, half drunk, and turned to walked down the steps.

“Don’t disappoint me,” she called over her shoulder before disappearing in the night.

You drained the last of the wine from her glass and left it there on the wooden floor of the porch. You returned home without bothering to take your leave of your professor, knowing he wouldn’t matter by that time tomorrow. You were going to give her the best proposal she’d ever seen, of that you were determined.

She agreed to oversee your senior thesis on historical folklore of witchcraft.

You learnt very quickly that Professor Harness’s demanding nature wasn’t an overblown rumour. She expected excellence from you. Late nights and early mornings, you spent so much time with you nose in your books the outside world stopped feeling real. Your fingers had grown ink stained and your eyes ached from the strain of reading such small type.

Every meeting, she sent you home with a new stack of books, expecting you to be there again in a few days having read them all, ready to discuss every little detail in her office for hours on end. She took up most of your waking hours, and when you did manage to snatch some sleep, she haunted your dreams.

You hadn’t gotten over the way lightning had struck at your first meeting.

Her office had turned into a sanctuary for you. You’d rush in, an armful of books almost tumbling to the floor before you threw them down into one of her chairs and curling up on the sofa she kept flush to the wall under the window. Some days you were there from the moment she arrived until long after the sun set, just reading and taking notes.

The office itself was warm, sometimes overly so, the sun coming through the window at just the right angle to heat the air. Her desk was large, imposing, the perfect symbol for the woman who had become legend around campus. Bookshelves were overflowing with all kinds of books. Cheap paperbacks, hardcovers, leather-bound, in pristine condition and falling apart. Some she’d let you pour over but leave behind at the end of the night, others she sent you off with. All you knew was you wanted the chance to read every single one.

Sharing the space with her was just as nerve inducing as it was the first time. You became so aware of yourself, wanting to impress her. When she’d sit beside you, the sofa cushions dipping until you felt yourself slip towards her, you’d grow so still, trying to not touch her, scared of what that would do to you. Sometimes, she lent forward to look at the page you were reading and her dark hair would brush your skin.

There were times when you thought she might know what you were thinking. The way you felt out of control around her. Your need to impress her. Her gaze would linger just a fraction of a moment longer than was appropriate, assessing every inch of you. Sometimes her fingertips would graze over the skin of your cheek, or she’d grasp your chin, or she’d gently move your hair out of your face. Hours spent together, and you could never tell how she felt about you or your work.

It only made you try harder.

It wasn’t until two months in that your friends decided to take matters into their own hands. You’d just returned from a full day studying in her office when a knock sounded on your door. Stifling a yawn, you pulled the door open.

“Oh, so you are still alive,” you friend said, shoving past you into your tiny dorm room.

“Hello to you too,” you said.

“There’s a party tonight. You’re coming. Don’t even bother arguing. No one has seen you since you started studying with the witch,” she said, picking up a banana on your desk that had begun to turn brown, “seriously, does she keep you chained up or something?”

You weren’t about to dignify that with an answer. Not that the thought of being bound by Professor Harkness was one that you hated. It just wasn’t worth the time explaining that.

“I have so much work I still need to do,” you said.

“You’ve been working too hard. Come on, it’ll be fun. You still remember what fun is like, right?”

In the end, you let her drag you to the party after raiding your wardrobe for something more party appropriate. Standing, clutching the red solo cup full of something that burnt as it went down, you watched the game of ping pong going on.

“I’d be terrified if I had to spend all that time with her,” some guy was saying to you.

“She’s not that scary,” you said, already regretting your decision to come.

“Nah. I heard she made some guy piss himself with just a look,” he said, swaying closer to you.

“She’s not like that,” you said, shaking your head, “sounds like that guy just has poor bladder control.”

“Ha, you’re funny,” he said, leaning closer until his sour breath washed over your face, “wanna come upstairs so you can tell me what she’s really like?”

“No thank you,” you said, shoving him away form you.

“Whatever,” he spat, “frigid bitch.”

“So what’s she actually like?” your friend said, taking the drunk guy’s place when he swung away from you.

“Quiet, exacting, demanding,” you replied, “she expects excellence.”

“Sounds exhausting,” she said.

“No, no, it’s great. I love it. She’s… great,” you said, looking down into your cup, swirling the liquid in it, “she’s kind of brilliant.”

“Careful. You sound like you’re in love with her,” your friend laughed.

“Don’t be stupid,” you snapped.

“Maybe she’s done a spell on you. You know everyone says she’s an actual witch? She’s certainly mean enough,” she said.

“She’s not,” you snapped, “seriously, all those rumours are made up by sad little people who feel inferior whenever they see a smart woman because they know they can’t ever live up to her.”

“She growled like a dog at some guy who cut her off as she was walking,” she said.

“People make up such stupid lies,” you said.

“Someone has video of her insulting some students. It went viral on TikTok,” she said.

“They probably deserved it. She has standards,” you said.

“I’m just saying, be careful with her. Maybe she’s trying to recruit you to her coven, or maybe she’s hoping to sacrifice you in some ritual to get more power,” she said.

“Shut up,” you snapped.

Downing the last of your drink, you crumpled the cup and flung it aside.

“I’m going home. I have too much work to be getting on with for this,” you said.

“Hey, no, come on. I’ll stop talking about her,” she said.

You shook her hand off you.

“I’ll see you around.”

You ignored her as she shouted after you, letting yourself out through the back gate. Curling your arms around your body, you strode off down the sidewalk. The night air held a chill to it, the slow drip of autumn beginning to give way to winter. You tipped your head back to look at the night sky, so dark, the moon just beginning to wax.

You let your feet lead you back towards your dorm building, wandering through the night and the shadows. The air was crisp in your lungs and you let yourself breath in deeply. You should have been home, reading up on the intersect of witch trails with gynophobia in the Renaissance, but instead you had wasted time on a bunch of drunk idiots for nothing.

“You’re out late.”

You startled, whirling around, heart thumping in your chest. Stepping out of the shadows, hands in her pockets, Professor Harkness looked like the devil come to collect your soul. You’d give it willingly if only she asked for it.

“I was at a party,” you said.

“You should be careful,” she said, taking slow steps towards you, “pretty young thing like you all alone at night. Anything could happen.”

The way she smiled made you feel as if she was the wolf and you the sheep, the prey to her predator. You were desperate to let her sink her teeth deeply into you.

“Nothing that interesting happens to me,” you said, voice quiet.

“Come, pet,” she said, hand landing on the small of your back, “I’ll walk you home. Can’t have something happen to you. I’ll feel so much guilt.”

You let her lead you back towards campus, the bright lights beckoning you home. You didn’t ask how she knew where to take you, so focused on the feeling of her hand splayed over your back, the warmth of her skin seeping through your thin shirt and into your skin.

“I suppose I’ve forgotten what it is to be young. I assumed you’d be curled up in bed, reading the texts I gave you,” she said, “of course you’d be out on a Friday night at a party.”

“My friend dragged me with her. Apparently I’ve been missing in action since I started working with you. She said I needed to have fun,” you said.

“I thought we were having fun,” she said, voice a low rumbled against your ear.

“We are. I am,” you said, so quick it brought a smirk to her lips when you turned your face towards her, “I shouldn’t have gone tonight. It was a waste of time.”

“Have you been drinking?” she asked. When you didn’t answer, she lent closer, “I won’t tell anyone if you have.”

“I’m over 21,” you whispered.

“Such a grown up girl,” she said, “I can smell the cheap vodka on you.”

She paused in front of your dorm building, warm light spilling out the entrance. Both hands came up to cup your cheeks, calloused skin scraping against yours, thumb brushing over your cheekbone. She lent forward again, right into your personal space. Her fingertips stroked over your soft skin as she pulled them away before her index finger gently tugged on your lower lip.

“Sweet dreams, kitten,” she whispered before disappearing back into the shadows of the night. If not for your racing heart you might have thought you’d hallucinated the entire thing.

She didn’t mention it when you slunk into her office on Monday, passing you a cup of coffee without a single word, but a raised eyebrow. You took it with grace, curling up on her sofa, opening the book in your lap. When she settled beside you, feet kicked up on her coffee table, you didn’t even look at her out of the corner of your eyes.

Her fingers were soft as they brushed your hair over your shoulder, gently tucking it behind your ear. Lingering on the curve of your jaw, you shivered, dragging your gaze over to her. The corner of her lips pulled up for a fleeting moment.

“Tell me your thoughts.”

You did, the words spilling over your words like secrets, softly spoken in the confessional of her office. You lent back, watching you, legs spread, interest in her blue eyes. Her finger ran along the length of her lip, intent as she watched you talk yourself out. Once you were done, her hand came to cradle the back of your head, nails scraping over your scalp.

“It appears as if your weekend wasn’t totally wasted,” she said.

“No,” you said.

“Good.” Her lips pressed together to repress her smile, “keep reading.”

Her long fingers tapped the book in your lap and she left you alone to your reading. You snuck a glance at her before bowing your head and trying not to think about what this meant.

Nor the way you yearned for more.

From that day, you noticed a change. Her hands would linger on you, her touch growing familiar and yet no less exciting. You stayed later and later, curling up on her sofa, growing comfortable as you waded through history with her. She guided you, shaping your research into something you could be proud of as you poured over books and wrote long paragraphs for her to read. Shared meals and shared drinks, you’d sit on the floor of her office, take out containers scattered over the coffee table. You shrunk further away from your friends, finding their conversations inane and childish, drunken antics no longer fun but puerile as you worked on something far more important. You lost yourself in that room, an addict who needed their fix every day or else you were given over to malaise.

She indulged your need for her attention, her open door policy lasting 24 hours a day. She seemed to enjoy how much you wanted to share the same air as her. Every time you said something, your eyes would turn to her, desperate for her approval which she freely gave. You spent time watching the way her fingers traced over words on the page in front of you, trying not to think about how much you wanted her to do the same thing across your bare skin. Her praise became greater, more frequent, each one hard won for, and each one treasured like the most precious of gifts, hoarding them to revisit every night before you fell asleep.

You hadn’t realised how comfortable you’d grown in her presence until the afternoon you realised you’d fallen asleep on the sofa as you tried to craft the perfect sentence. Your eyelashes fluttered and you were slow to blink your eyes open. Draped in a soft blanket, the warm air heated from the small space heater Professor Harkness had dragged into the office, you glanced around the room. It was darker than you’d remembered, the window showing a night sky while the lamps offered a soft refuge against the dark.

Something tightened around your ankle. You turned your attention towards it. Professor Harkness was sitting on the other end of the sofa, your bare feet resting in her lap. The book in her hand was left unattended as she stared down at you, a confusing expression on her face. Her grip on your ankle tightened again and you offered a lazy smile.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to drop off,” you said, voice rough with sleep.

“I’ve been wearing you out,” she said.

With the softness of sleep making it difficult to school your features, your cheeks heated at the implication. Not that you would have minded. In fact, you wished that was the reason you were so tired.

Her finger trailed along the arch of your foot. You shifted, the touch a tickle. She did it again, smiling down at you before she let you go.

“Sleep, if you have to. You’re no use to me if you’re too tired to function,” she said.

“No, no, I’m okay,” you said, sitting up, the blanket pooling around you.

The thought that she’d placed it over you for your comfort made your head spin. To then sit by you, to welcome any part of you into her personal space as you slept was even worse. Your chest ached and your heart clenched and you wanted to crawl into her lap.

“Perhaps you’re right. We should take a break. I’ve been working you too hard,” she said.

You would let her work you harder if it meant more moments like this.

“Come, pet. I’m taking you to dinner.”

You were helpless as you followed her. She drove, the car feeling so close with the dark night pressing in against the windows. You tried not to watch her, the hands you’d been fantasising about controlling the machine with such power.

The restaurant was nice. Intimate. Small tables and soft lamps offering pools of light, plenty of shadows to hide in. The maître d' seemed to recognise her, leading her to a table at the back. You lowered into your seat, taking note of the candle on the table between the two of you. The entire thing felt like a dream.

“Um, I’m not sure I can afford this place,” you said.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, waving off your worry, “I’m paying.”

“Oh.” You clasped your hands in your lap, “thank you, Professor.”

“Why do you always call me that?” she asked.

“Call you what?” you asked.

“Professor,” she replied, “I have a name.”

“Sorry. Do you not like it? I was trying to be respectful,” you said, anxiety taking hold of you.

“Agatha is fine,” she said.

“Okay,” you replied, “Agatha.”

Her smile was self satisfied and she lent back in her chair, eyes sweeping over you. You let her drink her fill of you, not sure what she was looking for, but wanting to give it to her. You’d give her anything she asked for.

“I must admit, I wasn’t sure about taking on a student. I usually don’t. But I’m glad I did. You’ve been quite the diligent student,” she said.

“I’m glad you did too,” you said.

“Of course you are, pet,” she said.

Before you could say anything else, the waiter paused by the side of the table. She ordered for you, glancing over as she did so as if ensure you didn’t argue. You weren’t about to. You’d do whatever she wanted as long as it pleased her.

The wine was expensive, full bodied, better than any other you’d had. It stained her lips and you wanted to lick it free from where it clung to her skin. The discussion over dinner was about the things you’d read that day, listening to the way she so easily connected one story to another. Her mastery was awe inspiring. It was easy to ignore the romantic setting and the wine that kept being poured for you as she spoke, her husky voice doing something delicious to you.

It wasn’t until dessert that it all came crashing back into you. The creme brûlée in front of her was beautiful. The spoon cracked the top and she took a bite, slowly pulling the spoon from between her lips. Her eyelids fluttered shut and a low moan reverberated through her chest. Your cheeks heated, thighs pressing together, turning breathless. A slow smile spread over her face and when her eyes opened again they were smouldering.

“You must try this. No other place does one as good,” she said.

“Oh, uh…” You looked down at the tiramisu in front of you.

“Come here, pet.”

She held out a spoon of the creme brûlée towards you. You lent forward, not quite able to believe what was happening. She placed it in your mouth, blue eyes holding yours over the top of the candle’s flame. It felt as if everything was moving in slow motion as she drew the spoon back.

The small noise of pleasure that came from you had her gaze lowering to your lips. Your tongue darted out, chasing the sugar on your lips. Her eyes darkened and she lent closer over the table.

“How’s that, pet?” she asked, husky, a rasp of a voice.

“It’s delicious,” you said, breathless and high pitched, a perfect opposite to her.

“It is, isn’t it?”

You watched in fascination as she scooped up some more, her tongue licking the spoon clean. Your breath hitched. Under the table, her foot gently brushed against your shin. Her blue eyes twinkled with something you wanted to drown in.

“Eat your dessert, kitten,” she said, “then I’ll take you home.”

You did as you were told, not even tasting coffee and cream of your own dessert. You were so focused on watching her devour her’s, indecent in how much pleasure she took from it. You were squirming in your seat as she finished, feeling on fire.

It wasn’t fair. Nothing about this was fair. You wanted her so much and she was just… making it worse.

She seemed not to realise the exact effect she was having on you as she led you out of the restaurant and back into her car. You stared out the window, not needing to be caught staring any more than you already had. It wasn’t until the rumble of the engine cut off that you realised something.

“This isn’t my home,” you said, staring up at the large two story house in front of you.

“No, it’s mine,” she said.

“What?”

You whipped around to stare at her. She wasn’t even looking back, the door open as she stepped out of the car.

“Are you coming or what?” she asked.

You scrambled to follow her, almost tripping over yourself in your haste. You weren’t sure what you expected, reproach for following her into her house or to be welcomed in with warmth. What you weren’t expecting was to follow her into the back where the kitchen was.

“Do you want tea?” she asked.

“Sure,” you replied, “what am I doing here?”

“Having tea,” she said, glancing at you over her shoulder.

“And then?” you asked.

“Going to sleep. I can’t trust you to do that on your own,” she replied, “clearly.”

“I really am sorry about that,” you said.

“Stop apologising,” she snapped.

Your lips formed the word sorry again before you stopped yourself. Instead, you watched her boil the water for the tea. Your confusion was mixing with your yearning, leaving you unable to do anything but wait for her to tell you what was going on. Pouring the water into two mugs, the strings from the teabags resting against the sides, she looked over her shoulder at you again.

“Come on then.”

You followed her with the two mugs of tea into her living room. It was comfortable, almost like a more lived in version of her office. Sitting beside her on the couch, comfortable and well loved, you watched her lean forward and place one mug on the coffee table. She passed the other to you, fingers brushing together, looking at you from under her eyelashes.

“There you go, kitten,” she murmured.

“Thanks.”

You looked down into the cup, steam rising from the surface of the steeping tea. Your fingers fiddled with the string of the teabag. Her hand landed on your thigh, startling you.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” she said.

“I don’t know what I’m going here,” you said, dragging your eyes up to her.

“Do you not want to be here?” she asked.

“No, no I do,” you said, rushing through the words, “it’s just…”

Her hands were gentle as they took the cup from your hands, placing it down beside hers. You could only watch as she swung her leg over yours, settling herself in your lap. Both hands cupped your cheeks, thumb stroking along your cheekbone.

“Agatha,” you whispered.

“Yes, pet?” she asked.

“I want you,” you confessed.

“I know.”

Her lips pressed against yours, scorching as she consumed your very soul. Your hands hovered above her waist, scared that to touch her was to break the moment, that it would make her come to her senses. She kissed you deeper, nails digging into the skin of your cheeks as she tipped your head back. Her tongue swept into your mouth. She was so warm when your hands made contact with her body.

She moaned into your mouth, filthy and hot, making you claw at her. She tasted of the burnt sugar of the creme brûlée and the wine you’d split with her. She kissed deeper still, stealing your breath. You tugged at her shirt, pulling it out of the waistband of her pants. Shoving your hands up, you felt the soft skin of her bare back against your palms, your fingertips, wanting to feel every inch of her.

Her hands slipped into your hair, shoving it out of the way, tugging on it in a way that had you mewling into her mouth. You felt her grin against your lips before she lent back, staring down at you. Her eyes had darkened, her lips kiss swollen, cheeks flushed.

“Do you want to stop?” she asked.

You shook your head before surging up to capture her lips in another kiss. Her fingers tightened in your hair and she made a small noise as your nails ran down her spine. You felt out of control, wanting more from her, the way you always did. There was something about her that drove you crazy, that had always driven you crazy. Even before you’d met her she’d consumed you.

She sat back again, hands slipping from your hair. You watched as her hands crossed over her body, slowly peeling her shirt off her body. You were dumbstruck, watching her with wide eyes and heaving breath. She flung the shirt aside, shaking her hair back from her face.

“Are you going to touch me, pet?” she asked.

“Yeah,” you breathed out.

Your hands slid around her ribcage, feeling the way her skin moved as she inhaled. She was so warm against your palms, real and there with you. You were slow as you trailed your fingers up, brushing the underside of one cloth covered breast. Your eyes darted up to her face, finding her watching you instead of your hands.

“Go on,” she encouraged.

You cupped them, feeling the weight of them in your hands. Leaning forward, your lips brushed over the curve of one then the other, vulnerable skin soft. Your tongue dragged over it, tasting her. She made a small noise, a rumbling in her chest, hands coming up to curl around the back your neck. She pressed you closer.

Reaching around, you released her from her bra, tugging the straps down her arm. Your mouth was on her again, exploring, until your lips wrapped around a nipple. The noise she made was one of approval, back arching towards your mouth. When you sucked, gentle at first, testing the waters, she pressed you closer again. You wanted to please her so badly.

With your hand, you rolled the other nipple between thumb and forefinger. Your name sounded so sweet on her lips, urging you to continue. Her soft sighs and the way her hips rolled against you only made you want more. You wanted to worship at the alter of her body, to take communion from between her legs, to whisper your confessions into her skin. You wanted to drown in her.

Fingers tilted your chin up, your mouth popping free with an indecent noise. She chuckled, pressing her lips to yours again, teeth sinking in to your lower lip until you tasted the coppery tang of blood. You whined, surprised at how much you enjoyed the sensation of the pain mixed with the pleasure.

You made a pained noise as she climbed off your lap, standing half naked in front of you. Your fingertips skated over her skin. Without a word, she pulled you up off the couch and tugged you towards the stairs. You followed, willing to go wherever she wanted, as long as you could keep touching her.

She paused halfway up, turning to grasp your face in her hands, kissing you again like she couldn’t stop herself. You whimpered into her mouth, hands on her bare waist. She dragged you the rest of the way up, pinning you to the wall at the top of the stairs. You groaned, pressing her closer, wanting her everywhere. One leg slotted between yours and the noise you made would have been embarrassing if you weren’t so lost in her. Her thigh pressed against you, just enough pressure to have you grinding down, seeking out more.

“So needy, pet,” she murmured against your lips.

“Want you,” you managed to choke out before her tongue was in your mouth again and you were rolling your hips against her thigh.

“When I fuck you, it won’t be against the wall,” she said.

She tugged you further down the hall, slamming open a door to what you hoped would be your final destination. Her lips were on yours again, possessing you, guiding you where she wanted you. She paused, just long enough to tear your t-shirt from your body, flinging it aside.

Her lips trailed down your neck, latching on at your pulse point. You whined, tipping your head back to give her more access. You felt on fire. Her hands were skating over your bare skin, nails dragging in a delicious way, making you gasp out her name in a plea for more.

Rather than give in and give you instant gratification, she took her time with you. Her hands were slow but sure as she peeled your clothes from your body. It was the same level of precision she used in her work, getting exactly what she wanted. Only this time, you were the thing she wanted.

When she lowered you onto the bed, you were bare before her. Your usual self consciousness was washed away in the tide of your longing for her. Her eyes swept over you, lingering, taking their time to drink you in in your entirety. Her fingers played with your nipples, watching with an academic interest as you arched up, your small whines doing nothing to spur her on.

Holding your eyes, she pressed kisses to your skin, soft and slow, making her way down your body, lingering the closer she got to the apex of your thighs. You trembled, fingers clenching in the comforter.

“You keep your hands right there, pet,” she said, staring up your body.

You nodded, willing to agree to anything she asked of you in that moment.

“Good girl,” she said before her lips pressed to the crease where your hip met your thigh. You inhaled sharply and she grinned. Her teeth sunk in, leaving a dark bruise on your skin as she sucked on it.

She hovered for a moment, her breath ghosting over where you wanted her the most. You pulsed, suspended in the moment before her mouth made contact with you. Her hands curled around your thighs, holding you open for her as her tongue ran through your folds. You cried out, hips bucking up into her mouth.

She chuckled, the vibrations going through you in a way that made you feel like you were being undone. Her tongue teased you again before pressing against your bundle of nerves. You whined, fingers clenching, her name a prayer on your lips. She pinned your hips to the bed, giving your clit a harsh suck. The feeling ricocheted through you, fire curling in your veins, your muscles tightening.

She feasted on you. Relentless, unforgiving, refusing to give you a chance to breathe. She was like a woman possessed, singular in her intent, putting everything into her goal. She was taking you apart, slowly and surely, and all you could hope was that she’d put you back together again when she was done.

Her fingers slid inside of you, so easily it would be embarrassing under other circumstances. They were slow at first, teasing and never giving you quite enough. But then she curled them, pressing into the special place no one but you had managed to find. Your legs trembled.

“I’m so close,” you whimpered.

“No you don’t, pet,” she said, “you don’t come until I say so.”

“But-“ you tried to argue.

“You want to be a good girl for me, don’t you?” she asked, cutting you off, thumb running in slow circles over your clit.

“Yes,” you replied, whiney and desperate.

“Then don’t you dare come without my permission,” she said, face lowering back to your throbbing core.

Her tongue was back on your clit as her fingers continued to stroke inside of you. You trembled, shaking, trying so hard to stave off your oncoming orgasm. Tears pricked in your eyes, fingers clenching tightly on the hold you had on the sheets until it hurt. She kept going, ruthless in what she wanted. She had complete control over you.

It was so close, you could practically taste it. You were straining, doing everything you could not to tip over the edge. She was a master of your body, able to play it to perfection. Her tongue kept dragging over your clit, sucking on it, fingers twisting and curling, dragging out every iota of pleasure your body held.

“Agatha,” you sobbed, “please.”

Blue eyes stared up at you, dark and dangerous.

“Please,” you begged.

Her fingers gave another slow stroke. You whimpered, your entire body on fire, wound tight as you did what you were told. You always did what she told you to do.

“Go on, pet,” she said, “keep your eyes on me and you can come.”

You let out a relieved breath. When you let yourself go, the wave of pleasure crashed into you, wave after wave. She held your gaze the entire time, drinking in the way pleasure contorted your body. The way you cried out her name felt holy, a cry of worship as you stared into her eyes.

When she drew back, she held her hand up, tongue running up her fingers. You reached out, grasping her wrist. She let you pull her hand towards you, your lips sliding down her fingers, lapping your arousal from her skin. Her eyes smouldered as she watched you, a pleased smirk on her lips.

“You are a good girl, aren’t you pet,” she murmured, gently stroking you hair with her other hand. The pulse of pleasure that went through you was bright and intense. You liked being her good girl.

Your tongue swirled over each digit, cleaning her up as best you could. A flicker of fondness passed over her face before she pulled it away from you. Leaning forward, her lips pressed against yours, rough and intense, passionate in ways you hadn’t experienced with anyone else. It made you feel wanted, desired, the way you always felt wanted with her. After all, she’d agreed to take you on for your senior thesis when she so rarely took people on.

“Alright, kitten,” she whispered against your lips, “let’s see how many times I can make you come tonight before you beg me to stop.”

When you awoke in the morning, deliciously sore and definitely sated, you rolled over in the large bed, hands reaching for the warm body you were expecting to find beside you. All you found was cool sheets. Squinting your eyes open, the light was still kept at bay from the drawn curtains, but the room was empty of another person. You sat up, rumpled and unsure.

You slipped out of the bed, tugging your clothes back on but your feet bare. You were slow as you eased the door open, padding out onto the landing you’d paid no attention to the night before. On silent feet, you descended to the lower level of the house, following the sound you could just hear.

Agatha was in the kitchen, her back to you, encased in a flowing silk robe. You blinked, pausing as you drank her in. Her hair, wild and out of control, long fingers tapping on the counter, legs bare where they peeked out the bottom of the robe. She was breathtaking in the morning light.

“You’re staring, kitten,” she said, voice still rough from sleep.

“Sorry,” you said, slipping into the kitchen proper.

She turned her head, glancing at you over her shoulder. Her eyebrows drew together and the corner of her lips turned down.

“Why are you dressed?” she asked, stepping away from the counter, “were you planning on sneaking out in the morning?”

“No, I… I wasn’t sure what was appropriate,” you said.

“Please tell me this wasn’t your first time,” she said.

“Of course not,” you said, “although I suppose it is my first time with my professor,”

She hummed but didn’t give you more of an answer. Anxiety was seeping into your body now.

“I thought you might want me to leave.”

Her eyes snapped back to you, displeasure painting her features.

“Come here.”

You didn’t move.

“I’m not going to ask again, pet,” she said, voice hardened, “come. Here.”

On soft feet you approached her. With sure hands she caught you, fingers pressing into your hips as she held you tightly. Your eyes darted around her face before dragging down. Bare skin met your eyes until the shadow of the robe obscured her from your vision. She was naked under the robe and there was still a part of you that wanted to unwrap her like a present.

“Do you want to leave?” she asked, gaining your attention again.

Your eyes snapped up to hers and you shook your head.

“I thought I’d made it obvious that the only place I want you is with me,” she said, “the only person I want you thinking about is me. The only person I want touching you is me.”

You trembled.

“Do you want that too, kitten?” she asked, drawing closer.

“Yes,” you breathed out.

“Then you’re mine, pet,” she said, her nose skimming along the curve of your jaw.

Her hand squeezed your hips and her lips pressed to the vulnerable skin behind your jaw before she pulled away. Your breath caught and you felt lightheaded. You ached to pull her back to you, to lose yourself in the feeling of her body and her skin and her mouth. Would you ever stop feeling this way with her? You didn’t think so.

“Now, I’ve been thinking. I’ve been pushing you too hard lately. You can have the weekend off,” she said.

“Oh.” You were still trembling from the brush of her lips and her words, “thanks.”

“So you won’t be needing those clothes,” she said, flippant and dismissive, “you certainly won’t be in them long.”

You flushed, cheeks heating. There was a twist to her lips, amusement twinkling in her eyes. You slipped closer to her again, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“Whatever you want, Agatha,” you whispered.

“All I want is you, pet,” she replied.

Turns out, all you wanted was her too.

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness imagine #agatha harkness #agatha all along

2K notes · View notes

frogstappen · 2 months ago

Text

𝐳𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐯𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐭, 𝐧𝐥

best friend!max verstappen x reader / 3k

you watch max's home race from the red bull garage.

⚠️: description of major crash, some mentions of injury. sickly sweet friendship with a hint of something more. jealous!max, soft!max, cheeky!max.

“Headset?”

“Yep.”

“I got some snacks for you. Where are the –?”

The bag rustles as you lift it. “Pretzels. Got them.”

“And you know where the bathroom is? Out that door, down the corridor –”

“Max,” you push his arm down, “You know who we sound like right now?”

His eyebrows lift. “Who?”

You giggle. “You and GP. Radio, check. Headset, check. Bathroom, check.”

Max sighs, propping a hand on his hip. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just – listen to me, please, okay?”

“I’m going to be fine,” you assure him. “I’ve watched you from the garage a thousand times before.”

“Yeah, well, you haven’t been down here in a while. I’m just making sure.”

The track is already deafening. The roar of tens of thousands of bloodthirsty Formula One fans isn’t quite as earthshaking as that of twenty racecars – but Jesus, there’s not much in it.

The attendance in Zandvoort this weekend has reached well over three hundred thousand. Earlier, you stood out front to watch the drivers’ parade with some of the team.

Max lifted his head as the bus turned the last corner and trundled down the main straight. The crowd thundered all around. He caught your eye and, with a smirk, lifted a waggling hand – and you felt your bones vibrating with the cheering.

An orange sea parted by a strip of black asphalt; they twirl flags between thick clouds of tangerine smoke. They paint their faces and wave their banners, topple their drinks with the thrill that just a half-second glimpse at their Dutch Lion ignites.

Formula One fans go hard. Max Verstappen fans go harder.

An assistant taps Max’s shoulder. She flicks up the mic on her headset as he turns. “Three minutes to anthem.”

He nods, and she totters off.

“Promise me,” he takes hold of your elbows, “that you’ll stay right here. I’ll find you after, okay? One of the guys will bring you to the podium.”

“Confident,” you snort, though his expression tightens.

Your phone buzzes on the desk. You flip it over and the screen lights a name adorned with a heart emoji. Beneath, a picture of the classic overhead of the grid, stretched across a flatscreen TV.

Bet your view is better than mine! Miss you. X

Max grumbles, grabbing his balaclava. “I should go.”

“Hey, wait.” You tug on the sleeve of his suit, dangling from his waist.

He sways back into your side, the weight of him familiar and gentle. “Mhm?”

“Have a good one, okay? Be safe.”

“Safe?” He smirks, toying with the cord of your headset. “That’s no fun.”

“I’m serious, Max. Don’t be a dick.”

Okay, he mouths, patting your head. “Speaking of dicks,” he taps your phone, “Better reply.”

His head tilts back in laughter when you shove him off, and he swaggers out of the garage. An assistant hoists a parasol in the air and scurries down the pit lane at his side.

He’s so calm, you think, that he may as well be out for a Sunday drive. It comes naturally enough to him.

He’s on pole today. The car has been good, Max’s form even better. The sky is clear (save for the fans’ fluorescent flares), and there’s no chance of rain – though, sometimes, you find yourself praying for it.

He’s Dutch, okay? The rain is always on his side.

It’s been a decent weekend, for once. No hiccups, no setbacks. He’s soared his way around the track, producing lap after perfect lap. The way he always does, when he knows you’re somewhere nearby.

His lucky charm, since his first go around a karting track. So Max says, anyway.

He’ll say it with humor; that wit of his that you’ve learned like a second language. Still – sometimes, after his hardest races, his toughest battles, he wraps his arms around you tight enough to convince you that he might just be telling the truth.

Just for a moment.

You’ve been best friends for as long as you can remember. Never one without the other; always whispering into each other’s ears or otherwise communicating through flashes of eye contact, kicks under the table.

Wherever he goes, you go. You bicker like a married couple, and trust each other much the same. From the school playground to the Circuit de Monaco – and everywhere in between.

The orchestra swings to life, sending the sound of Wilhelmus skyward. Onscreen in the garage, the camera focuses in on Max: calm, composed, staring off down to the first corner like it’s his next meal.

Nothing has ever happened between you. Not really. No secret rendezvous nor dear diary crushes. Once, and only once, a chaste kiss during a high school game of spin the bottle.

It was about as awkward as it should’ve been. This quick, electric shock of a kiss. Over all too soon and not soon enough. He tasted like the lager he’d been drinking. He steadied himself with a hand on your thigh.

You sat back on your heels, wiped your lips with the sleeve of your sweater, and aped Max’s look of disgust. You snickered with your girlfriends as the circle moved on – but anytime you snuck a glance at him, he was already looking straight back.

He never brought it up again, though – and so neither did you. As far as either of you were concerned, it never happened. You’re just friends.

Best, best friends.

This new guy you’ve been seeing – you met him in a bar in London. He said he liked your dress, said he liked your smile, then offered to buy you a drink. It’s been no more than six weeks, but Max had already quietly decided his thoughts over summer break.

He’s a nice guy, he said, deliberately bumping his rubber ring into yours.

You pushed away from him, floating across the pool. Nice? That’s all you got?

What do you want me to say? I’m not the one dating him.

I just don’t believe that nice is all you have to say. You’re not that good at pretending. I know you too well, Verstappen.

Okay, fine. Too much styling of the hair.

Too much…What?

Yeah. And he wears weird shoes.

Well, he likes F1. Said he’s a fan of yours.

Ha, Max clicked his fingers, That’s the biggest red flag of them all.

Your phone buzzes again. You turn it facedown without looking, and pull your headset on.

The circuit shudders as the anthem comes to an end. The drivers split up, pulling off ice vests and zipping up their suits. The mechanics prop chairs in front of the screen, thumping their helmets over their heads.

Almost ten years in, the anxiety still hangs heavy in your stomach. The rumble of the engines, the babble from the loudspeakers. The rapid-fire orders shot over your head in the garage.

It comes naturally to Max, sure – that doesn’t mean it’s easy for you.

You watch him as he lowers into his car. Eyes narrow and focused, blurring everything but that first bend from his vision. All good humor shaken off, replaced by a vicious hunger to hit the end of the straight first, to be a speck on the horizon before the first lap is through.

Your thumb picks at the 33 sticker on the side of your headset. You burst open the bag of pretzels.

Max checks the radio and GP replies: “Loud and clear.”

“Beautiful day,” the driver says, weaving through the formation lap. “Simply lovely.”

You smile, suckling on the salty snack. As nervous as you may feel, at least he’s having fun.

He brings the car to a soft stop on his line and waits as the others follow suit. The lights flick on one by one, a painful pause between each. One sharp breath, held at the bottom of your throat, – and the red dissolves.

The Red Bull fires down the track.

Your lungs fill with a gulp of fuel-fumed air. Veins flood with warmth – the ice-cold grip around each nerve thawed as soon as Max begins to lead the flock.

He fights off contenders for first all the way to turn four – snuffing the flame of a Ferrari here, squeezing the papaya of a McLaren there. He catapults ahead just past Hunserug, and the garage springs to cheerful life.

In your headset, the pit wall is serious, fixed on the race. They murmur over wavelengths, static fizzling between words. Voices flat and emotionless; statistics on top of statistics, strategies on top of strategies.

You crush more pretzels between your molars, watching, unblinking. You twist the cord around your index finger, draining the tip of blood, then loosen again as Max puts more than a second between his car and the next.

He’s doing good. He always does good, as far as you’re concerned.

He’s doing what he always says he was made to do. He was raised this way, weathered into shape by each storm he powered his way through. Not born, not destined – Max doesn’t believe in any of that shit.

God doesn’t drive F1 cars, he’ll say. I do.

A couple tense laps pass. The Red Bull is still up front, though he’s tussling with the Ferrari now hot on his tail. Each chance his pursuer takes, each split-second jab at his lead, Max has already squashed before it materializes.

He rips around turn fourteen, following the track through its widest bend down to fifteen, and hits the main straight to thunderous applause. The cars scream past the pits, a roar sliced in two as they barrel straight for Tarzan.

The gap is barely two tenths. The mechanics clutch their helmets. Max taunts the corner on the outside of the track, eyeing his target.

“Defend,” one of the mechanics growls. “Hold him, Max.”

The Ferrari tucks behind, its front wing edging closer and closer.

You blink.

The red car swings out, shuddering with the force of the maneuver. He steadies himself and floors it, each closing centimeter perilous.

Blink again.

They’re side by side. Almost wheel to wheel. There’s no way Max can’t see that scarlet smirk from the corner of his eye. The apex is right there, though, it’s right fucking there.

Another blink, and –

He’s gone.

He’s gone. He’s –

Hurtling off the track. At almost two hundred miles per hour. The gravel spits at him as he spins; smoke and dust billow from beneath. He slams straight into the barrier, and, finally, the moment ends.

Your chest shrinks; a weak wheeze passes your lips. “Oh, my God.”

The mechanics leap to their feet. They bark amongst themselves like a pack of angry dogs, though you can’t make out a word.

Your hearing is shot. Every sound bleeds into the next; one long, high-pitched scream. You move without thinking, without feeling; slip off the stool and tug your headset. It hits the desk with a distant clatter, though you’re already wandering away.

The sound of the crowd rattles against your skull. Numb, muted. An awful groaning sound as the cloud lifts, revealing the chewed-up car.

It’s bad. It’s the worst one in a long time. He must’ve hit that barrier at near-enough full speed. The dread fills your lungs like torrents of heavy, black water. Sickly salt, suffocating sea. Oh, God.

You scan the garage for any of his mechanics. Matt. Ole. Chris. Fucking – any of them. Who did he say would bring you to him when this was over? He said he’d meet you at the podium. He said he’d find you –

A rough hand grabs your elbow.

Max’s face flickers across your vision. Blue steel gaze, freckle above his lip. The dust pulls him away from your grasp. He hits the barrier again and again and again.

“Max –”

The voice is calm – too fucking calm, you think, when it tells you, “He’s talking. They’ve got him talking.”

“Talking,” you echo, begging it to solidify in your brain. “Can you put me on to him?”

The engineer pulls you over to the exit. He plucks at his mic, murmurs some response down the line to the team. He takes your wrist and leads you out, muttering, “C’mon.”

“Hey,” you tug on his arm, “Please let me speak to him.”

“You will,” he replies, snaking through the tight corridor. “Once he’s out, they’ll check him over. He’ll be taken in for evaluation, hitting the wall at that speed. Force must be bloody nuts.”

The thought sends another bitter stream of panic through your blood. “Can he move? Is he –? Can he get out of the car?”

He gives one quick nod. “Medics are there. They’re helping him out.”

Sunlight floods overhead, dazzling as you follow him out front and towards a sleek car. An attendant opens the door for you, and you slide into the backseat.

The engineer gives your shoulder a friendly shake. “He’ll be fine,” he says. “He’s done worse.”

The door falls closed and the car moves off, purring through the paddock towards the medical center.

You slump into your seat and press your fingers into your eyes; a headache already blooming between your temples.

He’s moving. He’s moving and he’s responding. They’re helping him up out of the car. He’s probably already being checked over.

He’s probably already asking for you.

“Jesus Christ,” you groan, fingers dragging down your cheeks.

The center is a polite little hut inside the circuit. By the time you pull up, the race has already resumed. The remaining cars whizz by as you jog over, slipping inside behind a couple guys from Max’s team.

He’s had his fair share of scraps on the track. You don’t make it to the top without a sincere sense of dare, and an even sincerer lack of fear. Some call it idiocy. You’re often one of them.

Sitting on the other side of the clinic door, though – knee jerking, nails picking at the skin on your fingers – you’d be thrilled to never see these four walls ever again. Idiot or not, you care about him.

More than anyone else in your life? Jesus. Probably.

The door clicks open, and your blood jumps.

A pale woman in a pale coat steps out. She peers over her glasses, eyes you from the sneakers on your feet to the worry on your face – and says your name.

You push yourself up, squeezing past her into the room.

Max is perched on the edge of the bed, still in his fireproofs. Hair disheveled, face flushed and exhausted. Translucent with shock or concussion or worse, he lifts his head and flashes a lopsided smile.

It’s weak, barely there – but it’s him.

You care about him more than anyone else in your life. Definitely.

He opens his arms, fingers beckoning you in. “C’mere.”

“Oh, my God,” you sweep over, already in tears by the time you meet his body, “Oh, my God – you fucking idiot.”

His shoulders shudder with a bottled laugh. He wraps his arms around your waist, turning his head against your chest. “How was I supposed to know he was going to turn into me, huh? I had the line, I was –”

“Max,” you pull back, staring into his bleary eyes, “I don’t care. Just – don’t do that ever again.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he whispers, corners of his mouth twitching.

You sigh, collapsing onto the bed at his side. You lean against him and he winces a little, before pressing his lips to the crown of your head.

“You really scared me,” you admit, turning in to his chest.

Max slings an arm around your shoulders, holding you tight. “I’m fine, no? I mean, everything’s blurry and I can’t really hear much, but – it could have been worse.”

He props the pillows against the wall and pushes himself back gingerly, reaching past you for a paper cup of water at his bedside.

You move slowly, carefully, waiting for him to get comfortable before settling back, too – leaving a safe gap between his battered body and yours. Your cheek rests on the curve of his shoulder; fingers trace the logos on his sleeves.

Max breathes in the scent of your hair. He turns his hand and watches as your fingers trail down his wrist, circling his palm. He sucks in a deep breath, sighing to the ceiling.

“Your heart’s beating really fast,” you whisper, and he hums.

“Nerves,” he mutters.

“From the race?” You lift your head. “You don’t get nervous.”

He takes another breath and turns to you. He’s blushing, and doing a shitty job at hiding it. “No,” he says. “Not from the race.”

You gulp. “Are you sore?”

“Yeah. My back, my ribs.”

“Do you want me to get up?”

“No. Stay.”

He wears the same expression he did all those years ago, sat too many people apart from one another in that drunken circle. The same expression you only allowed yourself fleeting glances at: bashful, a little awkward – all the more endearing for it.

Maybe he actually doesn’t remember that night. Maybe he was just too tipsy – alcohol gone straight to his teenage head. And maybe he won’t even remember this, what with the concussion and all.

It’d make things a hell of a lot easier, that’s for sure. You could go back to your old ways: arguing over the best flavor of chips, screaming while playing video games. No second-guessing, no jumping to conclusions. Hell, maybe you hope he doesn’t remember any of it at all.

Somewhere, though, deep down – you know that’s not true.

“How’s, uh…whatshisface?” Max asks, nudging you with his elbow. He takes a feeble sip of his water and offers you the cup.

“Oh,” you shrug, “No idea. I left my phone in the garage.”

He scoffs, staring at your lips as you take a drink. He takes the cup from your hands once you’re done. “I don’t mean to give him shit, you know. If you like him, I like him.”

“Well, there’s liking someone,” you pout, “and then there’s willingly watching them crash full-speed in a racecar.”

Max smiles, lifting his cup.

“Whoever that is, sounds pretty cool to me.”

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ

#first time since literally 2016 writing rpf BE KIND #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fic #mv33 x reader #f1 fanfic #my writing #fic: zandvoort nl

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