#this is litterally so fun I can’t stop

[thornywords]

Happy Birthday Mike Wheeler

[ghxstkn1fe]

i’ve been watching the monster control service one shot for the past few hours. been trying to think of anything to say but. the only thoughts are why the fuck did they decide to do… that. i’m not cursing anyone else with the knowledge of what i am actively witnessing but i uh. i need to say something about whatever the fuck this is.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Ahhhh I've been waiting for your requests to open, I've been following you since your first Price fic and never had an idea to request until like 2 weeks ago 😫 so, I've been thinking, what about being in a relationship with Keegan but getting separated when ODIN hits the earth and not meeting again until about 5 years later? 👀 Love your writing, hope you have a great day 🩵 :)

For The Weak And Weary

PAIRING: Keegan P. Russ x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: When ODIN struck you had thought he had died, sky alight with fire. It had taken years to accept it, much less live with it. But after Dallas falls, would you get a glimpse of your Lover's phantom again?

WORDCOUNT: 6.2k

WARNINGS: Angst, depressive thoughts, PTSD insinuations, gore, wounds, blood, death, canon-typical violence, (1) suggestive joke, alcohol, hallucinations, fluffy reunion, tears, verbal arguments, etc.

A/N: Just because I'm a sucker for sticking to the game timeline I made it ten years, lol. Enjoy, Anon! Very fun prompt.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You could never make sense of what Keegan went through in 2005 during Operation Sand Viper. It would be pointless to try and wrap your head around it from what little you knew. All that mattered was that when he came back on leave, something in his eyes was…damaged. Hell, he’d only been sixteen—the both of you had known each other since you were kids, you knew when something was wrong.

And this was entirely new to you.

He smiled less and snapped more; got spooked when you dropped something in his family's kitchen like a grenade had gone off. Maybe, you reasoned, he thought one actually had. 

But through it all, you could still see how much he cared about you. When you were old enough you’d both moved into a nice place in the suburbs and started a relationship—a life shared between the two of you. 

You knew he loved you from the way he’d grip you close at night and breathe into your scalp. How when you were sick from the take-out dinner he’d brought home, Keegan would hold back your hair and rub circles into your spine as you threw up. He never shied away from telling you how beautiful you were; prided himself on it. Keegan loved to show you off.

But there were times back then when you wondered if the same Keegan that had been so fulfilled to join Ghosts had died, and, in fact, a phantom was instead puppeting his skin. He was so quiet now.

If you’d known that the world was going to end on July 10th, 2017, you’d have never let him walk out that door angry. You would have grabbed his hand and pressed your lips to his, whispered affirmations into his flesh and sobbed at the cruelty of it all.

“I can’t keep pretending that you’re okay!” You yell, tears in your eyes, at the man standing tense in the kitchen doorway. Blank blue eyes stare lifelessly. “Keegan—this is killing you.” 

It was early morning by then, and the neighborhood was quiet. The house that the both of you had moved into years ago was littered with the remnants of a happy home. Pictures on the walls, dishes in the sink, and freshly baked bread on the counter. All you’d tried to do was give Keegan a hug, slipping your hands around his waist when you’d entered. 

He’d balked back, jerking to the side and nearly elbowed you in the gut before he saw your wide eyes and stopped himself. The way he’d looked at you…how could eyes be so dead?

“You need to talk to someone,” you put your foot down, shaking your head. “I-I don’t know a therapist or…or someone who can get you proper help because I can’t keep acting like I can live like this.” 

Every mission, every time he went away, it always got worse. 

Keegan’s eyes get sharp, hands at his sides clenching. He speaks in a low growl. “I don’t need to talk to a shrink, alright? I’m fine, you just startled me.”

“Bullshit,” your mouth hisses, glaring. “You thought you were back in ‘05.”

The man points at you, strong jaw clenching, “Don’t.”

“Keegan,” you plead, “please, I love you! I don’t care about this, I just want you to be alright. To be able to live your life—”

“What you want is to try and change me!” The black-haired man barks. Your eyes blink in shock. Keegan rarely yelled. “I already told you I was fine, why don’t you get off my back all the time?” His eyes flash, pupils going to slits as his hands shake at his sides. Why did he look scared? Your breath stills, lips slightly open, with tears dripping to the tile. “Fuck, it’s like I can’t come home without you pesterin’ me ‘bout something!” 

A stiff silence falls.

“Kee—” He snaps a hand to his mouth and rubs at his stubble, suddenly unable to look at you.

“...Forget it.” It’s low and shaky how he says it, eyes wide, before he darts into the foyer and slips into his boots. You listen to the sounds of panicked shuffling before the man wrenches open the front door and slams it shut behind him. One of the picture frames falls and hits the ground with a shattering of glass.

You flinch and tense, taking down a terse breath and sniffling tightly. Trying to get your lungs to work properly, your feet take you over to the picture as they feel weak and uneven; a stuttering mess of steps before you bend down. Your fingers bleed as they shift the glass away, taking out the image of you and Keegan on your hike through the mountains. 

Smiling faces mock you, and you break at the bright and open affection Keegan wears as he looks down at you—eyebrows curved up and smirk like a knife to the chest. 

You loved him so much it hurt to breathe when he was away. 

He had needed time, you knew, but what you didn’t know was that time wouldn’t be available. Around noon the world had opened into a ball of fire and death. 27 million dead. Los Angeles, San Diego, Phoenix, Houston, and Miami…all gone…at least, that was what everyone in Dallas was telling you. 

When Keegan had been away taking a walk to calm himself, you’d been home alone. The earth caved, the ground shook; houses burst like balloons. By the time you’d crawled from the rubble of your home, all you had was the picture and the clothes on your back. People were screaming—you were screaming. But you knew that you couldn’t stay here if you wanted to survive. 

And then you’d made it to Dallas by sheer luck and the few tricks Keegan had taught you; had thought that he had died in that first strike by the Federation. You carried that guilt and self-hatred for not holding your tongue for a few more hours. 

So much could have been different in these ten years. Better. You never got over him for even a second. 

But the reality was that you couldn’t think about all of that now, because if you didn’t focus on holding your breath you would be dead in the next three seconds. 

Your hand is anchored to the body of your sniper rifle, finger hovering over the trigger as you hide behind the outcropping of rubble in the decimated cityscape; the air is hot and humid despite the weight of the night. It sticks to your skin in a sheen of violent sweat. Yet it’s still not as potent as the blood. 

Teeth gritted, you hold back whimpers as Federation soldiers stalk the grounds, scores of them—legions. An entire army that had breached the walls and executed everyone insight, soldiers, civilians, if it once moved it didn’t anymore. The burning in your shoulder was agonizing, head smashing itself back to the rubble in an attempt to stifle your own ragged need to scream into the night as layers had peeled back to allow a bullet to pass through. 

In the ten years you’d been here, you’d taken up the mantle of quite the sharpshooter; pulling on Keegan’s lessons when he was on leave and wanted to bring you to the firing range. You had even picked a rifle similar to the one back in your destroyed home—held in a plastic case and treated like royalty by your long-deceased lover. It wasn’t the same, but the jet-black Lynx made you steady like the picture in your breast pocket did. 

A reminder of what was lost and why you had picked the knock-off up in the first place.

Footsteps get closer as the sweep of a flashlight cards above your skull, if possible you go even more still, lips pulled in and heart rampaging. There were barked orders and yelling, but no more screaming. 

How long had you been unconscious after taking that shot to the shoulder? Fear was breeding with horror—was…was everyone dead?

Spanish is loudly called not five feet away, and the flashlight leaves as your breath does. You let off a quiet gasp and suck down air greedily. Eyes flashing from one shadow to another, you look for any opportunity to slip away from the city. In the wind, you could smell fire, and taste it on your tongue as you licked your lips. 

All around you can see the limp shadows of bodies and the apartments, large skyscrapers were on fire deep in their frames. The city was entirely lost.

How the federation got into the walls you would never know, though there was concern about the enemy soldiers rounding up civilians outside the walls and executing them. Maybe one cracked before the bullet entered their skull.

You bite hard into your lip to force back your pain. Trying to shoot a rifle would be useless at this point, you might as well have lost the limb. Slinging the gun’s strap over your head, you look back and forth along your visible perimeter, checking for hostiles as you unsheathe your combat knife and cradle your limp arm to your chest. 

If only Keegan could see you now.

Rounds of gunfire make the air burn with urgency, and you take the time to peek out behind as sweat makes a trail down your dirty face, dripping off of your chin as you breathe like a wheezing dog. Your wound needed tending, and you had the med pack on your vest with the supplies, but you can’t do it here.

Where’s safe? If Dallas has fallen…is there anywhere that’s still standing? A location hits your brain as your gaze darts from one abandoned street to another. You take a deep breath and whine as you force your legs to stand and move quickly, feet shifting as quietly as you’re able to make them. 

“Fort Santa Monica.” Now a stronghold, you’d heard US soldiers here talking about the large presence of military power out in California—numbers so great they rivaled those that had lived in Dallas. 

You stumble over a spasming body and slam your uninjured shoulder into the bulk of the building’s wall, groaning loudly like a wounded boar. 

“Fuck!” If you made it out of the city, that would be where you would have to go; to warn them of what was coming. The Federation had found a way inside the Dallas wall, and that meant if they had enough tenacity, they could do it to them too. 

Everything would be done if another city fell.  

Holding your knife tighter, you push off the wall and grit your teeth harder, mind running on that edge of hysteria and forced calm. It’s in these moments where you have to pull on old memories to keep you going—even if they end up hurting more than the open wounds you carry. 

Keegan had his bad moments, but you always got through them together. Years and years of knowing each other inside and out; memorizing bodies and thoughts like they were second nature. He would want you to keep fighting, tell you to get your ass in gear and go…and you would never let him down. 

You owed him that much even if some days you wanted more than anything to join him. 

Blade in hand, you hear muttered speech from up the alleyway and pause, feet splayed but still swaying as you come to a slow stop. Your ears ring at garbled sentences, foreign words spilling into one another. 

Panting, you listen closely, limbs vibrating. More gunfire echoes over the air, screams and death that get ingrained into your head like a brand into sizzling flesh. Skyscrapers burned and buildings fell with great earthquake booms. Everything is under a sheen of distance.

Get out of the city. Get to Fort Santa Monica.

“Kill who I have to,” you slur out, itching at your neck as you leave a trail of blood behind you. A single pair of footsteps walk quickly forward near your corner and you hold your breath, bringing up your knife as pain pounds in your arm. 

Deep blue eyes sit in the back of your mind, counting you down as they always did.

Keep your arm steady for me, Doll, a phantom tells you. Breathe...

When the first shadow of a Fed soldier graces your eyes, you strike. 

—

It’s roughly nineteen days from Dallas to Santa Monica, and that was if you kept up at a steady walking pace. If the crude sling you’d fashioned from bandages found in your med pack was any indicator, it would be double that. 

On the first day, you had hiked half-dead over the destroyed landscape of what remained of the USA, licking your wounds and counting your losses. You’d had your pick of abandoned houses, taking a red brick one just because it looked nice and you were about to pass out from blood loss. The only reason you’d made it this far was that the bullet had thankfully passed right through you, making sure that if you moved too suddenly no more damage was being done internally. You packed it with a sterile rag.

Sitting in the home, pictures gathering dust on the fireplace mantle, you tipped back a bottle of whisky you’d found in one of the bedrooms, grimacing at the sting. It was better to be drunk for what you were about to do. 

Heating up your combat knife in the fire you had started in the hearth, you watched the metal grow an eye-flinching white as you stared off into nothingness. 

“You remember when you showed me that scar, Keegan?” You always talked to him. Others had given you shit for it, but they knew the purpose. If you didn’t talk to someone, even a ghost, you would give up. 

The guilt was eating you alive, and it would overtake you eventually. Hadn’t in ten years, but it would…you knew it, everyone did. 

Keegan was everything, and nothing looked the same when you lost him.

“The one on your thigh?” Pulling the knife back, you turn to the leaking flesh of your shoulder, gushing blood as black desecrates the sides of your eyes. You’d taken off your vest and shirt. If you tried hard enough you could imagine Keegan standing in the corner, watching. Always watching. “You said you had to dig a bullet out and cauterize the wound—when I asked you said you barely felt it over all the adrenaline.”

The ghost tilts its head, eyes sad and lips pulling taunt. Your lungs take in a shaky inhale and your hand quivers; only you feel how your eyes burn with unshed tears. 

“I never thought about it before,” right as you growl and shove the knife into your skin, you bark out in fear, “But I think you were fucking lying!” 

On day two, you knew you had to avoid the remains of Fort Worth, so you decided to increase your distance and cut that landmark out entirely—too many remnants of Federation. They were everywhere now, and you needed to keep low; get out of Texas. You scavenged properties and took stock. 

Four magazines for your Lynx, a pouch with five protein bars, one bottle of water attached to your belt, and your knife. Normally you’d have a pistol at your thigh, but you’d used it up in the firefight back home. When you’d woken back up, it had been gone.

And, of course, you had the picture. You kissed Keegan’s face and placed it back in your breast pocket, caressing the material softly before clearing your throat and addressing the obvious. 

With what you had getting to California was a pipe dream. 

You’d been on the radio all day, clicking through channels and pleading for anyone alive to reach out. Nothing. Static. 

I’m the only one left. The thought was intoxicating, pounding in your skull like your hangover. Everyone is dead. 

While you had become somewhat of a loner in the last ten years, especially with the few months you’d been by yourself in the beginning, Dallas had given you a chance to build bonds again. Ten years, and in an instant it was all wiped out. 

It rang a devastating bell.

Somehow, you had cheated death where so many others had failed—not only in Texas, but back with ODIN too. You had survived, but somehow Keegan hadn’t. 

Keegan, the one who never spoke about ‘05 and jerked awake from nightmares years later because of it. Keegan, who wanted nothing more than to stay at your side when he was home and keep you on his chest when watching movies. Keegan, the love of your life.

The only love of your life. 

“I really wish you were here,” you mutter, grimacing as your arm gets jostled as you stumble over a piece of rusted metal in the empty street. “Who gave you the right to go away before me, huh? We were supposed to grow old together, Russ. You promised me that.” 

Garbage gets blown over the road when a hot breeze shifts the air, bringing the scent of dirt and the noise of rustling trees. Nature has reclaimed the towns and suburbs—great patches of ivy and long grass that rise to your hips. But the silence was a curse.

The only thing keeping you going is the thought of delivering your warning to Santa Monica, from there…

Your lips thinned. What even was there left? How many times could you go from one place to another, starting over with stories of your past and having to brush the pitying looks off as you fake a smile? 

Shaking your head, you recall memories from the better days as the light gets low in the sky. 

“You’re doin’ too much, Sweet Thing,” Keegan mutters, and you turn from the stove top with a bright smile to face him. 

He had just gotten out of the shower, towel ruffling through his dark hair as he stands in the kitchen entrance and watches you cook for him. The shirt hangs off of his wide shoulders, and gray sweatpants are loose over his formed hips—his strong brow line raises in a casual expression. 

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t like it,” you tease, hearing his low chuckles as you turn back to your pan. “You look good, y’know.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Keegan grunts, smirking, and his feet pad over to you, tossing the towel to the counter as his presence looms over your back. Large hands grab onto your hips and a nose burrows into your hair; inhaling deeply before gradually melting to the curve of your spine. 

You smile and hum, pushing back so you can rest on his chest. A chin sets itself on your head, deep massaging fingers making you pur as they bunch your sleep shorts.

It was late—nearly two in the morning. Keegan had only gotten home a short while ago, but sleep wasn’t going to stop you from spoiling him. A wine bottle was on the island counter, two glasses, and the food was nearly done from what you could scrounge up on short notice.

“...Good to be back,” the man grumbles into you, kissing your head and slowly sweeping his arms around your waist as you sighed softly at the contact. 

Your face gains heat. 

“Well, I’d sure hope so, or else this would be awkward.” You huff to hide the bright smile in your voice. But like a moth to flame, you hear, as well as feel, Keegan chuckle against your spine. His grip squeezes you for a moment. 

“How was it when I was away?” He asks as you move around the contents in the pan, nose brushing your neck as his lips travel to kiss behind your ear. He breathes against the flesh as his low rasp makes you shiver. “Any trouble?”

“Negative, Sergeant,” you raise a brow and smirk over your shoulder at him, seeing his blues spark as he gazes hard into your eyes. A faint twitch to his lips is what you get before his hand captures your cheek; anchoring your face as he descends to connect his mouth to yours.

He sighs into it, arm still around your waist—tight as if you were a pillow. 

“Keep talkin’ like that and we won’t have to wait long for dessert, will we?” 

Days three through seven were uneventful beyond the constant agony of your arm and tired legs, but on day eight amid a waterless walk in the sweltering heat was when the hallucinations began. 

Keegan walks beside you, his footsteps mirroring your own as sweat pools down your forehead and drips off your nose. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at you—he just walks, looking exactly like he did the day he died. 

At first, you’d flinched back and blinked wildly at the sight, panting, but then he’d disappeared and your heart had shattered. It worried you with what you were seeing, but it was also a strange comfort to be able to ramble to…something, even if it wasn’t real. Hungry and with a dry tongue, you were on the verge of calling it quits.

So on day eleven, without a wild animal in sight to give you a proper food source and all the water having to be purified, you started talking to him while licking the inside wrapper of your last protein bar. 

“But I never understood why you hated sleeping in shirts,” you licked your lips to get the remnants of granola off of your flesh, pushing away the greasy sheen from your cheeks. Your arm was burning up—every heartbeat was felt as it moved the skin around red and infected flesh up and down. Puss was leaking out from the crude stitches you had made of embroidery thread from that first house you’d found. 

“And you always kept the room freezing.” Continuing, you drop the wrapper to the ground and then take the meat of your fingers and get what little flavor you can off of them, grunting through realization. “That was a ploy to have me use you for heat, wasn’t it? Jesus.” 

The man in the corner of your vision smirks, tilting his head and chuckling from where he leans against a tree trunk. 

“Yeah, that’s right. Knew it.” Glaring at nothing, you stand from your overturned stump and nearly fall right back over, stomach yelling at you as your vision swirls. 

You dig a hand into your hair and grip at the strands, pulling and groaning. “...God.” 

Keegan comes over and stands above you, your eyes staring down at his feet as you get light-headed. You focus on his shoelaces, counting the Xs and taking down shaky breaths. When you blink like a cat with dirt on its face, the shoes are gone entirely and you stand back up to your full height.

“...Keegan?” You ask after a moment, the words disappearing into the trees, but no one’s around. 

Your sight goes to your wound and your jaw tightens, moments of clarity slipping in as a knife would into your consciousness before the curtain settles once more. 

You bend over and vomit what little nutrients you had, spending day twelve sleeping through a fit of nightmares and fever-induced delirium.

Nothing about the remainder of the time you can recall to memory—bits and pieces always flash through on long nights, but they’re only walking montages. Dragging feet, looking at your hand as if it was a foreign object as you turned it back and forth; everything in a sheen of sickness. Days and days and days. Little food. Less water. 

More than one-thousand miles.

But somehow, the Wall peels out in front of you as you crash through the foliage, your body giving out and collapsing down a large decline. Bouncing and getting jostled by rocks, you come to a stop without the strength to get back up, staring blankly ahead as your head connects with concrete. Your mouth is open in broken inhales, pain not even registering. 

Shouts echo, the pound of rapid feet. 

Green eyes meet yours, a youthful face with a beanie and stubble. He’s saying something to you, glancing over your gear and your obvious near-death situation—his hand jostles the side of your face. But your eyes shift behind him gradually, attention falling to someone more important. 

Before you finally let yourself rest, you stare at the smiling face of your steadfast phantom.

—

The doctors and nurses at Fort Santa Monica were nice, if a bit secretive about the entire operation. Seeing as you weren’t an official soldier, no dog tags or patches—no name in the database—everyone was a bit hesitant to tell you anything. 

Until you said you were from Dallas, of course. 

But no one was eager to rush you in your state, even if the information was dire. You had been hooked up to an IV and bedridden for a week straight; talking to nothing on account of the dehydration and electrolyte imbalances. Some days you spend unconscious. 

But what really pissed you off when you got back into it, was the fact that they had taken your Lynx and your gear—your picture.

You’d almost grappled onto the first nurse you’d seen when you’d woken without it. It was a beacon, your prized possession of damaged corners and taped tears. Water damage that may or may not have been from sobbing fits in the first five years. 

In fact, that was the entire reason you had snuck out so late in the first place. 

Stalking down the hallway in the white shirt and camo pants that had been given to you on the fifth morning you had woken up here, you pad along with no shoes, only plain gray socks. You limp with bandaged flesh all along your healing shoulder and your feet. 

The doctor had explained that you’d entirely skinned the bottoms and your heels were a mess of blisters and open wounds. 

“Take my property,” you grumble under your breath, shuffling along and rubbing at the back of your neck. “What gives them the right?” 

You weren’t going to stop until you found it. 

Reading the name tags on the walls, you silently wonder where they would have taken your stuff as you slip out of the medical ward, listening to the buzzing of the lights and frowning. As you’re limping along the next hallway, a man suddenly turns the corner on nearly silent feet. 

“Woah!” You halt immediately, heart jumping in your chest. A hand catches your shoulder before you run headlong into him. 

Green eyes lock with your own, wide and blinking quickly. Brows furrow and you’re quickly looked over before a slow, teasing remark enters the air, you listen with a growing heat on your neck.

“Y’know, I could have sworn you were supposed to be in bed, Ma’am. I miss something here?” The man who had found you. 

“Wouldn’t know,” you say blandly, blinking up at him and taking a careful step back. This brunette had a casual air to him—still in his gear despite the time. He folds his arms and tilts his head at you, smirking. “If you’ll excuse me.” 

You begin to walk forward, slipping past him and hoping you won’t get snitched on. Except it seems you’ll be having a shadow, as not a few seconds later a smooth chuckle meets your ears and the man walks beside you. 

“I think I’ll be taggin’ along if you don’t mind. Security and all.” He turns to face you, sticking out his opposite hand. “Hesh.”

“That supposed to be some kind of nickname, Kid?” You raise a stiff brow but participate in the handshake nonetheless. His grip is firm but not hard. 

Hesh blinks at you, eyes swimming with amusement before he shrugs in a boyish way and shakes his head with a laugh. “Hell, you remind me of someone, Ma’am.” A moment passes in silence as you study the area. The man huffs, “Where exactly are we off to?” 

“Wonderland,” your lips grumble, tired and wanting to sleep but not until you find your picture. Hesh sighs but you can still hear the hilarity inside of it. 

“Alright then…don’t know if you’re going to be finding a shrinking potion anytime soon, though. We’re in low stock.”

“Very funny,” your eyes send a dry look, but you relent when he prods you with his eyes, taking a corner. “I’m looking for my vest.” Hesh blinks at you in curiosity, letting you elaborate as you motion to your upper shoulder. “My pouch has some of my personal belongings. I don’t like being away from it.” 

“Oh,” the brunette nods a few times, his beanie jerking along. “Yeah, that’s no problem.” A hand is waved and you stare in confusion as he pivots. “C’mon, I’ll get you there.” 

Your eyes burn into his back before you immediately speed after. 

“Why so eager to help?” Hesh smirks at your question. 

“As I see it, if you went over nineteen days of hard hiking just to get to us, you should at least be able to keep your stuff on you, Ma’am.” Your lips flicker in a smile. 

“You’d be the first.” You tell him your name and miss the slight emotion it provokes in his eyes, head lightly pulling to the side but ultimately saying nothing. Hesh shrugs with a grunt, leading you to a meeting room on the opposite side of the building. 

Yelling is on the other side.

“Elias, how long has this been kept from me?!” The voice makes your head perk, evoking something inside of your chest. Hesh seems taken aback too, holding up a hand to you for momentary silence—not that you had to be told. 

“Keegan, I can’t have that happen. She needs to recover and you being there could jeopardize that. We need what she knows about Dallas.” Your body stills to a near-frozen state, and it’s comedic how your entire face falls to a blank slate. Wait a second.

…Keegan?

“She belongs with me—I thought she fucking died and she’s been here for who knows how long?! Why wasn’t I informed?” Rampaging feet suddenly sound off, going to the door at break-neck speed.

“Son, that’s not a good idea. This is what I was worried would happen if you found out.”

“I didn’t exactly ask, did I? As far as I’m concerned, nothing else matters besides getting back to my Girl,” the bark is ferocious and violent, more of an animal’s than a man’s. “Now where the hell did you put her before I tear this damn fort apart and—” You shove at the door before Hesh can grab you, throwing it open and letting it hit the opposite wall with a great boom of wood. 

Your wild eyes instantaneously lock into sharp blues, pulse pounding in your ears. It’s like all the air is taken from your lungs in a great punch. 

Oh, he’s so similar to how you remembered him to be ten years ago. 

Keegan stands only a few feet away, turned in your direction with his eyes so wide and small you might faint. There’s black face paint in his sockets, making the cerulean all the more bright and shocking to the senses. He’s still tall, still built, if only a bit more rugged than when ODIN struck—there are lines on his forehead and his scars are more faded. Small differences in the way he holds himself like the difference between a rabbit and a hare. Keegan’s black locks are shorter now, but still…his.

Lips part in silent shock, an entire halt of your nervous system. 

The entire universe holds its tongue as you two stare at each other; walls and rooms blur into a mess of matter and reality—this couldn’t be real. 

Keegan’s feet shift for a moment as if to steady himself as his fingers twitch. In his hand, he holds your picture, his body covered in gear and weapons. He blinks as you tell yourself he’s a phantom, simply that same ghost come back to haunt you as tears sting the backs of your eyes. But then he speaks, and it’s the same voice you had slowly lost the ability to remember in year three. 

“...Sweetheart?”

His ghost never spoke. His ghost could not imitate the phonics of his speech or the rhythm of his throat. His ghost could not make you recall the memories you’d long since boxed up.

You jerk forward just as he does, bodies colliding into a feral grip of flesh and fabric, hands latching and faces burying. Sobs rip from you as Keegan’s shaky breath echoes right next to your ear—his chest hitching and arms snatching your waist and lifting you up as easily as he always had. He holds you up without any thought of putting you down, legging your legs dangle as Elias slowly exits the room and corrals a highly confused Hesh with him.

The door shuts, but neither of you notices. 

“Keegan—” Your voice is high with emotion, hardly believing what you're seeing—what you’re touching. “Oh, my God.” 

He had been alive all this time? Ten whole years and you’d thought he was dead. But by the way he was barely letting you breathe from in his iron clutch, you imagined Keegan had thought the same about you. It was…incomprehensible. 

“Shh,” he whispers, his shushes cracking and flinching between broken gasps of your name. “Shh.” He sets you down on the floor only to have his firm hands travel to your cheeks, turning your head to each side in a desperate need to understand if you were really there.

Keegan’s eyes are wet, but no tears let themselves fall quite yet. 

“I’m so sorry!” You hiccup and the man kisses your cheeks—your browline and nose. Every piece of you he can as you both stay so intimate you might melt into one another. “I thought you were gone, I-I should have stayed and looked for you, I didn’t—”

“You’re alive?” Keegan’s hands rub across your body, gripping and tugging you closer and closer. “My Girl’s alive?” 

His tears drip to your face as he hovers above you, and you both shake with the weight of years. 

“Me?” Your chuckle through sobs—you want to scream and wail at the same time. Blue eyes flutter and ragged breaths puff on your forehead. “What about you, you asshole?” 

Keegan shakes his head, and you stare deeply into him, hands coming up to cup his cheeks as he sags forward. He had stubble now, spreading out to grate your flesh. 

The man forces a weak huff. 

“Christ,” is all he mutters before he presses his lips to yours in a kiss so unyielding you expect to have your air stolen. Ten years to feel him kissing you again—to feel his warm flesh under your hands and his heart rampage into you. 

You’d do it all over if it still amounted to this.

Your body shivers and you reciprocate with just as much fervor; this emotion of relief is so overwhelming and all-consuming that it makes your head light. You suck down quick breaths between the sensation of your lips meeting, Keegan doing the same. 

Unconsciousness was better than letting him leave again, your lover sharing that sentiment as chests slid against one another. Soft hair slips through your fingers as you grip Keegan’s hair, cascading through locks as he groans into your lips and tries to hide his tears from you. 

He pulls away and immensely shoves his head into your neck. 

“You’re here,” he whispers quickly. A hand quivers at the back of your head as your tears wet his gear. “You’re right here. You came back to me, didn’t you, Doll?” 

You cry, “I’m here, Keegan.” The man sobs when he hears you say his name, his knees giving out as you both fall to the floor and not letting the other move beyond the caress of skin and lips.

“I missed you,” Keegan gasps, “so much. Don’t you understand? I was nothing without you. You took it all from me, everything. Every damn thing.” 

You press kisses to his neck and racing pulse, healing him inside and out without even realizing it; it was only fair, he was doing the same back to you. 

The picture lays long forgotten on the floor.

“Never let me go,” your voice forces out, as he rocks you back and forth like a child. “Never again, Keegan. Please, I love you too much to go through that again.”

“Never,” he immediately promises, pulling back and kissing your lips again—neither can stop themselves from this. Blues eyes blink quickly, cataloging your face and every little blemish he’d have to relearn and study; to find the story behind. Keegan had never been happier. He felt like he might break from it. “Over my dead body, I’m never lettin’ you out of my sight. You’re stuck with me.”

You laugh genuinely for the first time in ten years and say you’d like nothing better as he pulls you back in and plants his mouth to yours in reverent worship. His arms trapping you to him as yours do just the same.

Not to leave again anytime soon. 

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[endotwrites]

thinking about you and simon making out and him just becoming so giggly and smiley.

wc: 503 | cw: angsty, shy simon & more dominant reader

the day started off as a lazy one - simon surprisingly sleeping in until you both drag yourselves out of bed to have a late breakfast. your conversation is quiet and trivial. words to fill the space of when you’re not holding one another.

both your bodies drift back upstairs to the safety of your sheets and low buzz of the tv. simon flicks through channels and streaming services leisurely, indecisive of what show will occupy the rest of the day. you grow tiresome of the mundane “this one?” shortly followed by a “nah.” and place your arm as far across simon’s torso as you can. your chin sits on his upper bicep as you flutter your eyelashes up at him. “you’re asking for trouble now,” simon acknowledges, not even chancing a glance at you, aware of the spell you’re trying to put him under. you litter gentle kisses all over the arm closest to you which only grow to small licks and bites.

simon’s hand stutters whilst typing in a particular movie and you know your advances are working. with your legs already intertwined, you use a small amount of momentum to straddle his lap and connect your lips. simon’s hand lets the remote fall to the bed and now grasp at your thighs, kneading them effortlessly. as you grow hungry with lust, you feel simon’s lips part and feel the dimples form under your hands that caress his cheeks.

you pull back slightly, only enough for him to see your confused face. “stop,” you groan. “m’sorry, can’t help it,” simon replies as you elicit a low chuckle from him. your tongues dance a choreography that only you two know - yours being calculated and focus whilst simon is smooth and graceful.

everything around you two feels stuffy with your breaths being swallowed by one another and the placement of your core sitting right on top of simon’s hardening cock. the hem of your shirt is the first place your fingers reach for to pull over your head and with no bra on underneath, half naked for simon to admire.

his eyes are droopy, drunk off love as he admires you quietly with his palms rubbing up and down your sides and the small gesture of licking his lips. you latch your lips on his neck which simon sighs at, morphing into a moan that is dragged out for god knows how long. as you hips begin to grind in circles, simon reaches for the nape of your neck and tugs you back to his mouth, desperate for your taste.

“si, what are you doing to me?” you yearn quietly. “dunno but i love the way you’re reacting to it.” simon’s head tips back to attempt concealing the growing blush on his cheeks. you tease a smile, laughing into his chest at how easily shy he becomes.

you murmur weakly “god, making out with you is fun.”

a/n: oh my god, he’s literally my baaaabbbbbyyyyy i miss him and i’ve never MET HIM

[peachesofteal]

Dead Disco - Epilogue

Dead Disco masterlist Ghost/Soap/female reader The end.

You’re having trouble breathing.

It doesn’t help that you’re hiding in the back, peeking around the corner every so often, trying to interpret everyone’s faces. 

It’s terrifying. You’re terrified. 

“Hello?” Lea calls from the other side of the hallway, hands turned upwards like she’s confused. “What are you doing?” 

“Shhh!” You hiss, grabbing her by the wrist. “I’m hiding.” 

“Okay… why are we hiding?” 

“I can’t go out there.” The denial is steadfast, and she shakes her head. 

“You have to. You’re the artist.”

“I know. And that’s why I can’t go. They’re all… looking at me. Judging me.” 

“They’re appreciating you, love. They’re appreciating your work.” You shiver. It’s not just your work out there. It’s a collection of your pieces, moments and feelings worked out on canvas, agony and elation painted together into something called art. 

“I can’t go out there.” You double down, and she rubs your shoulder sympathetically. 

“You have to.” 

It’s not so bad. You finally appear from the back, and the gallery host introduces you as the artist. Everyone claps. 

As you make your rounds, you start to notice small stickers on the plaques, signifying the sale of a piece, and it warms you, happiness spreading from fingers to toes, fills you with pride.

People stop to talk to you, shake your hand, ask you about certain pieces. You find answering their questions is not as painful as you imagined, and their compliments make you feel lighter. You circle the room, finally coming to a stop in front of the biggest piece in the entire gallery. 

At first glance, you think it’s hard to discern what’s really going on, but the longer you stare at it, the more the puzzle comes together. Or at least, you think so. You’ve been staring at it for four years. 

It’s an expressionist piece, as all your paintings are, but this one is a touch abstract, stroked together in a way that seems almost unintentional. 

It’s a painting of conflicting colors, some dark and moody, others bright. A push, and a pull.  Three bodies lay on a bed, diaphragms torn open and bleeding. They're all reaching into each other's chests, blood coating their arms, curled up so tightly together it’s hard to discern where one ends and the other begins in some strokes. 

There’s no emotion scrawled into their features, nothing to interpret. You did it intentionally, hoping to direct the focus to the piece as a whole. That’s the only way it works. The only way it makes sense. 

“I like this one. It's intriguing. Feels sad, almost.” Someone says behind you, and you turn to see a tall man staring at it with a thoughtful gaze. Studying. “Will you tell me about it?” 

Emotion clogs your throat. Your fingers trace over the plaque bearing its name. 

Darling.

“It’s a love story.” 

The bar stool is one of the spinning ones. 

You keep turning around in it, in circles, laughing as Lea rolls her eyes. “Babe, you’re going to fall.” You tsk. 

“You’re literally no fun.” 

“We’re here celebrating you. I don’t want to be doing that in a hospital when you break a bone falling off that stool.” She tips her head towards the bartender. “Can we get another round please?” 

“Sure thing.” You like this place. It’s got great natural light in the day, big, tall windows and sage green walls, gold accents littered throughout. It feels homey, and sweet. 

“I think that went really well. How do you feel about it?” 

How do you feel. 

“I think so too. Once I got over the nerves I… I thought it was good.” 

“You sold a lot of paintings.” 

“I know.” You laugh. That’s the surprise of the night, if you’re being honest. The number of pieces you sold, to other galleries, to a museum. 

A wild dream turned reality. 

“You’re going to be a big-time fancy painter now, watch.” 

“I’m sure that’s either a long way off, or not going to happen. Either way, I’m really happy. I’m really proud of myself.” The two of you sip your new drinks, and you twist again on the stool. 

“Someone tried to buy Darling.” Lea says gently, eyes soft. 

“I know.” 

“You’re sure you didn’t want to sell it?” You shake your head. It might be your best, biggest piece, but it will never know a home other than yours. You started painting it four years ago, the first night you left her behind, and she’ll never belong to anyone, except you. She’s safe with you, protected by you, loved by you, like she always should have been. 

Like she was, so reverently, by them. 

You didn’t even want to display it tonight, if you’re being honest.  But Lea convinced you, and you found it in yourself to be brave. 

She lets you sit in your silence for a while, which you appreciate. She’s a true friend, one that doesn’t pressure you to do things or say things for the sake of them. 

Usually.

“Well,” she clinks her glass against yours with a mischievous smile and then says much too loudly, loud enough faces and bodies turn towards yours in the bar, “here’s to my favorite painter and her first gallery showing.” Some people clap. Some people cheer. You glare at her. “What? Opposed to free drinks?” You spin on the stool again, smiling, and then catch a flash of someone walking towards a door, muscled shoulders- 

And a mohawk. 

Your heart trips over itself. 

“I’ll be right back.” You tell Lea, who gives you a confused look, but you’re already moving through the room, unsteady on your heels. 

You burst through the door into the cool air, autumn nipping at your exposed skin, and look up and down the street. Your pulse ricochets in your ears. 

They’re a block away. The night is dark, and the streetlights are yellow, but you’d know them anywhere. 

“Hey!” You yell. “Wait!” They turn, and you teeter towards them as fast as you can manage, startling to a stop a few feet before them. 

Your heart hammers inside your chest. Standing here, staring at them, taking them in, soaking in it. They look good. Happy. Healthy. Johnny’s skin is glowing, Simon somehow seems bulkier than he did four years ago, but the weight suits him. 

“Hi.” You breathe. 

“Hi.” Johnny’s eyes sparkle, Simon’s lips turning up in a barely-there smile. 

Words fail you. For the first time in a while, you don’t know what to say. Hundreds of thousands of things try to get free, but none of them make it, though your mouth opens. Nothing comes out. 

“We saw yer name on the sign outside the gallery down the street earlier. Congratulations.” 

“Thank you. It was… really neat.” Lame.

“It’s a big accomplishment. You must be very proud.” Johnny’s gaze never leave yours, and you nod. 

“I am.” The three of you stand there, staring at one another. 

“Well, we should get going.” Simon breaks first. 

“Right. Of course. Uh, it was… it was good to see you.” 

“Ye too.” You let them get half a block away, not even. 

You know what you want to say. Delayed, held on your tongue too long in a wash of uncertainty, but it arises clear as day.  

“Wait!” They turn, you take a deep breath. “Would you… would you maybe want to have dinner, or something, sometime? Catch up?” 

“We’d love to.” It feels different now, but the good pieces, albeit changed, shifted, are still there. 

“Great, it’s a… plan. To have dinner. Or something.” Johnny smiles, and Simon nods. 

“It’s a plan. You’ll text us?” 

“Yeah, I will.” 

“See ye soon, then.” 

“Okay. See you soon.” 

[traveler-at-heart]

Live, Love, Natalie Rushman

Summary: Based on a request by @lynattyx - Natasha and R meet when she's working undercover at Stark Industries.

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!R

Live Love Legal

The sign was meant to be a graduation joke, but you still placed it on a shelf in your very serious, very corporate office.

Even now, as you were promoted to Senior Associate -the youngest at Stark Industries- and you had a bigger space, with a breathtaking view of Central Park and Midtown Manhattan.

It was your first day, and you were determined to make things right. Top of the list, onboarding Miss Potts’ new paralegal assistant. Your secretary (holy crap, you had a secretary!) had called to informed you she was waiting at the front desk.

“Natalie?” you called, imagining the woman with red hair and black slacks was the new assistant.

Though, you were not prepared for the sight that greeted you when she turned around, striking green eyes and a perfect smile in place.

“You must be Y/N”

The way her raspy voice caressed every syllable of your name almost made you weak in the knees.

But this was work, and you couldn’t lose your shit over the most beautiful woman you’d ever seen.

“Yes. Come with me, I’ll show you around”

Pleased with the firmness of your voice, you gave Natalie a tour of the office, pointing at different areas where most meetings took place. You also showed her where to find the information of everyone she might need to contact, and then you went up to Pepper’s office. The short elevator ride was littered with small talk, and you considered a success how your cheeks flushed only once.

“Come in” Pepper said and you opened the door, Natalie right behind you. “Y/N, happy first day as an associate. And you must be Natalie Rushman”

After a brief introduction, you were ready to leave both women to work.

“If you need anything, just let me know” you said to Natalie before going back to your office.

“Anything?” she said with a small smile. Perhaps it was all in your head, or the woman had really managed to make the question sound… loaded.

“Of course” you said, heat going to your cheeks.

Once the elevator doors were shut, you leaned against the wall, wondering if you’d imagined Natalie’s parfume still lingering in the air.

Maybe that sign at your office should read Live Love Lesbian instead.

—

It had been a week - a busy, insane week- but Natalie hadn’t needed your help with anything. While you wanted to feel relief, because you had enough on your plate, you were actually disappointed. Those green eyes and that beautiful voice would not leave your thoughts.

To your displeasure, you weren’t the only one.

“Tony” you said, feeling a headache as you entered your office first thing in the morning and saw him behind your desk, feet up.

“Y/N. How’s the new job going?”

“It would be better if you gave the government some information about those suits. But I will say I love my new parking space”

“Right! New is good” he agreed, not moving from your chair. “Like that new girl. Natalie Rushmore…”

“Rushman” the headache intensified.

“Right, whatever. Isn’t she good?”

“Ask Pepper”

“I mean I did, and she told me to stop before  I did anything that might get me sued for harrassment”

“Pepper’s right. You can’t go around sleeping with your employees”

“I was only flirting” he spun around and you had enough, finally kicking him so he’d stand up. “I was never inappropriate to you, right?”

“That’s because I’m gay, Tony”

“And do you think Natalie might be…?” you glared at the man and he was quick to explain. “I hear there’s a sixth sense involved in the whole experience”

“Leave before I throw you out the window, Stark”

“You’re no fun” he complained, winking as he shut the door to your office.

—

The next time you saw Natalie was as you prepared a meeting with new VC investors and the board.

“I need you to place the NDAs in the binder that we’re sending to legal…” Pepper said and Natalie stopped walking. The sudden halt made you turn your attention. It wasn’t hard to understand what that look meant. She had forgotten. Pepper insisted. “You did send the NDAs, right?”

The hardness of her tone made you flinch, and you spoke before thinking about what could happen.

“Actually… I asked Natalie to hold off on that. I wanted to double check the IP section but completely forgot about it. I’m sorry, Pepper”

“Ok, it’s fine” the woman said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Just make sure it’s ready before the presentation”

You nodded, and turned to walk down the hall to find the documents. Natalie followed right behind you, and you almost didn’t hear the quiet thank you she whispered your way.

“Don’t mention it”

Truly, you had forgotten all about it by the next day, until you found a latte waiting at your desk.

It was exactly how you took it, and you were very particular about your coffee.

“How…?” you wondered out loud.

“I notice things” Natalie said from the doorway. You flinched, amazed at how stealth she could be.

“And you’re silent. Like a ninja. Or a spy” you drank again, chuckling at the ridiculous comparison. “You didn’t have to, I didn’t do anything”

“This job is very important so it does mean something to me, Y/N”

The way she said your name had you blushing, so you nodded and thanked her.

“Have you noticed the bar around the subway station?” you asked as she turned to leave. “Great food, pool table. It’s fun, if you ever want to stop by”

“Oh, you don’t want to play pool against me” she warned and you chuckled.

And yet, the next week you were both there, eating and drinking past midnight. Natalie wasn’t kidding when she said her aim was impeccable and when you lost the third game in a row, you admitted defeat and offered to buy her coffee and a scone of her choice the day after that.

That’s how it became a bit of a habit, to buy coffee for two on certain mornings. If you knew Natalie had an early morning, you’d be the one to drop off a steaming cup of espresso with a danish scone.

Sometimes, you’d find a cup from the cafe around the corner, your name and a smile srcibbled across it.

You were working overtime to convince yourself that you did not have feelings for her. That the nights at the bar, the coffee or lunch time you spent together was nothing more than a friendship.

Until one night, when you were both working late. Your desk was a mess of scattered paperwork, all thanks to Tony’s idiotic actions. Pepper was the new CEO of Stark Industries while he made mess after mess.

“God, I hate him” you read a complaint filed by the police against Tony, who had gotten drunk and worn his suit during his birthday party.

There was also another thing that bothered you about that night. The memory of Natalie, all laughs and flirty eyes as Tony showed her how the suit worked.

You hadn’t realised how hard you were biting the pen until Natalie called your name.

“You have ink all over your lip” she said with a smile and you brought a hand to your mouth, the liquid leaving a bitter taste.

“Oh my God, is the ink toxic? Am I gonna die?” you panicked, looking around for a napkin. Natalie giggled, approaching with a hankerchief.

“It’s fine. Here” the redhead leaned forward, and you blushed as her soft hands cleaned your lower lip. Natalie held your chin between her thumb and index finger, satisfied with the result.

“Thanks” you said, unable to keep your eyes from going to her lips. The action wasn’t lost on Natalie, and before you could apologize, she leaned forward, capturing your lips in a searing kiss.

“Now you have ink too” you said, laughing at the small stain on her lip. She smiled against your mouth, but the happinness was short lived as an explosion made you look outside. “Wow. What the hell was that?" you said, turning around.

It looked like drones were chasing after an Iron Man suit. Natalie grumbled and stood up.

"I have to go"

"Nat?" you followed her down the hallway.

The woman was gone, an apologetic look on her eyes as the elevator doors shut.

—

No calls, no messages, nothing. Not even an email.

You asked IT to keep her account active, just in case.

It had been a whole year; and maybe time to give up hope.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Natalie had disappeared right after Vanko had tried to kill Tony. Maybe she’d gotten hurt and someone was covering it up?

Whatever it was, the few times you asked Tony about it, he seemed irritated and quickly changed the subject.

And yet, here you were, still looking for answers, resisting the urge to give up on someone who had, for all intents and purposes, ghosted you.

You sighed, turning to look out the window of your office.

Imagine your shock when you saw a fleet of alien ships flying around New York City.

—

Natasha’s eyes were trained on Stark Tower. Were you there? Had you been able to get somewhere safe?

“Romanoff” Rogers called and she looked around.

“Need a lift” she said, creating a plan. All she had to do was take a small detour to your office and then she’d kick Loki’s stupid ass.

However, as she threw the alien off his own ship, she looked around and realised there was no easy way to land.

“Oh, God!” you shouted as a ship crashed through your window. To your surprise, instead of a weird looking creature, it was being flown by…

“Natalie?” you practically screamed, sure that you were having a fever dream.

“Come on, there’s no time. Let’s take you somewhere safe…”

“The whole city is under attack, that’s kind of impossible right now” you yelled, following her closely. “And what the hell is going on with you? Where have you been? And why are you dressed like that?”

It was hard not to notice the tight unitard that adjusted perfectly to every curve in her body.

“Watch out!” the woman said, pushing you aside. She rounded the corner, preparing her guns and shooting against the aliens. Turning casually to you, she spoke in a calm demeanor, as if discussing what movie to watch. “Would you like the short or long story, detka?”

“I don’t think we have time for long stories, Natalie. Is your real name even Natalie?”

“Well, it’s Natasha Romanoff so… close enough?” she said with a weak smile and you glared.

An arrow flew by and Natasha cursed under her breath. You understood why a second later when an explosion shook the building.

“Clint! I’m at Stark Tower, do not engage!” Natasha held a hand to her ear, speaking through comms. She then turned to you and smiled, leading you by the hand to the emergency stairs. “Where were we?”

“Natasha Romanoff. I guess you’re not a paralegal either… oh my God!” you yelled as you spotted a giant green creature coming up the stairs.

“Hulk, Rogers needs back up” Natasha said, completely unfazed by the monster. “Come here” she asked, taking you to a hallway.

“Nat, a bunch of crazy shit is happening and you’re not losing your mind”

“Well, there’s your next answer. I’m a former assassin, born and raised in Russia. Now a SHIELD agent” once the coast was clear, she made you stand up and follow her to the conference room. “I was working undercover to get some info about Tony’s stupid ass. And then I met you. I was about to ask you out on a date because I like you, but the mission was over and I was instructed not to engage again”

“You like me?” you repeated, ignoring the explosions around the city.

“Out of all the things I just said, that’s the one you’re sticking with?”

“Well, duh. Because I like you too” you smiled, pulling her closer for a kiss.

“Now’s not the time” a metallic voice said. You turned to find Tony floating outside the window and you glared. “I was called for an extraction”

“What?”

“Come on, it’s not safe here. Tony will get you out and I’ll meet you once this is over, ok?”

“You better not disappear on me again, Natasha Romanoff”

“Wouldn’t dream of it” she promised.

Once Tony carried you to a safe part of the city, you waited for him to put you down and remove his helmet to slap the back of his head.

“Why?”

“I asked you about her a million times, Tony. You could have told me why she left so suddenly”

“Now you know. I’ll get you a nice restaurant reservation to make up for it. Gotta go!”

As he flew away, you couldn’t help but smile.

Natasha liked you back.

—

Dust settled and emergency services began to approach the city, aiding with evacuation. Your eyes searched Natasha’s as you walked around.

“Detka”

“Are you ok?” running up to her, you brought your hands to her face. She had a small cut in her forehead and seemed tired, but she was alive.

“Yeah. It was fun”

“Fun? I hope our date doesn’t include this type of fun.”

The woman laughed and pulled you close to her.

"Alien invasions are a six month anniversary kind of thing" she joked. You laughed, but kept your eyes on her cut, looking concerned. “I’m ok, really. Nothing a shower won’t fix”

“How about a kiss?” you offered and she smiled, leaning forward to meet your lips; it was short and sweet. A promise of more to come.

“Let’s go back to my place” you said and Natasha’s eyes widened. “For you to shower. Clean that cut, get some sleep. And then, we’ll talk about that date”

“You have yourself a deal”

[deathbecomesthem]

Basement Apartment Part 2/2

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader - 6.6K

+18 ONLY - Minors DNI

Summary - It's 2001, and you've just moved into this new basement apartment. It's not so bad, except for the neighbor directly above your bedroom.

Contains a mean reader (kinda). There is smut within Eddie is submissive here, but there isn't really any kind of actual dom/sub dynamic. This is kind of an enemies to lovers deal. Sorta. Alcohol. Use of derogatory language against Eddie.

Part 1

A/N: Thank you @jo-harrington for loving this story, and thank you for editing this at a moment's notice. Love you forever.

The alley is dark with only a singular halo of light illuminated by the light perched over the oversized metal door through which you and Jeannie just exited. There’s a rusty pipe just outside of the circle of light dripping into a small puddle of trash water next to an open dumpster. Cigarette butts litter the ground like the memories of past alleyway encounters to which you and Jeannie will add your own.

“You really are the hottest girl I’ve seen around here in a long time.” Jeannie’s smile is sweet, one of a Chesire cat grin. She’s eyeing you up and down in appreciation. “Maybe that’s just because I get to see you put Ed in his place for once.” You cough out a laugh because it is fun to put that boy in his place.  “Don’t get me wrong, he’s actually a great guy, just a cocky bastard when someone gets his dick hard.”

“Yeah, well, sounds like most of the guys I’ve dealt with,” you exhale the words along with a mournful sigh. You think about the casual misogyny that impacts every aspect of your daily life and frown at the thought. Just another man that looks at you like a prize, something they can win. Something they deserve.

“Nah, Ed really is a good guy. Not your typical asshole. Don’t let him fool you.” Eyebrows cocked, you take in the cheeky smile on Jeannie’s face. Guess I’m not getting any pussy tonight.

“I take it this” you move your hand between yourself and Jeannie “is not happening, eh?”

“Can’t do it, pretty. Not when you dance with me, and eye fuck a guy. No hard feelings.” No, no hard feelings. Not for Jeannie, anyway. No, you’re a stupid bisexual mess, and that’s not her fault.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I cock blocked myself.” This has you both laughing. “I’m sorry, that was bad behavior. You’re being too nice about it.”

“Nah, it’s cool.” Jeannie rubs out her cigarette and wiggles her fingers at you in a goodbye as she turns and heads back into work. She stops at the door and adds, “He’s not a bad guy. He’s really not,” and the door is closing, leaving you alone in that circle of light to listen to the water drip, drip, drip while the filter of your cigarette starts to burn.

You hear faint laughter and watch a couple walking by, arms wrapped around each other. You step to the side, hiding in the shadow so you can watch them without being seen. You let out a little groan and stomp your foot in frustration. 

“Fuck this.” You’re done, ready to go home and find a bottle in the cabinet. You consider going to 2A to see if Mary and Steve were around, but you couldn’t bear the idea of cock blocking Mary too. It was pissing you off that this guy was in your head. It was pissing you off that you wanted him.

The short walk home is not enough. Just as your apartment building appears in the distance, you detour through an empty parking lot. This is a spot you’ve never explored, an elementary school with 4 square lines spray painted in the pavement, rusty basketball hoops, monkey bars, and 3 swings lined up in a row. One of the swings has been tossed over the top of the poles a few times, it sits higher than the other two. The moon is out, the air is calm, and you don’t mind the slight bite of cold through your thin pantyhose. You swing.

At first, it’s a gentle movement, but muscle memory takes over. You find yourself pumping your arms and legs, gaining momentum. Higher, higher, and higher still. You let your laughter erupt in the open air. Your breath fans out in a cloud around your face. You feel clean and free for a moment. You are laughing and swinging for what feels like hours, until something draws your attention.

A jingling sound can be heard at the side of the building, near the old basketball court. Someone is walking a dog, maybe? Your senses are heightened at the perceived possible threat, dragging your feet on the soft earth beneath the swing, you open the snap at the top of your purse. Then you see what is approaching, sauntering, towards you. A huff of aggravation leaves your mouth.

“You come here often?” The line is so ridiculously delivered, a faux husky voice, it earns Eddie a small laugh, and you can see his back straighten with pride. “Shouldn’t you be sitting at the bar waiting for Jeannie to get off work?”

“Did you put a tracking device on me somewhere? For fuck’s sake, give a girl a break.” His head is wobbling back and forth, as if to say, yeah, sorry. His long legs squat deeply to allow himself to rest on the swing to your right. You can’t help but giggle, the sight is endearing if not completely annoying.

“I heard someone laughing while I was on my way home. I had no idea I’d find you out here. I was intrigued, what can I say?” What can you say? Nothing. So, you don’t. You toe the dirt for a moment and begin pumping your arms and legs in earnest. Let him see your laughter. What harm could it do?

Eyes are on you as you reach the sky. Your hair whips from in front of your face to back behind your head. The laughter comes, the boy still watching and kicking the dirt. And then he says, “Wanna hear a joke?” And how could you not? You let out a loud, “Yeah” on your down swing.

“What do you do when your wife starts smoking?”

“What do you do?” You ask with genuine curiosity.

“Use some lube.” 

You snort a laugh at the ridiculous joke. You drag your feet, a giggle still in your mouth. And you look at Eddie. God, he’s so beautiful it takes your breath away.

“That was an awful joke. Tell me another.” Now he’s swinging while you watch him. His legs are too long to kick back fully and get any real height, but he’s still going for it. He’s letting out a “Hmmmm” in thought while he thinks of another joke. You aren’t fooled, you know this guy has a whole arsenal in that brain of his.

“What do you call someone who refuses to fart in public?” He hasn’t even gotten to the punch line, and you're giddy enough to giggle already.

“What?” He stops hard, feet planted in the dirt to deliver his punch line.

“A private tutor.”

You can’t help it, you’re laughing like a flirtatious teenager, “You idiot.” You go to swat his arm, and he’s fast. He grabs it before it hits its mark. His fingers interlace with your own, and he lets your arms drop between you. Holding hands, arms formed in a V at this little school playground. It’s so tender you could puke.

“I’m sorry.” A long finger is rubbing along your knuckles while you listen to his soft voice, “I’m such an asshole. To be fair, that usually works for me.” His eyebrows are cocked at you, and his small smile is barely visible in the moonlight. He seems small and sweet in this moment, and you feel warmth spreading through your chest at the sight of him.

“Yeah, well, I was just about ready to hate fuck the attitude out of you.” He drops your hand and dramatically grabs his chest.

“Hold on, let me just get in the right mind frame.” He stands up and shakes his arms at his side to limber up and clears his throat. His long arms grab the metal chain of your swing, and he leans into your space. A low seductive voice reverberates through his chest as he says, “Baby, your boobs remind me of Mt. Rushmore. My face should be among them.”

Your laughter is a release of tension. You’re in hysterics. It’s the only thing to describe your reaction to this fucking nerd putting on this ridiculous show. There are tears in the corner of your eyes until you catch sight of Eddie’s face. He’s watching you, the moonlight creating a halo around his stupid head with a wide smile that beams with pride.

“I would do anything to hear that laugh.” When you let out a groan of protest, his hand waves it away, “I’m serious. It’s what drew me back here. You have the sweetest laugh I’ve ever heard.”

You grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him down to your eye level. Right as your noses brushes against his and you’re angling your mouth towards him he whispers, “I’d love to hear what other pretty noises you make.”

Hand flattened, you give him a shove. “You’re such an asshole, Eddie.”

“Oh, come on, I was joking.” You’re up and heading back to your building, annoyed with yourself more than him. “Please stop. I’m sorry.” Wheeling around to face him, he stops abruptly with his hands raised in surrender. You have your hands propped against your hips. You bend down and unlace your boots and toe them off. You’ve lost a couple of inches, but Eddie still seems completely intimidated. He inches his way towards you, as if approaching a rabid dog, and he reaches down to pick up your discarded boots to carry for you.

“Let me walk you home, hmm? Are you hungry? I picked up some perch at the fish market yesterday.”

“I’m sorry, are you offering to make me dinner at,” you look at your watch and scoff, “1:30 in the morning?”

“Uh, yeah. To be fair, I was planning to make myself dinner anyway, but why not. It’s obvious neither of us is getting laid tonight.” Too true. Neither of you were getting laid, which made you wonder…

“Why aren’t you getting laid tonight? You been in a dry spell lately? I saw plenty of pretty bimbos making googly eyes at you earlier.”

“Yeah, true.” He sighs dramatically, “I think I’ve had my fill of bimbos for a while, ya know? Plus, I think I was getting a slutty reputation around the building.”

“Pffffttt, come on.”

“I’m serious, I was more than a little embarrassed to have the hottest chick I’ve ever seen call me an asshole and a slut to my face.” Well, you are a slut. “And I know what you’re thinking, you were just calling it like you saw it, but is it a crime to have a good time, Sweetheart? I didn’t know everyone in the apartment building could hear me.”

There’s a tinge of something, guilt, in the back of your mind. You never told him about the vent. The vent that certainly can’t be legal. The vent that creates a direct opening between your rooms. Yeah, he’s a loud ass, but you probably wouldn’t hear most of what he’s doing in the privacy of his own room if it wasn’t for that fucking vent.

“Not everyone in the building.” You admit, sheepishly. A pause, a gentle hand on your shoulder, an eyebrow raised in question. “So, there’s this vent I discovered. It’s basically just wide-open space between our rooms.”

His eyes are moving side to side as if he’s trying to understand, trying to see it in his mind. “A vent? Why is there a ductwork that goes from one room to another room like that?” And you think for a moment you might get away with your bad behavior, because maybe he’ll focus on the design flaw instead of the fact that you blamed him for something out of his control.

“Wait. Are you telling me that you’ve been ragingly pissed off at me for something that isn’t my fault?” You wave your hand a little bit. Because, yeah, that’s pretty much true.

“Sort of. I mean, you’re still a cocky asshole that doesn’t consider his neighbors when he’s got his dick up.” His arms go up in frustration. “No, you’re right, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have decided to be mean right off the bat.”

Eddie’s still gripping your boots while your feet are walking on the freezing cold sidewalk with nothing but pantyhose between you and the night. The chill is finally starting to get to you, the booze having worn off completely. Your building isn’t too far, about a block away, and your teeth start to chatter a bit. You’re trying to hide it, not wanting to seem too vulnerable, too weak in this moment, but he’s observant. He swings off his leather jacket, leaving himself in just his cropped t-shirt, and wraps it around your shoulders. It smells like cigarettes, worn leather, and Old Spice. You could scream at how comforting it all is. How safe and cared for you feel. Instead, you try to satisfy your curiosity.

“So, tell me, Eddie, what do you do for a living?” You ask, hating the way the question sounds coming out of your mouth. Boring chit chat that doesn’t fit the already too intimate understanding the two of you have with each other. 

“Besides playing metal for free booze at the downtown bars? Take a guess.” Oof, if you had to guess, you’d have no idea. Tattoo artist? That’s plausible. Cook? Could be. Mechanic, plumber, electrician? How annoying to not know and how annoying to have him play coy about it.

“Oh, I don’t know. Can’t you just fucking tell me?” His head is thrown back in a laugh. He really enjoys needling you. He likes pissing you off, at least just a little.

“God, you’re so impatient. If you must know, I work with kids. Believe it or not, I’m a counselor for at-risk youth.” You can’t hide the shock on your face. There is no way you would have ever been able to guess that this guy worked with kids. Is a counselor. You’ve done work for family attorneys in the past, and you know what some of these kids go through. You imagine him holding the hands of kids going through the horrors of life. A lump begins to form at the base of your throat.

“Are you joking?” You practically choke out the words. It’s a rude question and you have no excuse for it other than the fact that it’s exactly what crosses your mind.

“Not joking. I had a rough time when I was younger. I barely got out of high school alive. Steve started going to a community college back home, and I decided to go for it with him. I spent 6 years getting a 4-year degree while flipping burgers.” 

Your mind is so blown you can’t do anything but stutter, “You’re a fucking saint? That’s actually kind of annoying.” You nudge Eddie with your shoulder affectionately. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I do for a living?” He nudges you back, affectionately.

“I know what you do. Mary told me. You’re an assistant for a lawyer with the aspiration to go to law school. And, you’re very likely going to do it and be a huge success because you’re a genius and you work harder than anyone she’s ever met.” Bless Mary, what a sweetheart. You can see her saying this to him, verbatim. She’s your biggest cheerleader. “It’s why I haven’t been having any overnight guests. You seriously had me feeling like the biggest dick in the world, you know.”

Ascending your steps to the front door of your building, you stop and look at Eddie. He’s a step below you, and still taller than eye level. “Why did you come on so strong with me? Why not just” you’re flapping your hand around looking for the right thing to say, “be normal with me?”

“I’m naturally flirtatious.” A roll of the eyes has him breathing through his nose, “Fine. you’re hot when you’re angry. Like, it’s insane. And, you know, most people find me charming.”

Yes. You could see it. He is charming. And sweet. Jeannie is right, he’s not a bad guy, he’s a really good guy, in fact. You reach your hand out to touch his curls, you’ve been thinking about how soft they would feel between your fingers since the first time saw him. Yes, they are soft. Oh, his hand is cupping your cheek, and you’re leaning your head into it. His skin is so warm despite the cold.

“God, you’re so beautiful, I could cry.” The words are out before you can stop them, and maybe you don’t want to. Maybe he needs to know what is true about him in your eyes. That he is beautiful, and that you want him, even more now that he’s let you see who he really is.

He releases a slow exhale at your words, and you can see a flush creeping up his neck. You are charmed. Before a protest can be made, you let your mouth meet his. You let yourself taste him, breathe him in. And he is sweet. A light kiss, and his breath is fanning over your face.

He pulls back to look into your eyes and says, “I think you might have something in your eyes.” You furrow your brows a little while he inspects them, “No, sorry, just a sparkle.” He’s breathing out a laugh at his own terrible pick up line, and you hate him.

“I hate you.” You say the words without conviction, and this time, his mouth meets your own with a firm kiss. A tongue snaking across your bottom lip in a plea for entry, and you grant it. This is bliss. His arms are holding you at your hips while yours find his neck. Like teenagers at your parents’ doorstep not wanting the night to end. This goes on until he feels you trembling and remembers that you could be doing this inside. Where there’s heat and comfort.

“Wouldst thou allow me the honor of walking thee to thine door this fine evening, M’lady?” He asks, and you realize that this guy that has  fucked every woman in the tri-state area is an actual nerd. A goofy bastard.

“Thank you, kind sir. I hate to be out on these streets alone.” You bat your eyelashes and he lets out a little groan of pain. You relish in that groan, an indication that you have the upperhand with this man. You do have him wrapped around your little finger. Not only could you make him putty in your hands, you are doing it by just existing within his space. 

As you head to the stairs, you feel Eddie’s warm fingers tangling themselves with your own, and that feeling of being a kid hits you again. It’s been so long since you’ve felt this kind of zinging tingle from such a simple gesture. Will he be careful with me? A bit of doubt begins to prickle at the back of your mind.

“So.” You’re standing with your back against your door, head tilted up to Eddie while he’s leaning his arm above you and bending into your space. “Did you want to come in, or…” Lips are on you. His soft mouth, so warm and inviting, and your tongues are dancing. It is divine. It is perfection. Until. Until. Until. “Wait.”

When your eyes focus on his face, there is concern. Not anger at being told to wait. Not frustration at your hand holding him away from you. Just brows knit together in distress for you. 

“Are you ok, Sweetheart. I’m sorry if I did something wrong.” His knuckles brush against your cheek, and then he takes a small step back to allow you a little distance.

“No, Eddie, you’ve done nothing wrong.” You’ve turned around at this point, and you’re fumbling for your keys. They rattle as they hit the linoleum at your feet. Curses are being muttered under your breath while you try to recover.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Eddie’s big brown eyes are still so full of concern, you could cry. You want nothing more than to bring him into your home, into your bed, and just let go. It would be one thing if there weren’t these feelings brewing inside of you. It wasn’t what you planned. No, you want his mouth all over you, a tender embrace. The last time you had those things, you got burned. You’ve learned about playing with fire, and you just don’t do it anymore.

“I’m sorry, Eddie.” You let out a little shocked noise at your stupid self, “you really are beautiful and sexy. And you’re a good person to boot.” Your head is shaking at him, because these are not things you’ve been looking for.

“Um, thanks? Why is that bad?” His tenderness is too much for you, and you feel yourself wanting to give in. His hand is gently brushing your hair away from your face, and he’s tilting his head to try to see you better.

“Because, I like you, and that’s not something I can deal with. I’m not looking to feel anything other than mutual physical satisfaction. With anyone.” You throw your hand out to emphasize your point. Nope. Not looking for a boyfriend. And that’s what this motherfucker is, he’s a goddamn boyfriend if you’ve ever seen one.

“Uh, well, I say that’s too fucking bad, Sweetheart. The feelings are mutual, and if you don’t want to hang out with me because we’re super compatible, that’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.” The smile he’s wearing barely masks his frustration. He’s looking like the cocky shit you first met. Arms spread open to present himself to you. “Fucking fine, I’ll leave you alone. Give me my jacket back.”

You shrug it off and hand it over, already missing the warmth. You feel so small right now, and so angry at yourself. He’s right, it is stupid. “I’m sorry, Eddie. I don’t think I could fuck you and have it be just casual. I can’t have you living above me, hearing you and whoever else. It would be one thing if we didn’t live in the same building, but I’d rather not even go there right now. There’s no way this wouldn’t end up being a complete shit show.”

He spins on his heel and takes the stairs two at a time, leaving you standing alone under the glow of the fluorescent lights that illuminate the hall. When you finally enter the apartment, tears are stinging at the corners of your eyes. What is your fucking problem? You don’t even notice that Mary and Steve are sitting on the couch watching a movie.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Mary is scrambling out of the embrace she was sharing with Steve. “I heard you shouting with, uh, someone in the hallway.”

“With Ed, it was definitely Ed.” Steve says nonchalantly, as if saying his name wouldn’t drive a dagger through your heart.

“Thanks for that, Steve.” Mary’s annoyed face is completely unconvincing. To be fair, how could anyone be annoyed with Steve? He’s so precious.

“I just,” You sigh and try to find something to say to get her to leave you alone, “I hung out with him a little bit tonight, and I can’t do this right now. It would be one thing if it was just sex, but he’s so fucking perfect.” Mary knows. She’ll support you. She knows how hard you took it the last time you tried to do the feeling thing with someone. She will hug you and tell you that you’re doing the right thing.

She is staring at you with incredulity. Flabbergasted. Bemused. Dumbfounded. Absolutely flummoxed. “You’re fucking stupid.”

Steve lets out a little laugh through his nose and clears his throat to cover the sound. You and Mary both shoot eye daggers in his direction and he just gives you both a little shrug. “You know, Eddie hasn’t stopped talking about how much he wants to get to know you. You have him so wound up, it’s ridiculous.”

“Oh, come on. I’ve done nothing but be a complete bitch to him.”

“Yeah, and Mary here has told him how amazing you are. He’s always like this. He loves when someone is willing to put him in his place.” Your head is spinning at the thought. Putting him in his place. “Plus, Mary told him that you want to be a lawyer and work with legal aid. He’s ready to go out and buy a ring.”

“Shut up, Steve, you’re freaking her out.” Mary turns back to you and grabs your hand. “Just answer this question for me, and I’ll leave you alone.” Her eyebrows are raised, and you nod in answer, “If you’re already hurting your own feelings by not allowing yourself the chance to spend time with Eddie, what’s the harm in seeing what might be there before you crush it?”

You roll your eyes and wave, “Good night, guys. Be safe.” You hate that everyone is right. Fuck this. You’re going to bed.

Emotionally exhausted, you find sleep easy to find. As you drift, through the sound of your fan blowing gently on your night stand, you hear something that is bringing you back into the waking world. It’s soft, so quiet. Is that? It’s music.

It’s a song you recognize, anyone would, but it’s so much more mournful than it should be. Soft and gentle strumming. Mary’s words are hounding you while you hear Eddie singing, through that fucking vent, I Want To Hold Your Hand. You’re so pissed off, there’s nothing you can do but throw your legs over the edge of your bed and stomp out of your room. Down the hall. To the living room where Steve and Mary are sleeping. Out your apartment door. Up the stairs. All while still in your tiny sleep shorts and tank top, the breeze of the front door to the building leaving your skin covered in goose flesh.

*knock, knock, knock* Come on, I know you’re awake. A little louder *knock, knock, knock*, and you hear him grumbling behind the door. “You’ve got to stop forgetting your keys man, it’s like 3 in the morning. The door swings open, and he sees you.

“Hi.” His eyes widen, “Oh shit, I’m sorry. Was I too loud?” Yes. Too loud. Too pretty. Too kind. Too sexy. Too everything.

You push your way past him and into his apartment, back into his bedroom. He’s following you, still confused, huffing at you. Until you stop to face him outside of his bedroom door. A finger firmly pointed at his chest.

“One of two things needs to happen tomorrow.” He’s looking from your finger to your face, trying to understand what’s going on, “Either we get the landlord down here to fix this vent issue, or you and Steve switch rooms.”

“Uh, ok. Yeah, that’s fine.” Your finger moves up to the fringe of his hair, letting it dance along his forehead. “Sweetheart, do you have something else in mind to talk about?” You shake your head at him, eyes still focused on his, absolutely mesmerized by him.

“I want you, Eddie, if you’ll have me. Even if it’s just for tonight. How does that sound to you?” Eddie’s lip curls up and throws his arms around your waist to lift you off the ground in a bear hug. Your fist pound his chest in protest while giggles are erupting out of you. Without putting you down, he kicks his door open and walks you over to his bed.

“Oh, Sweetheart, this is gonna be so fun.” Your mouths are mingling gently, with need and passion, but so sweetly. His big hands grip your torso and toss you onto his messy bed. He’s climbing over you while you crook your finger to draw him closer to you. Close enough for you to-

“Jesus, woman.” -wrap your legs around his waist and flip him onto his back. You wiggle your finger at him in a “no-no” gesture when he tries to push himself back up.

“Let me make you feel good, Baby. You’re so pretty, I just wanna play for a while.” A pathetic whine leaves his mouth at your words. You know these are probably words he’s used on countless women over the years. You mean it, too. You want to open him up and see his heart beating in his chest. You want to see his lungs expand and expel his breath. You want to explore the expanse of his chest with the tip of your nose. Your tongue. You want to see the freckles that are hidden from his own gaze and take the time to appreciate each of them.

“Let’s come to an agreement, Baby. If you tell me no, ask me to stop, or in any way sound like you’re anything more than enthusiastic about what I’m doing, I’ll stop. Ok?” Eddie nods enthusiatically. “The only other thing I’m going to ask is that you don’t touch me until I tell you it’s ok. You can ask if you really need it.” He’s nodding again, and you give a curt head shake, “Tell me if this is ok, please.” You’re sitting with your legs slung over his chest, and a hand cupping his cheek. You need to see what his face and words are telling you.

“Yes, please.” He’s nodding, and then a little wolfish grin crosses his pretty lips. “That all sounds good for now. We can talk about a switch up for the next time.” You scoff in answer, but you can’t deny the throb you feel at his words. Maybe you could see yourself relinquishing some control with him.

No more words for now, Eddie is on his best behavior as he watches you with keen, shining eyes. You waste no time and peel his shirt off, showing you that chest you wanted to mark up. Before even touching him with your hands, you lick a stripe from the line of hair below his belly button, up his stomach, over his chest, and to his neck where you begin sucking behind his ear. His responding groan is music to your ears.

Before long he’s laid out for you, completely nude, hard as a rock and moaning while you tease him with gentle strokes and words of praise. He is so good for you, so beautiful with the purpling marks on his chest and thighs. And quiet, he’s being so quiet for you.

“Baby, you’re such a good boy for me. Tell me what you want me to do.” You give his slit a little kitten li k and his eyes roll back but his hands are still firmly planted and gripping the sheets below him. “Wanna see how far I can get your cock in my throat? It’s pretty big, Baby, I don’t know if I can handle it.” You’re pouting at him, giving him your sweet big eyes, batting your lashes at him.

His response is high pitched, sounding almost painful, “Sweetheart, I want you to suck my cock, but god, can I touch you, please.” Aw, it’s only been 30 minutes.

“Oh, Baby, I was just getting started.” Your hand moves down his shaft to the soft sac at the base of his cock. As he’s watching you, you take two of your fingers into your mouth and let your saliva coat them. His own mouth is moving in sync with your own, tasting the ghost of your fingers. You bring your hand down to the spot below his sac where it’s so sensitive and press firmly. His cock jumps and arousal leaks down to the thatch of hair at the base.

“Oh my god, I need to touch you. Please, please, please, let me touch you.” His whining cry, and the tear gliding down his cheek have you feeling weak.

You work your shorts off, finally exposing yourself to him. His hands are still pinned to the bed while you hover your sticky center over him. You sit on his stomach and rock yourself, not quite touching the head of his cock with your ass. His head is thrown back in concentration when you finally tell him, “You can touch me, Baby.”

His eyes shoot open, and his hands find your hips. Without a word, he has you on your back. “You gonna let me make you feel good, Sweetheart?” He’s wild, he looks like he wants to devour you, and you’re ready to let him do anything in this moment.

“Please, Eddie, anything you want.” His eyes are still wet from the edging. You’re running your finger along the purple marks you left on his chest, and he’s gone. You feel him ripping your shirt over your head and he’s throwing it out into the room.

He’s not gentle, and you’re not surprised. He’s not used to being teased like this. Your legs are spread wide, and his big hands pull you down into his waiting face. Immediately, he gets to work, he’s laid flat against the bed, his erection finally getting some friction while his tongue gets to taste you. It’s broad stripes along your slit with tiny kitten licks when he reaches your nub. Over and over and over. The movements are calculated. You’re watching him and he’s watching you. It’s when you start to rock your hips up to meet his mouth that he latches on to your clit with ferocity.

*bang* you’re writhing in pleasure. The feel of his mouth has you shaking uncontrollably, your moans get higher and higher until every muscle in your body is tense and you feel your center releasing. Eddie is practically growling as he laps up your arousal until your hands thread through his hair and you’re pulling him up to you.

“I need you inside me. I need it, Baby. Please.” Eddie is calming you down with a gentle shushing. His hands have found your face, and he kisses away the tears you didn’t know you had shed.

“I’m here, Sweetheart.” Kissing him now, with your taste on his tongue, you want it to last forever. You wrap your legs around his waist, hooking your ankles around him, pleading with your eyes. He leaves a kiss on your temple as he reaches for the small box on the nightstand. You watch, your body still boneless as he glides the condom down his length. You can’t remember the last time you had a man in this position. His body flush with your own, covering you, his face in your neck. Every inch of him makes your body hitch in excitement until you are completely full. You and Eddie are both open mouthed, and making silent noises until he moves. You’re meeting every thrust with your hips.

Moving in tandem, hard and fast, you know it won’t be long. Every thrust is hitting your most sensitive spot inside, while the hair at the base of his shaft tickles your clit. His breath on your neck, the whimpers and moans in your ear. It all feels so unbelievably good. You’re wound tightly again, already, sweat is collecting between your breasts that are pushed against Eddie’s chest.

“Oh, Baby, you’re fucking me so good. I’m gonna cum.” His reaction is to speed up even more, pounding you brainless. Only static and pleasure. That’s all that’s left of you as he uses you.

“Fucking cum with me.” The orgasm rips through you, and you’re screaming. If you had a brain to think with, you’d realize that if you were in your own room the sounds would be louder than any you’ve heard before. You can feel his thrust turning into a gentle rocking as he empties himself. And then, you’re both still, breathing into each other’s necks.

You lay together for a while, until you start to feel like you’re being suffocated. “Eddie, get off of me.” You reach down and give his ass a little slap. You think he might have drifted off to sleep while still inside of you.

He rolls over with a deep groan. You know you’ve worn him out, he looks exhausted. “Oh, Baby, I’ll be right back.”

You head to the bathroom and wash yourself. You count it as lucky that your apartments are identical, and guess that you could find some washcloths in the linen closet. When you reenter Eddie’s room, he hasn’t moved an inch. You remove the condom and clean him off while he makes little noises. You find his boxers and guide them up over his slender hips. After you find your own underwear, you climb into bed and cozy up into his chest.

“Sweetheart?” His voice is full of sleep and barely whispered. You hum back to him. “Can I keep you? Will you be mine?”

“Yes, Eddie.”

tagging: @missmarch-99 @powderblueblood @thornsnvultures @corrodedcorpses @munsonburn3r

@definitionwanderlust @mopeymopeymouse

[sugar-phoenix]

cowboy, you have a hard time wrapping things up neatly. ✦

synopsis: Boothill doesn't do things quietly. He's loud, and messy, and he likes doing things his way. Even though these all annoy you somewhat, the cowboy starts growing on you. And then one day, he does something unexpected. tags: f!reader, f/m, no smut, fluff, light angst, mentions of Boothill's past a/n: 2.5k words, this was a lot of fun to write. hope you guys enjoy it!

ao3 link here!

Your heels clacked as you walked down the halls, the ground littered with bodies and empty bullet shells. You sighed. Unlike Boothill, who left the remains of IPC soldiers and his mark everywhere in the form of bullet holes dotting the walls, you preferred to do your work neater, quieter. His loud whoops and hollers echoed down the corridor from ahead, making you cringe.

There were many things Boothill was in excess of. Too fierce. Too exposed. Too gleeful. Too loud.

You were not fond of loud.

“I got the place cleared for you, ma’am.” Boothill’s voice rang out like a bell.

“I noticed,” you responded, turning into the server room. In front of you, server towers loomed overhead, blinking with a million eyes. “You’re not very subtle, cowboy.”

“Subtle? Why would I wanna be subtle when I could strike fear into the heart of the IPC?” Boothill chuckled.

“Being subtle can be pretty scary,” you mused, going to the main terminal and typing the code you were given. “What could instigate more fear than an invisible threat you can’t see?”

“I dunno. I like to think that knowin’ who your enemy is and knowin’ that nothing can stop him is way more scary, lady.”

Boothill sank his pistol into his holster, then strode over to where you were standing, the sound of his body moving like oiled machinery.

“After all, ain’t knowin’ how you’ll die the most terrifyin’ thing of all?”

“Touché,” you conceded, scanning the database for the folder you wanted. Boothill waited at your side, and you felt a little shock that the man who was, only minutes ago a whirlwind of gunmetal and gleaming sharp teeth, could now stand so still.

Finally, you found the folder you were looking for, and you loaded it into a drive you inserted into the terminal. Boothill had offered the use of his own ports as a way to store the data, but you had refused. Data was no good to you if you could not parse through it with your own eyes.

“Alright, we’re done here,” you said as the download finished. “Let’s get out of this place.”

The cowboy at your side said nothing but smiled, flashing his razor teeth. You both stepped out into the hallway, only to be met with a new squadron of IPC guards.

“Looks like they sent the calvalry,” you remarked.

“Yeah? Well, if you know anythin’ about cowboys, you’ll know that we don’t take kindly to calvalry.”

And with that, he was off, shooting and hollering and kicking. You ducked back into the server room, letting the cowboy have his fun, and shook your head. When the sound of gunfire had stopped, Boothill leaned around the corner.

“‘S all clear! I took care of ‘em.”

You stepped out to find a pile of bodies and more bullet holes in the walls. Well, I guess this time it couldn’t be helped.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like my handiwork?” Boothill commented at your slightly dismayed expression.

“Cowboy,” you sighed, “you have a hard time wrapping things up neatly.”

He only laughed, a rough raucous sound that reverberated down the hallway as the two of you made your exit.

✦✦✦

You stood in the middle of the ballroom in a shape-hugging red gown, fanning yourself with a paper hand fan. Eyes searching the surrounding crowd, you looked for the familiar cowboy hat. You found Boothill standing against the back of the room, looking absolutely miserable in his suit. A smile creeped up your lips. It took a lot of hemming and hawing to get him to wear that suit.

“I need my body bare, otherwise I’ll overheat,” he’d said.

“Boothill, darling, it’ll just be for the night. You’re going to cause an uproar if you just walk in with that sorry excuse for a jacket. It would be absolutely scandalous. We need to be subtle tonight.” You had adopted the pet name after a few missions with him. The two of you were slowly becoming fond of each other.

“What’s wrong with a little ruckus?” Boothill had asked. “I like ruckus.”

“I know you do, but just this once we could do without it. Come on. You get to cause ruckus every other mission we’ve had so far. You can live without making noise just this once.”

To your surprise, he conceded, taking the suit from your hands and walking to a room, muttering and cursing under his breath.

Now you felt a little sorry as you watched him. He looked like a dog that had been forced into a humiliating outfit just for its owner’s enjoyment.

Your eyes met, and you flashed your fan over your face. The signal. You had gotten what you came here for. Relief flashed over Boothill’s face, and he made his way through the crowd to you as you started walking towards the exit.

You stopped abruptly when you saw the exit.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” Boothill asked, then, “oh,” as he saw what caused you to pause.

The archways were lined with more security guards than either of you had remembered when you first came in.

“They know we’re here,” you whispered. “They’re waiting to catch us on the way out.”

Boothill said nothing. You saw the calculations happen in his crosshair eyes. Slowly, he smiled, revealing his shark teeth in a devilish grin.

“Oh Boothill. No.” You said with dread.

“Oh but we don’t have much o’ a choice, do we?” he whispered. “Just let me do what I do best, darlin’.”

You looked at him, and he caught the worry in your eyes.

“Don’t worry ‘bout me. I always get out, don’t I?”

You sighed.

“Fine.”

Boothill smiled wider than he had the entire night, and stepped away from you, making his way back into the crowd. You reached under the slit in your dress, hand on the dagger strapped to your thigh. The feeling of the hilt under your hand grounded you. It wasn’t long until you heard three deafening gunshots, and glass raining down from above. Chaos and panic erupted, and over all of them, the familiar laugh you’d grown to love. You watched as the archways were flooded, and the guards rushed towards the cause of the ruckus.

Taking the chance, you merged in with the panicked crowd streaming outside the ballroom, as more gunshots echoed behind you. Once you were out, you rushed to your sports car, and got into the driver’s seat. It roared to life as you turned the ignition, and you took it out of the car park and drove it to wait in front of the entrance. Panicked partygoers ran around your car, but your eyes were focused on the entrance. The way you white-knuckled the steering wheel would definitely leave imprints.

“Come on, come on,” you muttered. “Come on, cowboy.”

A beat passed, then two, then ten, and Boothill was nowhere to be seen. You got anxious, watching the large golden arches that led into the ballroom with the giant crystal chandelier that hung above them outside.

Just when you were about to accept that Boothill had been captured, or worse, dead, he emerged from the entrance, a crazed grin on his face, his expensive suit torn in shreds. You sighed in relief. Just before he reached the car, he turned around, aiming upwards, and pulled his trigger. Five bullets flew through the air, severing the chains of the giant chandelier. The guards chasing Boothill were trapped in the ballroom as the light fixture fell to the ground in front of them, shattered glass scattering everywhere. Boothill cackled, then leapt over the hood, taking his seat in the passenger side. You wasted no time flooring the gas pedal, the car screeching away from the ballroom.

“Should teach those muddlefudgers not to waste money on showin’ off,” Boothill laughed.

You rolled your eyes, smiling.

“Hard time wrapping things up neatly,” you said.

“That’s just my trademark, darlin.’”

The two of you glanced at each other, grinning wildly, as your car sped into the night.

✦✦✦

You gazed out the windows of the Astral Express. The endless expanse of space unrolled before you, a landscape of endless opportunities.

Boothill had been called to the Astral Express for a favor, and he thought you should tag along.

“They’re a pretty cool bunch, you should come meet ‘em. Who knows, they might come in handy for ya in the future.”

You didn’t need the cowboy’s persuasion to come and meet the famed Nameless. You were more than happy for a chance to come face to face with these trailblazers, to converse with them and see how they operated.

The Astral Express crew surprised you at first. They were less of an organized team and more like a ragtag family of people from all different walks of life. Pom Pom, the little conductor of the express, scrutinized you for a bit until they sniffed (disapprovingly or approvingly you couldn’t tell), and announced, “Pom Pom welcomes you aboard the Express.”

Soon after, you got to meet the rest of the Express crew. There was March 7th, the cheerful girl with bubblegum-pink hair. There was Dan Heng, the quiet, reserved young man who often kept to himself in the Astral Express' database archives. There was Stelle, the mysterious gray-haired girl who was apparently a repository for a Stellaron. She kept quiet at first, but soon you learned she had a joke for every occasion and didn't hesitate to crack one even at the most inopportune moments, to the chagrin of her companions. Then to the two stewards of the Express: Himeko, the red-haired, confident navigator, and Welt, deep in thought and with a walking stick he kept close to himself at all times.

 Boothill seemed to fit right in. He was the one who introduced you excitedly to Dan Heng, cackling and talking about how they were “best buds.” Despite Dan Heng’s embarassment at first, you could tell he enjoyed the presence of the cowboy. In that way, you felt a sort of kinship with him.

 The two of you hung out on the Express for a few days, as Boothill helped them with one of their trips. They were currently orbiting a planet named Jarilo VI. Boothill had encouraged you to stay aboard the Express and take a break, but today, Himeko saw you watching the window.

"If you want, you can go down with the rest of them," she said.

"I think I might,” you responded. “Forget what Boothill said about taking a break, I'm at my happiest when I'm working on something anyway."

She smiled knowingly.

It wasn't long before you landed on the cold planet, and it was an even shorter time before you found the crew. Stelle, March, Dan Heng, and Boothill were in a clinic, accompanied by a small child with bright yellow hair and a doctor who wore a large apron. You'd soon come to know that these two were Hook and Natasha, respectively.

Boothill made a show of being upset that you weren't on the Express, but you could tell that he was very happy you had decided to join them after all.

Apparently the crew had been on a wild goose chase, and to your mild disappointment they were finished with the whole affair. Stelle, March 7th, and Boothill all attempted to explain the situation to you, and Dan Heng kept sighing and correcting them every five sentences, so in the end you understood very little.

As the four of you walked out of the clinic, Hook caught up to Boothill and tugged at his pants.

"You aren't leaving, mister, are you?"

Boothill turned around, and in a manner you'd previously thought uncharacteristic, he crouched down and ruffled the young girl's hair.

"I am, sweetheart," he replied.

 "But, but, you're a member of the Moles now! You have to stay with us."

"Oh, and I'm only an *honorary* member?" Stelle asked, in mock anger. Hook giggled mischievously, then turned back to the cowboy.

"Also, I need your help with something," she added.

"Oh? What's that?" Boothill asked. Hook produced a strange trinket from one of her pockets.

"I wanna give this to my daddy, but I dunno how to wrap it up."

Boothill chuckled, ruffling her hair again.  “Your daddy sure is lucky to have a little girl like you.”

Then he did something that was so unexpected, the action of it was seared into your memory forever.

Slowly, he took off the bandana from around his neck, and laid it flat on the ground. Then, he took the trinket from Hook's hands and put it on top of the bandana, in the center. Deftly, and with a gentleness you'd seen from him very rarely, Boothill wrapped up the object with careful folding and gentle knots, then presented the object to Hook.

"There you go. And once your daddy opens it, you can wrap the bandana around your own neck, and I'll be there with ya and the Moles in spirit."

Tears sprung to Hook's eyes and she surged forward, hugging his neck and wailing loudly. Boothill chuckled, patting her back tenderly.

✦✦✦

The crisis with Jarilo VI solved, you and Boothill bade the Astral Express crew goodbye and went on your way. In the small spaceship you sat in, you gave Boothill a look.

What Hook and the Astral Express Crew didn't know was that the bandana he wore around his neck was very dear to him. A remnant of his past, a past that he had talked very little about with you, even though the two of you had gotten very close with each other.

Boothill sighed, feeling your gaze on him. "You wanna ask me about what happened with the girl, I can tell."

"Well, I mean, if you don't want to talk about it, I guess that's fine with me--" you started.

"No, no it's fine. It's somethin' I should've told ya long before. It's just painful for me is all."

You wanted to tell him that it was okay for him not to tell you, but you couldn't bring yourself to speak.

"What I never told you before, darlin’, was that I used to have a little girl of my own."

You raised a hand to your mouth. Never in your life would you have thought that the man in front of you—loud, brash and reckless—was ever a father.

"Before I was a Galaxy Ranger, before I got this metal body that I have now, I used to be just a cowboy. And one day I found myself with a daughter. Precious thing, loved her to death." He paused, taking in a deep breath, then let it out. "The IPC, they came to our planet... and they took her away from me. Took her and my whole family away from me. Razed everything I had to the ground.

 “That bandana I wore, well. It was my only reminder of her."

"Oh," you said, understanding why he was so guarded about it in the past. There was a long pause as you waited for Boothill to talk again.

 "But that girl, Hook," he started again, "she… reminded me of my daughter." Boothill took a shuddering breath. He had lost his ability to cry a long time ago, and you knew this, but sometimes he did things that told you he was weeping, invisibly. Until now you hadn't known what about.

"They would have been friends," he said softly.

"I'm sure they would have," you agreed.

You thought about the way he wrapped the gift for Hook.

"Where'd you learn to do that?" you asked.

"Do what?" he replied.

"What you did with the gift. How you folded it."

"Oh, that," he chuckled. "Some things you pick up being a dad."

There was another pause before you decided to speak again. "Well, I'll admit I was wrong about you then."

 "Wrong about what?" he asked, and you chuckled a little before answering.

"Turns out, cowboy, you do know how to wrap things up neatly."

Boothill laughed then, a soft, light sound, and you smiled.

comments are also very appreciated!

dividers by @cafekitsune

[deviouz]

INSATIABLE.

WARNINGS / shameless smut so MDNI. satosugu shenanigans. small lil drabble that i didn't proofread (:

GETO SUGURU who comes home to a living space lacking life. it’s quiet, unexpectedly so, and he almost feels offended that neither you nor GOJO SATORU have come to greet him as it was almost ritualistic. the lights are dimmed, though he was still able to pick out the telltale signs of clothes littering the floor, slowly trailing down the hall to the bedroom.

as suguru inched closer to the door, lips curved into a sly smirk, it became more than evident that you and satoru were having a bit of late night fun. through the crack in the door, your quivering body was splayed out on the bed, back arched in a curve that had suguru sucking in a sharp breath. your facial expression was pleasure-struck and mouth left agape as moans filled the room. his eyes trailed down to where one of your hands laid atop a familiar mop of white hair, fingers threading through the soft locks rather desperately.

“fuck, satoru, please!” your voice broke in the end, brows knitted together as your thighs clamped around satoru’s head. it wasn’t surprising in the slightest to hear him moan in response, cruel in his unrelenting.

“one more, baby, jus’ give me one more and i’ll stop, ‘kay?”

suguru almost cooed at the way your head shook side to side, tears welling up in the corners of your pretty eyes. satoru no doubt had you spread out on the bed and cumming on his tongue for hours on end. on a good day he was insatiable.

it was then suguru had decided to make his presence know. the door opened with a soft creak, causing you to gasp and satoru to look up for a second before burying himself between your thighs once again.

any shame you had felt from suguru’s discovery vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. your eyes blearily flitted over his figure, eyes attentively watching as suguru shrugged off his jacket and tossed it to the chair in the corner.

it was growing increasingly difficult to keep your eyes trained on suguru, especially with satoru seemingly in competition for your gaze. he had picked up the pace, tongue and fingers working in tandem to have you letting out the sweetest sounds.

“someone’s feeling awfully greedy tonight,” suguru commented, brow raised in a perfect arch. “how long has satoru been between your thighs, my love?”

the bed dipped to your left, making way for his figure. your head was soon turned towards his chest, hands grasping at the fabric of suguru’s shirt as you felt the muscles tighten in your stomach for the umpteenth time that night.

“too long, sugu—! i can’t, ‘toru, please—!”

despite your pitiful attempts to persuade satoru for some semblance of mercy once more, it wasn’t long before he had you tumbling into yet another orgasm. it was hard enough to have you tugging at the bedsheets and damn near crying out in ecstasy — the kind of debauched sound that caused the move from the last apartment, much to your chagrin.

satoru was quick to soothe you, hands coming to massage at your hips and kiss up the expanse of your body until your lips met in a sweet kiss. you could hear him giggle, the fucking audacity, lips melding into yours so perfectly. in the low lights of the bedroom, it was evident that satoru’s lips were swollen and stained a shade of rosy pink, cheeks flushed enough to match. the batting of his eyelashes was almost enough to forgive him and his need for overindulgence. almost.

as suguru’s lips trailed up and down your neck, wandering hand coming to rest at your hip, you knew you were in trouble.

“think you can cum again, sweetheart?”

it was impossible to resist suguru when his voice hit that low timber, soft enough to almost be a purr.

truth be told, both of them were increasingly insatiable and absolute fiends when it came to you.

[sweetiecutie]

Very, very specifically König with a afab reader with extremely sleepy sex. Spooning while he softly ruts into you from under the covers and his lips pressing kisses to the back of your neck slowly kind of sex. It would be even funnier if he nearly fell asleep before finishing and had to wake himself up, he's just too comfortable having you around him that he doesn't fully care if he doesn't finish before bed.

Omg THIS!!😩🛐

König just can’t help himself - you make him feel so safe, so at peace. Every minute, every second spent in your sweet presence soothes all of his worries and anxiety like a balm, his head no longer buzzing with heavy thoughts when he feels the warmth of your skin on his, your lips kissing away frown settled deeply in between his eyebrows.

One of König’s meaty arms served as your pillow, your soft cheek squished against meaty bicep. His nose was buried right in your hair, man couldn’t help but inhaling lungfuls of your sweet scent, his mouth watering upon feeling such familiar and dear smell. König’s free hand was wandering up and down your body, carefully kneading pudge of your tits and hips, calloused fingers tracing your belly tenderly, his dick getting harder by how soft and warm you felt under his touch.

- Fuck baby, want you s’much, - his words came out slurred and barely distinguishable, haze of sleep already muddling up König’s mind. You just hummed in response, grinding your ass against noticeable bulge in his boxers, hoping that’ll send the message.

With a throaty groan König’s fingers slipped past the elastic of your pretty panties, sticky wetness pooling in between your legs. He slipped soft fabric to the side, just enough to expose your drooling entrance, thick cockhead nudging your warm folds open, making your breath at h in your throat in sweet expectation.

You both heaved a long sigh as König finally pushed inside of you, burying his throbbing length in welcoming warmth of your cunny, his hips pressed flush against the plumpness of your ass. Neither of you moved nor said anything, just enjoying the warmth of each other, softness of fresh sheets enveloped both your bodies, lulling you further into embrace of sleep. König’s lips never once stopped littering small kisses all over the expanse of your neck and bare shoulder, not sucking nor licking, just barely grazing his hot lips against your skin, fluttering eyelashes ticking you ever so slightly.

First few thrusts were slow and languid, barely pulling out a few centimetres before pushing back into you, skilled fingers rubbing figure-eights on your clit.

- Love you so much, - König murmured quietly, kissing the shell of your ear, huge arms hugging you closer to his broad chest. Your hand found his, intertwining your fingers together loosely.

- I love you too, - you murmured, voice barely above the whisper, feeling his nose nuzzle deeper into your hair, rhythmic breathing lulling you further. And you finally gave in completely - soft waves of sleep swept you off your feet, filling your head with comforting emptiness and quiet.

König thrusted his cock into you a few more times before following suit, blue eyes shutting close, sweet dreams filling his mind with pretty pictures of you in his embrace. And you definitely made fun of him in the morning for sleeping with his dick out lol

Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated, give writers some love! I’m drunk and silly rn so go on and ask me stuff/share your thirsts!<3

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

“flu season” - hotch stops by to check on you while you’re home sick (hotch x bau!gn!reader), 1.7k words

cw; mentions of canonical violence, icky sickies, and yearning teehee

———————

You have the flu. 

You have the flu, and it hits you like a bus. 

You have the flu, and it hits you like a bus, and you hate feeling helpless, but you can’t even walk to the bathroom and back without feeling dizzy. 

There’s a waste basket by the bed, lined with a plastic grocery bag. There are four glasses of water, varying in stages of fullness, littered on the nightstand. Your blinds are open because yesterday you wanted to see the sun, but you were too exhausted later in the day to close them. 

Your phone is ringing. You’re groggy, the whole world feeling hazy and heavy, as you lift it from the space in bed beside you and see a call from your boss. When you called Hotch two days ago and told him you were ill, he was incredibly patient with you. Don’t worry about work. Get some rest, he said. Check in so we know you’re okay. Let us know if you need anything. 

You answer the phone on the last ring, and a hoarse, weak voice that is not yours exits your throat. “Hello?” 

“Y/N,” Hotch sounds relieved. Did he think you were dead or something? It’s only the stomach flu. He also never calls you by your first name, which only makes you concerned that something else is gruesomely wrong. “Did you see my calls?” 

You put him on speaker and check your call history. Aaron Hotchner has called you four times in the past six hours. You missed every single one, having drifted in and out of consciousness all day long. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t. Is everything okay?” You ask, thinking something must have happened to him or to one of your teammates. Why else would he be desperate to reach you when you’re home sick? 

“Well, you tell me,” Hotch exhales, an incredulous chuckle lining his voice. The phone muffles the sound, but you know that if you heard it in person, it would sound symphonic. “I was just checking on you, Y/N. I know you’re new to the city.” You sit up a little in bed, as if he were in front of you. “How are you feeling?” 

You run a clammy hand over your sweaty forehead. “Hot,” you blurt out. 

“Excuse me?” Hotch laughs. 

“Hot, like… like a fever. Like I’m running a…” you shake your head at yourself, resisting the urge to scream into your pillow. “Sick. I feel sick, very sick.” 

“What kind of sick?”

What kind of sick? Why would he ask you that? You lean back against the headboard and wonder if he’s trying to determine if you’re faking to get out of work, or if he’s genuinely concerned. You’ve only been with the BAU for a few months, but you feel like you’ve gotten to know everyone fairly well so far. You decide Hotch must just be genuinely concerned. You roll through your symptoms, and Hotchner clears his throat when you’re done speaking. 

“Do you feel strong enough to get to your door?” He asks.

“Huh?”

“Because I’m here. Outside your door.” 

“What?” 

Hotch lets out a breathy laugh, one that seems almost in disbelief of his own actions. “If you don’t want company, I’ll leave, but I thought you might need a hand. I’ve been sick and alone before. It’s not fun.” 

You feel your heart swell a little as you recall what Emily has told you about Hotch. You get little snippets about him from Emily, and from what you understand, he and his ex-wife were painfully separated for a while before she was murdered. You wonder if he was ever stuck at home, ill, during that period of time. 

Hotch says your surname. “Are you still there?” 

“What? Yes. Yes! I’m sorry,” you huff, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. The thought of planting your feet on the ground, however, has you already feeling nauseous. “I don’t, uh… I don’t think I can make it to the door, though,” you squeak. “There’s a spare key under the doormat. But I really look gross, Hotch. And I might be contagious. So, enter at your own risk.”

“I don’t mind, L/N. You keep a key under the - oh, yes, there it is,” you hear Hotch fumble to juggle the key and his phone, and after a moment of static - his hand over the microphone - he hangs up, and you hear the front door of your apartment creak open. “Y/N?” He calls out. 

“In here,” you croak, scrambling under the covers and desperately brushing your sweaty hair out of your eyes. 

Hotch is standing in the doorway in an instant, still in his suit and tie. You glance at your phone and conclude he must have left work directly to come here. “How do you know where I live?” You mumble as he lifts a full grocery bag. 

“Personnel file,” he shrugs. “How’s your fever?” 

You notice he’s lingering in the doorway. He’s waiting to be invited in. “You don’t have to have a warrant,” you smile weakly and beckon him into your bedroom, a lame attempt at humor. 

He exhales in amusement, and you see the smile on his face - light and mild, and you wonder, if you weren’t sick, would it have been a grin? 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Hotch says as he steps slowly into the room, taking a cold bottle of Gatorade from the grocery bag and setting it on your nightstand. He starts gathering the cups of water into one arm. 

“You don’t have to do that,” you protest, feeling embarrassed of your mess. “Hotch-“

“It’s Aaron, outside of work,” he corrects you, and you see a flash of his teeth. “And you didn’t answer my question. How’s your fever?” 

You swallow. “High? I guess?” You say dumbly. 

A warm hand is pressed against your forehead and you are once again very aware of how clammy it is. “When was the last time you took something?” He asks. 

You check the time again, then do the math in your head. “Five hours ago.” 

“Where’s your medicine?” He asked. You shift in the bed, to stand up, and Hotch - Aaron’s - hand is on your shoulder. “Stay in bed. I’ll get it. Where is it?” 

“Bathroom cabinet,” you point to the bathroom. You want to protest further. You want to apologize for the mess, to ask him why he’s doing this, to ask him if he’d do this for anyone else. But you keep your mouth shut, instead rubbing the space between your brows as the inevitable headache kicks in. 

Aaron’s quickly out of your bedroom. You hear him walk into the kitchen, a few cabinets open and shut, and then he’s in your bathroom, same thing, opening and closing a cabinet. He comes back to you with a few crackers on a plate, a fresh glass of water, and your flu medicine. 

“So, let’s talk about why you think it’s a good idea to keep a spare key under the mat,” Aaron proposes as you take the medicine. You nearly choke on the water in your mouth, but manage to down it. His face gives him away - he’s not mad, not even disappointed, just smirky. Teasing and playful were not words you would use to describe Aaron Hotchner. 

Until right now. 

You open your mouth to speak, but Aaron cuts you off. “You spend your whole week working gory murders, kidnappings, terrorist threats. You know that the key under the mat is the oldest trick in the book. Why do you do it?” He asks, leaning against the wall beside your bed. 

“You can sit, if you want?” You offer, pointing to the desk chair in the corner. “Your legs must be tired from hanging out up there on that high horse.” 

Hotch just lets a low chuckle escape him as he rolls the desk chair over. He keeps a respectful distance from your bed, but still crosses his ankles and leans back, like he’s sat there a thousand times. Like he’s somehow comfortable. He looks at you expectantly, as if to say don’t make me ask again. 

“Well,” you feel a bit sheepish, because he is right. Keeping a key under your doormat is pretty dumb. “I guess I figure, most people are smart enough to not do it, so the kidnappers and rapists would assume I would be smart enough, too, so they wouldn’t even look under the mat.” 

Aaron’s expression is priceless, and he opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off. “I’ll just give a spare to someone I trust, how about that?” You suggest, knowing intuitively that the lecture was only going to continue. 

Aaron gives you a nod of approval, and you lean back against the headboard again, stifling a yawn. “I can go, if you want to rest some more?” he proffers, rising from his seat. 

“You don’t have to,” you say quickly, uncontrollably. The words were locked and loaded in your throat before you could think twice. “I mean, I’m probably going to fall asleep soon, but I wouldn’t mind the company. For a little while.” 

You wonder how visibly red your face is.

“I just wanted to make sure you were alive,” Aaron chuckles, his polite, subtle way of declining your invitation, of making sure boundaries are still intact. You know Hotchner is a rule-follower. You admire that about him. “I’ll let you get some rest,” his hand extends, as if to reach out to you. You wonder if he’s going to touch you. His hand retracts after a moment that seems to last for an eternity. 

As Aaron walks towards the bedroom door, he turns around and smiles at you. It’s a real smile. It’s soft. You want to press it like a flower petal, between two book pages, and keep it in a jar on your shelf. 

“I brought you some soup for when you feel up to eating. It’s in your refrigerator,” he says. He taps his hands against the door frame. “Feel better, okay? I’ll call you tomorrow to check on you.” 

Aaron Hotchner leaves your apartment a minute later, and you fall asleep shortly after that. Your head is still pounding, and your stomach is twisted in knots, but it’s not from the nausea. 

[lovelyjj]

you can use any prompts but can u do reader and jj breaking up, mostly because he can't communicate well and he's to reckless ( maybe you could add something we're he flirts with other girls at bonfires when he's drunk) and she's not all for that ecspecially since they are starting to get older

Break Up

jj maybank x reader

wc: 1.1k

I chose “don’t do this” and “we’re done” from this prompt list! i’m still accepting requests!

warnings: kinda mean jj

a/n: sorry if this sucks

(not my gif)

“JJ I can’t keep doing this,” you voiced.

“Doing what?” JJ asked.

“Putting up with your bullshit,” you responded.

“My bullshit,” JJ laughed.

“Yeah your pulling guns on people bullshit. Stealing from drug dealers, and being reckless.”

“I’m not reckless I’m perfectly fine.”

“JJ, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“Don’t do this,” JJ begged.

“You know what whatever i’m leaving.” You stormed out.

You were trying to break up with JJ but you just couldn’t do it. You don’t know if it was his blue eyes looking into your soul or his sad face but you just couldn’t do it. You were putting it off.

——————

The bonfire was electrifying. People were drinking and dancing, and talking it was wild. You we’re having a good time with your friends.

JJ was on his third beer and he wasn’t planning on stoping anytime soon. It was safe to say he was a little drunk. He enjoyed drinking and being drunk, it made everything easier. He could just forget all his problems and let loose.

JJ saw a group of girls by the fire and decided to go up to them. He had liquid courage, therefore went up to them pretty confident.

“Hi ladies,” he spoke.

A tall blonde in a short black dress smiled at him and said “Hello, your JJ Maybank right?”

“Yeah that’s me,” JJ gave her a goofy grin.

“I’ve heard about you.”

“Oh yeah and what have you heard?” JJ asked.

“That your a handsome guy who knows how to have a good time,” she smirked.

“Sounds about right.”

“You have a beautiful smile,” JJ laid on the charm.

JJ continued to flirt with the blonde as he drunkenly slurred compliments at her.

“Don’t look now,” Kiara warned.

“What?” you turned around and saw what she was referring to.

There was JJ in all his glory stroking hair out of some random girls face. You were livid. How dare he in his drunken state think to hit on other girls.

You were about to walk over there when something stopped you. Kiara put a hand on your shoulder holding you back from leaving.

“Are you sure you want to do this now?” she asked.

“Yeah I’m sure.”

You marched up to JJ and demanded answers. You tapped him on his shoulder and he turned around all wide eyed.

“Listen Maybank I don’t know who you think you are, flirting with other girls right in front of my face, but you got another thing coming.”

You were getting older and you didn’t have time for all these games.

“Y/N?” He slurred.

“Yep.”

“I was just talking to some friends, no harm in that right?” JJ asked.

“Wrong. You’re being disloyal and unfaithful,” you hissed.

“How do you know? I’m just having fun.”

“Right well JJ i’m so tired SO tired of having to deal with this!”

“Then go away,” JJ casted you a unimpressed look.

“Maybe I will,” you shouted.

“Go, nobodies stoping you.”

You were pissed at JJ. He was acting like a child. You were not gonna control him, if he wanted to act like that you were gonna let him. But you couldn’t promise you will be by his side through it all.

———————

The day was bright and sunny. The sky holding the sun as it shined on you.

JJ walked into the château littered in bruises on his face. He was dreading the encounter with you because he didn’t want to worry you.

You were sat on the couch with the other pogues when JJ walked in.

“Hey J- Woah what happened? Are you ok?” You were frantic and scared for your boyfriend.

“Relax I’m fine. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“JJ you have- you’re not gonna give me a explanation,” you sighed.

“I said I don’t want to talk about it,” JJ said through gritted teeth.

“Ya know I would really love it if you could communicate with me sometime,” you frowned.

“Yeah well we don’t always get what we want,” JJ smiled rudely.

“Why are you acting like this?”

“Suck it up princess.”

You pushed pass JJ going going out the door and onto the porch. You didn’t know what has gotten into JJ but you hated it.

——————

You and JJ weren’t on the same page. Everything seem to be crashing down. It was a disaster. JJ wasn’t communicating to you at all. All he did was blow you off and dance around your questions.

You stormed up to the château where JJ was currently staying and wanted to talk.

JJ came stumbling outside when he herd your knock and shouting. He wasn’t impressed but he showed up none the less.

“I need to talk to you,” you started off.

“You want to do this here?” JJ questioned.

You sighed, “works for me.”

“Ok what do you need to talk about,” JJ cringed he hated talking.

“I think you know,” you moved your lips inside your mouth forming a line without showing your lips.

“I don’t.”

“Ok well I think we need to have a conversation about us.”

“Which entails…”

“JJ…”

“What? You wanted to talk so let’s talk,” he gritted his teeth.

“Ok look this isn’t working. You don’t treat me right and i’m tired of it.”

“So you’re breaking up with me,” JJ put his tongue to his cheek.

“Yeah I guess I am.”

“I can change,” JJ’s voice broke.

“No JJ I don’t think you can.”

“Please give me another chance,” JJ begged.

“You don’t talk to me, your reckless and you flirt with other girls, I can’t handle it. how am I suppose to compete with them?”

“Sorry I’ve been such a shitty boyfriend.” JJ apologized.

“Well you should of thought about that before.”

“I know I don’t deserve it but if you could find it in your heart to forgive me and make this work, I would be eternally grateful,” JJ expressed with a sense of urgency.

“We’re done.”

“Y/N…”

“Goodbye JJ.”

You turned around to walk away and since you weren’t facing JJ you let a tear slip down your cheek. You didn’t want to do what you just did but you had to. JJ was hurting you, hurting your heart and you couldn’t stand it any longer. You loved him more than anything and not being with him was going to be a challenge.

JJ was your first real love. He was your person for so long until he started being careless and irresponsible. On top of that he didn’t communicate his feelings or give you any idea to what he was thinking which drove you mad.

JJ had his flaws but you loved him desperately regardless. You just couldn’t let him hurt you anymore as much as it hurt you to break up with him. So, as the tears streamed down your cheeks and with a heavy heart you said your last goodbye to JJ.

[oneforthemunny]

strangerprompts: turn back time |eddie munson x reader|

prompt: #8 you step into a hole-in-the-wall bar for a drink and suddenly find yourself in a different decade.

from strangerprompts writing challenge made by @bettyfrommars @allthingsjoeq and @somnambulic-thing <3 this was so fun!!! please check it out and consider writing for yourself!

warnings: language. time travel. but nothing crazy.

“It should be illegal.” You huff, nails digging into the leather of your steering wheel. The GPS shouted at you another robotic turn, drumming out the sound of your roommate on the other line. 

“I mean, seriously? Making me travel alone to- to the middle of nowhere. Ro, I’m not even kidding, it looks like the town Deliverance was filmed in. It’s the middle of nowhere.” You scoff, looking at the rundown building passing by you, all crumbling with desperate need of a renovation. 

“No, it can’t be Deliverance. They didn’t have hotels there.” Roslyn snicker floated through your car’s speakers. “C’mon, it’s not that bad.” 

“It is.” You grumbled. “And then they want us to meet at this bar for mingling. I don’t even know if I’m going to the right place!” You threw your hands up, smacking them on the steering wheel dramatically, turning it as the GPS announced you’d arrived. 

The Hideout- or at least, that’s what you could make out from the peeling sign above the building. “Jesus Christ, I’m getting murdered.” You muttered, sending Ro howling in laughter. “I’m not even joking. I’m about to be a topic on a fucking podcast.” 

“Stop.” Roslyn wheezed through laughter. “You’re not gonna get murdered.” 

“I don’t- This place doesn’t even look open.” You exhaled sharply, flicking through your phone, ensuring this was the right place. “Ro, you have to swear to me if I get murdered, you’ll make sure the true crime freaks won’t make Etsy merch about me.” 

“Calm down,” Ro laughed. “You’re not gonna get murdered. It’s just not the hipster ass bars you’re used to.” 

“No,” You muttered, locking your door quickly, clutching your purse to your side. “I really might. Stay on the phone with me.” 

“What?” Roslyn’s voice broke through the static. “I can’t- You’re cutting ou-” 

“Fuck.” You hissed, looking down at your phone as you climbed the stairs. Call Failed flashing back at you, no bars to be found. 

Turn around, get back in your car, and say fuck it. You do not need this job this bad. 

Yes, you actually do. 

A painful reminder of your maxed credit card, student loans, and rent flashed before your eyes, silencing your bitter thoughts. Sliding your phone into your purse, you clung to the strap tightly.

“Just stay fifteen minutes, then say you feel sick.” You muttered to yourself, reaching for the rusted handle. 

The entryway was dark, eerily quiet to be a bar. You almost thought it wasn’t one, if it wasn’t for the bright neon sign shining at the end. Welcome! Glowing in blinding red letters, underneath it in blue, the piercing glow that read: Stay A While. 

“So weird.” You muttered, your arms wrapping around yourself. 

The air turned colder with every step you took, following the bright signs- the only source of light, down the dark hallway. Your heart hammered in your ears, clutching your purse close to you. Just as you were about to panic, chest swelling with fear, veins icy as the air- you heard it. 

A muffled roar of an electric guitar, a tiny sliver of golden light peering beneath the heavy door. You pushed the door open, met with a sudden wave of warmth, the dim lights of the bar blinding you still. 

“Watch it, sweetheart.” A man with a tray of beers muttered, swiveling past you. 

“Sorry,” You squeaked, looking around the crowded dive bar. You scanned the packed tables for anyone from the conference, shimmying in between tables, peering over teased hair for anyone. 

“Fuck me,” You huffed, settling at a sticky bar booth, still littered with half drank beers and peanuts- the only one available. “No way I’m the first one.” 

You plopped your purse on to the seat of the booth, an iron grip still on the strap. You could feel the cutting glances still cast on you from the others, they’d had followed you from the moment you walked in. Judgemental, all accompanied with a lifted brow. 

Should look in the mirror, You thought bitterly, rummaging through your purse. They’re the ones wearing that outdated, ugly shit.

“Where the fuck- I know I put it in here.” You muttered, taking out the wrappers, your wallet, desperately trying to find your phone. 

“‘Scuse me,” You jumped, eyes wide when you looked up, clutching your purse to your chest. 

Dark eyes met yours, a dimpled smile joining them. “Sorry,” The man lifted his hand carefully, the other balancing a black bucket stacked with glasses. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Just wanted to see if it was ok if I clear this outta the way for you?” 

“Y-Yeah, sorry.” You muttered bashfully. “Yes, that would be great. Thank you.” 

A ringed hand passed in front of you, the light catching in the skull before it grabbed a glass. You moved back to your purse, furiously checking each pocket, chest growing tighter and tighter with fear. 

“You alright?” The busboy asked, swiping another glass, stacking it into the bucket with a soft rattling clank. 

“Yeah- I mean, not really.” You turned, head craning towards the door. “I think I lost my phone in that hallway.” 

“Hallway?” He laughed, his name tag flashing towards you- Eddie, decorated with sharpie drawn bats and devil horns. “Phone’s on the wall over there.” Eddie nodded towards the bar, an old dial up phone mounted there, a sign that the charge is a quarter above it. 

Your brows creased. You didn’t even know those things worked, you always assumed they were decoration for the… edgy aesthetic of the place. 

“No, I mean my cell phone.” You shook your head lightly. “I think I dropped it in that hallway back there.” You pointed towards the swinging door. 

Eddie frowned at you, stilling as his eyes scanned your features. “Are you- Are you feeling ok?” He asked. 

“What?” You snapped defensively. 

“Did someone slip something in your drink or something?” Eddie asked carefully. “Gotta be careful with those old guys. They look harmless but they’re gnarly-” 

“-What? No.” You shook your head, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I-I haven’t even had a drink. I just got here. I’m supposed to meet some people from a conference, but I can’t find my phone-” 

“-Your phone?” Eddie’s nose crinkled in confusion. 

“Yes. My phone.” You barked in irritation. “My cell phone?” 

Eddie blinked at you. “What is that European?” He shrugged. 

“What? Are you fucking with me-” 

“-No,” Eddie held his hands up. “No, I just- I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” He laughed nervously. “And I mean you’re dressed… different. Not that it’s bad!” He added frantically. 

“I just assumed you were European or something. Not from here anyways.” Eddie muttered, leaning against the table. 

You blinked. It felt like you were in a dream, like everything you were saying was mute, confusing, in Wonderland and entirely discombobulated. 

“You… You don’t have cell phones here?” You asked slowly. 

Eddie shook his head, curls bouncing. “Nope. Not here, sweetheart. Hasn’t made its way to Hawkins, Indiana yet, but sounds pretty-” 

“-What?” You hissed, chest booming with a fear filled ache, sure your heart had stopped entirely. “What did you just say?” 

Eddie’s face fell, his flirtatious grin disappearing. “Hawkins? Indiana?” He said slowly, eyes narrowing when your face paled. “Hey, are you ok? Did you take something?” 

“N-No, I-I don’t- I d-didn’t-” 

“-Look,” Eddie slid into the booth beside you. “You’re not gonna scare me off if you did somethin’, alright? I’m not nearly as conservative as these other bogus losers.” 

You couldn’t speak, mouth dry, heart caught in your throat, hammering away so fiercely your ears were ringing. “What’d you take? Blow? K? Pills or somethin’?” His arm brushed yours, head ducking towards you. “It’s fine, whatever it is, I’m- I’m really good with dealing with this sorta thing, if you can believe it.” 

“I-I didn’t take anything.” You droned, nearly automated. “I just- I-I was walking down the hallway, and-” 

“-Hey, I’m just trying to help you.” Eddie said softly, his tone pulling your attention back to meet his gaze. “Did you hit your head?” 

“N-No, I- The hallway-” 

“-That,” Eddie pointed towards the swinging door. “Is a bathroom.” You watched as the door swung open, as if on cue, a girl with blue painted lids and crimped hair piled high stepping out. 

“The closest thing to a hallway here is to the dumpster out back.” Eddie grinned at you softly. It was sweet, but you couldn’t bring yourself to smile back, body trembling with fear. 

Eddie felt it, frowning at you softly. “Do you need me to call an ambulance? Call someone for you?” 

“No,” You swallowed hard. “I-I need to leave. I have-I gotta get out of here.” Panic rose through your chest, trying to push him out of the booth, climb over him, anything. 

“Hey, easy,” Eddie slid out of your way. “Hang on-” You ignored him, pushing past him towards the door. 

Outside, the sun was still just beginning to set, that was the only thing that was the same. 

Your car was gone, in its place a line of cars- old cars, but still shiny? Still new, not rusted with wear or dulled colors from age. The buildings were no longer crumbling, signs still new and displayed proudly. 

“No, no, no, no.” Your chest heaved, fingers threading through your hair. “What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck is going on?” 

“Hey!” Eddie grabbed your shoulder, pulling your attention towards him. “Hey, I-I don’t think you should be driving-” 

“-My car.” You gasped. “Where the fuck is my car? I-It was right here,” You turned, throwing your hands out. “Right here!” 

Eddie looked around, a blush rising to his cheeks at the judgy looks the passersby were giving. “Maybe you should come back inside-” 

“-No.” You barked, shaking your head furiously. “No. I-I’m not-” Through the window, a glimmer of a photo caught your eye. 

Your walk back inside felt nearly trance like, everything underwater, Eddie’s voice droning out with the others. A painting of two cartoonized children waving fistfuls of flowers gleefully- though that wasn’t what caught your attention. It was the printed lettering underneath it that made your blood run cold. 

“Hey, why don’t you take a seat, an-and I’ll call someone-” 

“-Is this,” You swallowed, pointing at the wall. “This isn’t right, r-right? Thi-This isn’t- There’s no way.” 

Eddie frowned, looking at the wall. “I mean, yeah, it needs to be changed now. I guess it’s technically May now, Mick just hasn’t gotten around to flipping it-” 

“-No, this-this says…” Your finger traced the numbers, glaring at you in bright red. “1986?” You squeaked. 

Eddie blinked at you. “Yeah,” He nodded slowly. 

Your vision filled with dark splotches, fading in and out of focus on the calendar in front of you. Your knees buckled, purse slipping between your fingers before you fell limply, Eddie’s frantic voice ringing in your ears the last thing you heard before your consciousness slipped. 

[yandere-kokeshi]

Warnings: Yandere, Hybrid AU, male reader, anal sex, creampie.

This is not edited, I also got this idea from @konigsblog! Love her, sm /a <3

I can’t stop thinking about Dragon! Price using his strong tail during sex. Doesn’t matter where or how. His tail has to be involved in some way.

Of course, he uses it during cuddling. Different ways to bring you closer. Or how he grabs objects near you two, especially if it's portays your very cock.

He mostly uses it on your cock and balls, or his very own, or your tight hole.

It’s messy. But it’s how he likes it, no?

As of now, John is jumping on your cock, hands on your shoulders as he bounces up and down, his sharp teeth nipping and biting deep into your neck.

John lickes the wounds, sucking the swollen skin even more as you groan out; pain and pleasure were an odd thing to mix. Yet, he feels so good, so well fitted for your large cock.

Lost in the vast of pleasure, you never seem to notice his sly tail until it’s too late; curving around your muscled cheeks.

You gasp. Moaning at the continuous abuse of your beloved dragon and the fact of not expecting the cold scales against your naked globe or the warmth coming from John’s breath.

"What—" you begin, "Why– fuck...— the tail?"

John chuckles, slowing down his pace as his slitted, reptilian eyes look at yours. "It has its own mind, yeah?"

You made a small sound, a mix of a groan and eep before feeling the thick appendage begin to circle around your puckered hole.

It really did have a mind of its own, didn’t it?

John couldn’t help but smile, beginning to pick up his own speed while he’s perched up on top of you — hands still hooked upon and around your shoulders for balance as he leaned forward.

Dragging his erect cock against your tummy, he spreads his cum. His smell,

You’re such a good mate taking him so well, yet he decides to add something to the mix. Letting him add his other body – his tail – inside you. Curling your toes all handsomely as you adjust to its length.

You grit your teeth, heaving as a light layer of sweat litters both of your bodies.

"Lemme enter, hm?" John hums nicely, and you can’t refuse him. So you do, so oh gently.

He suppresses a sound – feeling even more heated. You, on the other hand, have your eyes tightly closed and moan so loud you’re sure the next door neighbors could hear the lewd activities.

You’re nearly crying, feeling the tail enter you to its full extremity where it wouldn’t kill you.

Price chuckles, nudging his face into your neck, feeding your sensitive neck with his scratchy beard as he resumes fucking you.

"Fuck– so pretty with my tail in yah," John hums, grabbing your cheeks before kissing you deeply; his tongue fighting dominance over yours.

Your eyes look at his — misty eyes. You seem to loose touch. Maybe with reality.

Everything clenches with friction. Your tight hole accepting the full him, sliding into you with the thinnest to the thickest part of his tail. Or how his own hole is so wet, taking your large cock with grace as he fumbles over his words.

"Fu–ucckk—" John breathes out, his right wing expanding, gripping your shoulder so unbelievably hard that you’re sure it'd leave bruises.

His hands drop down from your shoulders, beginning to glide over and down across your back, nails scratching at your redden skin.

"Oh– fuck, I love you."

With a single thrust upwards and John going downwards, you cry out loud as his rich cum releases all over your chest, staining your body as you also let yourself go.

Pumping pulse after pulse of thick cum deep inside him, you rest your head on his shoulder, feeling his own seed going at it.

"Fuck– ya' so amazin'".

And you don’t know if its the cock drunk, dragon behavior, or you pumping him full up his guts — but your cock pulses, eagrily telling you both that between his tight hole, and your own of his thick tail, you’re begging for a new round with this new added fun.

[casualhedonists]

so scarlet, it was maroon (18+)

pairing: coriolanus snow x reader

warnings: nsfw (18+), praise kink, oral sex, fingering (fem receiving), overstimulation, secrecy (kinda), multiple orgasms, bruising, biting, pre-tbosas, academy!coryo, he's also more dominant in this! yay dom coryo, this is a little rough but super consensually so

main masterlist // coryo masterlist

a/n: what's the point in getting laid if you can't use it as smut writing inspo? serious question

Your body gets littered with bruises every time you wake up next to Coriolanus. It doesn't matter if he means to leave them; it just sort of happens.

He fingers you open right there in his room, you grip his wrist as he smiles against your mouth like he’s not doing anything lewd, like Tigris and his Grandma’am weren’t right downstairs, cooking dinner. Your other hand twisting into his hair and pulling hard. His hands are a lot bigger than yours, they can reach places you usually can’t. You figured that out fast; almost as fast as he did.

He fucks his fingers into you like he doesn’t care if people hear. It feels dangerous, like you’re teetering on the edge of a building, brushing the sky and about to tumble down. You’re almost embarrassed by how easily he’s reading you like a fucking book, fingers pressed between the pages, carving notes into the margins. Your own hand presses against your mouth because you know his won’t, and you’re holding onto your last shred of dignity as tightly as you’re grabbing his hair. You don’t know where you wish he would look; between your spread legs or at the look on your face as you come undone. You’re glad it’s the former as your face contorts and he fucks you harder, any more and you might shatter.

You whimper, broken moans muffled into his neck. You hear the smile in his voice as he speaks.

“Oh, you’re fun.”

You melt. Try to whisper something back, some half-assed attempt at a rebuttal that you forget as soon as it leaves your lips.

You stare up the ceiling, ears ringing, a thin cast of sweat covering you over. You barely notice how he moves between your legs, shoulders shifting to push your thighs apart even more. You moan just at the sight of it, both of your hands now in his hair like they were drawn by some magnetic pull. He doesn’t waste time, doesn’t let your high die down. You guide his head where you want it but he doesn’t really need the direction, so as he speeds up you use the pull on his locks to buck up towards his mouth. He doesn’t let this last; pins you down again until you’re squirming on his tongue.

When he slides his fingers back into your cunt you forget being quiet, a cry slips out that only makes him move faster, like he’s desperate to hear more, to know exactly what he’s doing to you. He stops every so often, teeth nipping at your inner thighs, making you jerk with the pressure.

He holds you down as you cum against his tongue, lips pulling into a smirk as his thumb presses into your clit making you jolt.

You hear Tigris call up that dinner is ready, and fuck, it’s like he timed it to leave you flushed and fucked out while you tried to get through dinner with his cousin and grandmother.

The next day when you shower, you notice a bruise blooming on your arm, and much to your surprise, a second on your thigh, dark and bite-shaped. You drag him into a bathroom stall between classes and lift your skirt.

“This is your fault.” You say pointedly. His eyes darken at the sight of it, tracing it with his thumb. your breath hitches.

“Not here.” you hiss. “Fuck, I'm still sore.”

“Can you come over tomorrow night?” he asks absentmindedly. You frown.

“Is that okay?”

“Grandma’am loved you. Tigris, too, obviously. They’re glad that I found a good Capitol girl to take home.”

His breath tickles your ear.

“Of course, they don’t know just how good you were.”

“Coryo…”

“See you then, beautiful.”

He leaves you in the stall, catching your breath, and you know one thing for sure.

You’re so fucked.

a/n: i went to get the milk. i'm sorta back now? hope you lovely people are thriving, and that you enjoyed. life is still hellishly busy but i'm gonna try and be more active i MISS U ALL

tags: @xjinnix @bvngsblog @upsidedownjill

(to be added to my coryo taglist you can drop a comment here)

[k-hotchoisan]

In my head (San x fem!reader)

HERE I GIVE U SOME AMBIENCE:

Synopsis:in my head, I see you all over me; in my head, you fulfill my fantasies.

San has the fattest crush on you—and it heightens even more when you mentioned offhandedly that you’d fuck him.

A/n: thanks Jason Derulo. horny ass song 💥😐

Enjoy this Drabble while I work on the final chapter of How to be a Heartbreaker ❤️

Word count: 4.9K

Genre/warnings: straight up smut, gonna do my best for some sexual tension, drinking but no drunk sex because both are sober enough to consent, creaming, multiple orgasms, choking, light choking (san gets choked ❤️), riding, unprotected sex

Choi San doesn’t know when or how it started, but something definitely clicked in him—the butterflies abdomen, the way his words stop at his throat when the smell of your shampoo hits him, and the way his stomach turns when your gaze catches his. He catches himself drifting off to the thoughts of him being with you, and sometimes—even fucking you. But of course he would never say that, not when you’re constantly playing around with him from time to time, just to get a rise out of him.

“San”, you call out, snapping the male from his daydreams. He turns and gives you his attention. You tilt your head at him and he immediately starts wondering how your neck would be like littered with hickeys from him, or how you’d look like with his hands around your throat. “Pass me the notes. I need to hand it over to Wooyoung”, you ask. He quickly bunches the bunch of papers into your hands and you hold his stare for little longer before turning around to Wooyoung.

And then San’s eyes happen to land on your ass as you turned around—perked up as you reached over to where Wooyoung was—ass right up in San’s face. His mind immediately wanders to just bending you over and fucking you senseless at this point, and the thought of it just hardens his cock beneath his jeans. He doesn’t know why he can’t stop thinking about it but he’s not complaining.

But as he’s sucked in his own imaginations, he hears you squeal and you fall, landing right into Wooyoung’s lap. Wooyoung laughs, holding you by your arms as you tried to steady yourself. Something pricks in San, and he gets slightly annoyed, as he sees you giggling on Wooyoung’s lap.

Wooyoung moves closer to your ear and whispers, “aren’t you doing a little too much? San’s a pretty possessive guy.” You pull away from him and smile innocently. “It’s fine. It’s fun to poke him a little. He can’t do much since we aren’t together anyways.” Wooyoung raises an eyebrow. He’s A LOT touchier compared to San, but when he glances over to San, San’s already burning a hole behind your head with his stare. Wooyoung only scoffs at how gullible San is, and decides to push you away so you stay properly seated before San actually loses his shit.

You sighed as you plop back to your position beside San. Your gaze meets his and he cuts it immediately, you see red creeping up his neck and cheeks. You couldn’t help but surprise a smirk. You tuck your hair behind your ears and hum as you sink back into whatever you were reading.

Thursday rolls around and you’re window shopping for clothes on your phone. You feel a tap on your shoulder and Wooyoung appears behind you, with his signature smile. “Hey”, you greet, leaning to his side to give him a quick hug which he reciprocates. The both of you began getting absorbed into your own conversations.

San spots you in the crowd and was about to approach you for a meal, only to pause quickly the moment Wooyoung’s face comes into view, the both of you seemingly engrossed with talking to each other. San pouts slightly, deciding if he wants to approach you. But as your figure starts disappearing from view, San strengthens his resolve and walks over to the both of you.

“How are things with San?” Wooyoung asks. You tilt your head to face the raven-hair male. “He hasn’t been doing anything.”

“Are you disappointed?”

“No why the hell would I be?”

“‘Cause your mind seems pretty preoccupied with him recently.”

“That’s funny because that’s true. Fuck, he’s actually really cute. I’d love to be dicked down by him honestly.”

San’s world stops at that very moment and he stayed rooted behind you, his hand already stretched out to get your attention. His mind is thrown into a whirlwind upon hearing those words come right out of you mouth. Fuck. The way he wanted to just grab you and fuck you right at a corner. His mind was in a haze and he doesn’t realise until you vanished from his sight.

Wooyoung cocks an eyebrow at your straightforwardness. “Please never say that because I just threw up a little. San would fucking disintegrate if he heard that.” You laughed and shoved Wooyoung as the conversation drifts off to another topic.

The next few days for San were a blur. Every time you appeared before him, your words would echo in his head, and he would shift uncomfortably in his seat the moment his imagination of bending you over and fucking you senseless, and whatever positions he wanted to fuck you dumb in. His fantasies climbed from wanting to just taste your lips and feeling your skin to filthy and sexual pleasures. He wonders how long he could handle before he burst since fucking into his hand while imagining you sucking him off could only satisfy him so much. He sighs as he cleans himself up, another session leaving him relatively unsatisfied.

He exits his bathroom after a shower and snuggles in his bed as he unlocks his phone to check for messages. There was one from you—asking if he was going to Hongjoong’s party tomorrow. He replies with a “yeah of course” before staring at the chat, then closing the app. You and San really didn’t text very regularly, only conversations popping in and out.

He shuts his eyes, trying to trace back to when his heart started fluttering for you and it vaguely comes to him—it was probably the accumulation of constantly being around each other, the way you laughed at all his lame jokes and paid attention to him when his friends didn’t manage to hear him. Soon enough, he felt himself going soft whenever it came to you, and even his friends noticed.

And by the time he realised it himself, he was already head over heels. Every small movement you did around and towards him, he was fucking whipped for it, and he enjoyed showering you with acts of services and light flirting.

San sighs as he pulls the covers over himself, trying to falling asleep, with you being the last thing on his mind as he slowly drifted off.

You sat right on his pelvic area, smiling as you feel his cock harden beneath you. San groaned, unable to move his body as you grind down gently on his clothed cock. “Does it feel good, San?” you asked, barely hanging on, hungry on lust. “Please”, San cried out, buckling his hips to meet yours. You pulled your panties to the side, and your cunt is just dripping for him. San felt himself about to snap.

And his eyes flutter open. What the fuck. He glanced down at his boxers, now stained. A whole ass wet dream at this point was ridiculous. “Fuck me”, he groans, still half awake. It was already 11am by then, and he goes to wash up.

San arrives to the party with Wooyoung in the late afternoon. “What’s the occasion though?” San asks as he scans the room, particularly to look for you. He’s dressed up in a navy rugby shirt and khaki trousers, his hands hiding in his pockets.

“I think he just wanted to throw a private party to destress, like a mid semester party”, Wooyoung replies fitting his shades in his hair. “Oh damn, there’s y/n!”

San’s gaze immediately whips to where Wooyoung pointed at, which makes Wooyoung scoff in amusement.

Your eyes meet San and Wooyoung’s and your expression lightens up. San feels something stuck in his throat the moment he sees you all dolled up in a pretty dress. His mind starts to wander again, as his breath hitches.

“Hey you two,” you smile, giving the both of them a quick hug. And of course, the smell of your shampoo hits him and he’s ready to just melt into you. He wants to keep you in his arms and never let go.

“Hey. You look good, y/n”, San manages, unable to keep his eyes off you. You feel yourself grow shy, but you step closer to him, your body leaning into his, freezing him into place, and you return the compliment, “you’re looking really handsome, too.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “Am I interrupting something here?” He asks sarcastically, and you break into laughter, missing out at how red San was getting. You link your arms with Wooyoung and poke his cheeks, “aw don’t feel left out!” Wooyoung slaps your arm and you let go playfully.

“I’ll catch the both of you in a bit. I’m gonna find Hongjoong”, you say, waving at them before walking off.

“Fuck, she’s so cute”, San breathes the moment you leave the area.

“Fuck, you’re so whipped for her”, Wooyoung echoed. “I’m gonna get some drinks. You want any?” San then requests for a mock-tail, not really interested to get drunk so early. His eyes scan the room and he spots you with Hongjoong. The both of you were happily engaged in a conversation. Hongjoong’s eyes glance over to meet San’s and then back to yours, and then he leans in to whisper something to you, and pulls away as pink flushes your cheeks. San’s eyebrows furrow, unsure if it was from frustration or confusion. He suddenly wonders if he should have asked for an alcoholic drink instead.

Wooyoung comes back with drinks in his hand and passes his drink to San. San takes a sip and lets the fizzy drink dance on his tongue. He slips into conversation with Wooyoung as they find a comfy seat at a corner.

A few long minutes later, you walk over with Hongjoong. You glance at San and gesture him to make room for you, which confuses San for a moment but he isn’t about to let that opportunity of being physically close to you slip, especially not when the couch had barely enough space for the three of you. He scoots over as you plant your ass down beside him, your knees touching his.

Hongjoong suggests a small party game between the four of you and there was an unanimous agreement quickly.

“Loser has to take a shot”, Hongjoong states, pouring in an alcoholic mix into a shot glass and the punishment was set.

From time to time, your knee would bump into San’s and he was trying his best not to notice it. Then, your arms would brush against his shoulder. As Wooyoung lost the next round, you squealed in delight and laughter, leaning in more into San, your body pressing onto his, almost hugging him.

Your ass loses the next following round and you down the shot and bring the shot glass up to show its emptiness, and as you do, you fall too far behind and San catches you on instinct, his arm curling around your waist, face just inches away from yours. You hold the stare for a second before breaking into laughter, brushing your fingers gently on his lips. “I’m fine, San. The couch has a backing.”

San barely snaps out of it, almost just wanting to dive in and eat you up, but he holds himself back. He pushes you back upright and you thanked him with a light pinch on his cheek before settling the glass down and continuing the game.

A few more rounds pass, and San loses two rounds, he decides to clock out before he really does something stupid if he does get drunk. After the final shot, he leans back onto the couch, watching the three of you continue the game. You take his half-full drink and slip the straw the between your lips as you lean back with him, stealing sips of his drink. San doesn’t look too bother with you stealing his drink, he’s looking bothered that you’re sharing the same straw with him. You giggle as you glance into his silt eyes.

Fuck he really looks so good. Your fingers play around with the straw as you try to suppress the smile. His fingers go up and brush the corners of your lips. “You’ve got juice there. How the hell do you even manage that when you’re drinking off a straw?”

You shrug, leaning over to settle the cup onto the glass table. Your hand wanders to his thigh which sends electric shocks through San as you slap his thigh lightly. “You’re not playing already?” You ask.

He shakes his head, “no. I’m watching my alcohol intake. You know how lightweight I am, y/n.” You surprise a smile, rather impressed at his self-control. The alcohol was starting to hit a little, so you’ve been stealing sips of San’s drink to keep yourself sober. Both Wooyoung and Hongjoong weren’t pissed drunk, neither did they force any of you to down the shots when you couldn’t, which you definitely appreciate. Another slow shot you take, and you were laughing, pointing at Wooyoung, your body pressing down onto San’s lap, and another hand absentmindedly squeezing his thigh. It’s taking all of San’s self control not to just pounce at you at this point because he really wants to. He just wants to eat you up, feel up every part of your body, push you against the couch and just driving his dick in-

“Okay, I need the washroom”, you announce. “Too much drinks.” Hongjoong points, “second floor, to the right.” You thank him and walk off. The couch suddenly feels way too light, San thinks.

More minutes pass, Wooyoung and Hongjoong were getting pretty damn drunk. The game had already stopped since a long while ago, now Wooyoung talking to another guy and Hongjoong dancing with his peers. San starts worrying that you might have passed out in the toilet or something.

He leaves the couch and goes up the stairs, remembering Hongjoong’s directions to you. He reaches an unfamiliar door which he thinks it’s the toilet you’re in, and knocks.

No response. He knocks again.

“Y/n, are you in there? You’ve been gone for awhile.”

More silence follows. San starts feeling anxious at the prospect that something might have happened to you. He knocks again, and then adds, “I’m coming in.”

He pushes down onto the handle and to his shock, the toilet’s not locked. He pushes the door open and no one’s there. Panic turns into confusion, because what the fuck is going on?

“Sannie!” You squealed. He turns to your direction so quick that he doesn’t know how he doesn’t get whiplash from doing so. You stood a few meters from him, smiling. He notices the door behind you ajar.

“You…”, he trails off, trying to piece things together. “Oh right. I needed a bit of fresh air at the balcony. I asked permission from Hongjoong to use one of the guest rooms, because I needed to charge my phone and I fucking fell asleep on the bed. I just woke up like, ten minutes ago.”

San continues to stare at you, confusion still written all over his face. He thinks about how ridiculous this all sounds, and at the same time he doesn’t want to think—not when it’s just the both of you standing across each other. It was like god’s given chance.

You stretched, and take a breath, “I’m heading back in. I think everyone else is probably fucking drunk by this point. I’ll catch you later”, you wave, entering the guest room and closing the door behind you.

Only the door to be stopped by San. He steps into the room with you, engulfing you up with his gaze as he shuts the door behind him, and inches closer to you. His eyes are radiating with some sort of emotion—lust, desire, jealousy, anger? Oh my, did you play too much with your small touches when y’all were playing the game? That doesn’t intimidate you though, instead, it sparks some sort of playfulness you want to poke San with.

You ignore him and head for the bed, the sheets already creasing from your little nap, your shoes were kicked off near the balcony doors. San takes a deep breath, approaching you slowly, taking in your figure as you lie sideways, your dress hiking up all the way to your thigh as you were on your phone, connected to your cable. You turn your body, back on the sheets and your phone right above your head.

“Y/n”, San starts. Your eyes dart to him. “Yeah, San, what’s up?” You asked. “Are you gonna lie down or what? The bed’s really fucking comfy.”

He’s at a loss here. His mind is racing through so many of his thoughts and fantasies. And you were just there, inviting him in. His sanity is slowly thinning, and he just wants to eat you up right then and there. He walks over to the bed and sits near you, drinking in your features. His cock is hardening already.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” You tease. He shakes his head, and you reply, “because you definitely have something on yours.” Before he could make sense of it, you grab his collar and pull him into a deep kiss, licking his bottom lip.

Ah, fuck. San’s head isn’t working. He was lured in by your kiss and he’s going haywire because he never thought that this day would come.

And he’s not letting it slip away that fucking easily. No. Not when he’s been fantasising about it for so many fucking weeks already.

His hands cup your cheeks as he steadied himself with another arm on the creased sheets. “Fuck, you taste so good Sannie”, you whisper, licking his bottom him. He feels his cock push against his trousers, and he doesn’t know how much more he can take. “It’s the fruit punch isn’t it?” You tease. San smiles in between kisses as he bites your bottom lip gently, earning a soft moan from you.

San breaks from the kiss shortly, as his gaze slides to your hiked dress. In his head, he’s already undressing you and it’s driving him fucking nuts. You cup his cheeks and squeeze. “Stop undressing me in your mind and undress me for real”, you say. He swallows as he slithers a hand underneath your dress, finding the fabric as his thumb hooks it, and tugs your panties down. San spots a trail of arousal connecting from your wet pussy to your stained underwear, and that drives him up the wall even more.

You lift your ass, then legs up to let the undergarment slide off smoothly. He drops it somewhere on the sheets, as he dives in for another hungry and messy kiss. You feel his erection pressing onto your thigh, and you whine softly.

“Fuck, y/n. You don’t know how you look right now. I don’t know how much more I can take,” San confesses, pushing his trousers down, his erection even more evident, pushing hard against his boxers.

You laugh. “I think I do. And I really want you right now.”

San litters your neck, shoulders and chest with kisses and love bites, the sensations producing moans and whimpers. His fingers travel down your sides, looking for the zipper, and he finds it, instantly pulling it down.

“Didn’t know you were the impatient type”, you tease, pulling up the dress over your head, your lace bra the only piece of article on you.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this”, San says, both hands creeping under your bra, giving both tits a squeeze. You gasp, feeling it in your pussy. He pushes the bra upwards, and sucks your nipple, the other finger fondling with the other nipple. Your fingers entangle with his locks as he licks you up hungrily, as you try to ground yourself as waves of pleasure slowly start to build.

He stops and leaves you panting. San straightens himself and his stares down at you, traces of doubt and uncertainty already faded as he pulls his shirt over his head, and you swallow hard as you stare at his bare, muscled body. The both of you are gonna drive each other crazy, that’s for fucking sure.

San pushes your legs open, his eyes drinking in the sight of your wet and leaking pussy, all for him. He leans in and starts eating you out. You cry out in pleasure the moment his tongue flicks up to your clit, grabbing his hair.

“You’re my good girl right?” He asks, his voice vibrating to your clit, making it more sensitive. “Yes, I am, Sannie”, you manage out.

He smiles and continues licking your wet cunt as if he hadn’t had a meal for the longest time. Every lick just made you even wetter as the knot in your stomach tightens. He soaks his fingers with his spit, then circles around your pussy, rubbing against your clit before plunging them in. Your body arches in bliss, your fingers tugging San’s hair as the other grips the sheets desperately.

“Fuck. San, you’re driving me insane”, you cry out. San kisses your cunt as he pumps his fingers into you.

“No. You’re the one who’s driving me insane”, he corrects you. He’s not wrong. He had so many fucking fantasies, countless amounts of just wanting to be in you.

“Are you gonna be a good girl and cum for me?” He coos, rubbing your clit as he fucks you with your fingers. You nod. The pleasure was getting too much because the knot in your stomach was threatening to break.

“San, I’m cumming. Fuck it feels so good”, you cry out, eyes rolled back as your orgasm shakes your entire body, your legs shaking, and San not relenting as he continue to finger you and lick you clean through your orgasm. He fucking loved how your pussy is clenching around his fingers desperately and it only riles him up to quickly stuff you full with his cock.

He gets up, and licks your cum off his fingers, pushing them to your lips. You take them voluntarily, sucking on his fingers and your arousal. He smirks as he pulls his fingers out, to remove his boxers. His lengthy cock springs out, precum glistening on his red and angry tip.

“Look at you, covered in cum, looking fucked out just from my fingers. How are you gonna handle my dick then?” He throws, leaning in, stroking your overstimulated cunt with his leaking cock. You feel your pussy pulsate at the feeling of cock just inches away from you. You grab his face with both hands, pulling him closer. “Won’t know if we don’t try”, you muse, spreading your legs further, rubbing your cunt on his cock, meaning softly at the sensation. San takes another deep breath, and you see his invisible strings of rationale snapping one by one. God, it was so fucking fun to poke him. You don’t know how long he’s been like this, but it was probably a pretty fucking long time, looking at his reactions.

He pushes an inch and you wince from the pleasure. The last of his rationale barely hangs on as your wall clenches around him beautifully. Every inch he pushes in, he starts losing it, and so were you, loving how his cock was sending so much sensations through your overstimulated cunt. “Fuck, you’re so tight, y/n. You feel so fucking amazing.”

His eyes roll back as his balls are right at your pussy and you cry out at how fucking full you feel. Tears were starting to pool at the corners of your eyes from the immense pressure, and it only mounted as he started fucking into you.

The obscene sounds of skin slapping bounced off the walls, and your moans with San’s weren’t covered any better. San was reciting and moaning your name like a mantra—stating how much he loved your pussy, how tight you were, and how he feels that he can’t get enough of fucking you. All of which just made your pussy squeeze him out even more.

San suddenly stops fucking you and pulls his cock out of you, his precum and yours linking by a thin string. You whine at the empty feeling, your pussy clenching at nothing. He moves in further onto the bed, near the headboard as he links your fingers with his and he brings you onto his lap.

You don’t sit on his dick yet, only his lap, his his hands stroke your sides, sending shivers through your spine as he pulls you in for another greedy kiss, now more messier than ever. While he was distracted with the kiss, you feel for his cock, stroking it gently as San moans in between kisses, and slip it right into your pussy. Stars explode beneath your eyelids when you do. What the fuck. His cock fills you up to the brim, poking at your sensitive spots. You swear you felt a slight bulge from how fucking big his cock is. You barely had time to register as your legs trembled in pleasure, while the man in front of you had his head thrown back, crying in pleasure as he slowly buckled his hips.

“San. Wait, fuck it feels too much”, you cry out, clawing at his chest.

He barely recovers as he pulls himself back to face you, red tinting his cheeks, looking half lidded from the pleasure. “That’s the whole fucking point babe”, he says, pressing the slight bulge at your abdomen, causing your legs to shake and more noises come out of you. “You take my cock so well. We should fuck like this more often.”

Every movement you make just pushes San’s cock right to your g-spot and your eyes roll back. Soon enough, you were riding off him, bouncing on his cock. Your hands crawl up to San’s neck and moves his head back a little more for access.

So you started fucking his cock with your hand around his neck. No doubt, it was driving him fucking insane. He loved the pressure you put on his neck and around his cock, both stimulating him perfectly. Chokers would look so fucking lovely on him. You know you wouldn’t last.

“San, I’m gonna cum again,” you say, taking heavy breaths as he continues to buckle his hips into you.

“Go ahead. Scream my name”, he replies, pushing his thumb past your lips. And you did. Like how he hummed your name like a mantra, you screamed out his as your second orgasm hits your cunt sending you into a spiral as you spasm against San’s cock. He whimpers, “fuck that feels amazing when you cream on my dick like that.” Your eyes were totally fucked out at this point, barely able to focus on what he was saying as you continued to ride out your orgasm.

“Be a good girl and take my cum”, he instructs, albeit, pretty broken considering that he had his cock in you. You nod, pressing a kiss on his forehead before letting him rut into you as he fondles with your tits.

“So good. So fucking good. I love you. Fuck”, he confesses as he paints your cunt in white ropes, his dick twitching so much. Your heart speeds up at his confession more than him cumming in you though.

You pull yourself to face him, his dick still in you, and you laugh, planting a kiss on his cheek. “I love you too, Choi San.”

San’s heart flutters and his breathing quickens. He doesn’t know what shocked him more—his confession in the midst of him cumming, or yours.

“Ah, San, you’re hard again”, you squeal in surprise, feeling him fill you up with his cock again. The surprise turns into pleasure as your eyes roll back at how full you were feeling from his cock once again.

“Y/n, I don’t think I’m done yet”, he whispers, his hand landing on your ass. “And I don’t think you’re gonna walk tomorrow at this rate.”

True to his word, he left you fucked out, cum spilling out of your pussy, your limbs sore by the end of it after clearing another two fucking rounds. San was a fucking terrifying beast. Not that you were complaining.

“Don’t sit up yet. Let me clean you out first”, San says, who wanted to steal a whole roll of toilet paper to clean you. You grab his arm to stop him and that halts him in his tracks. You point to another room within the guest room. “There’s a bathroom there.”

San blinks. Right. But also, how fucking rich is Hongjoong? He walks over to grab a roll and then starts gently cleaning you up, peppering you with kisses on the way.

“Was I too rough?” He asks, stroking your head. “I’m sorry if I was, it’s just that honestly, I’ve actually really liked you for a long while and I had fantasies about you and stuff…”, and he trails off, embarrassed.

“And that’s why I’ve been teasing you. You’re so adorable when you’re blushing around me. How could I not have noticed?” You reply, giggling into his chest. San pouts, be he’s glad that it worked out, though honestly thinking about it just made him want to fuck you out even more.

The both of you were cuddling under the sheets now, your head on his chest as he had you wrapped in his arms.

“We should wash up”, San suggests, twirling your hair.

“Yeah we should but you need to carry me. My legs are jelly because of a certain someone”, you pout, smacking his chest.

San only laughs, and then nods. “Anything for you, darling.”