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thelikesoffinn · 1 year ago

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„Astarion ending as the Vampire Ascendant is the correct ending for him, because it is what he wants.”

That is a claim I’ve been seeing pop up more and more often these days. And I think it’s both a very bold and a very odd claim to make.

But first things first: Hello, I’m a licensed social worker! So far, I’ve worked with children, refugees and youths with behavioural issues stemming from bullying and or abuse.

Please be aware that I will be mentioning different kinds of abuse, coping mechanisms, and victim/abuser relationships. If any of this is difficult for you, don’t force yourself through it. My jabbering about a traumatised vampire is not worth your wellbeing, not ever.

I will, however try to stick to Astarion and not use other examples. If, in any case, I do use a non-Astarion example, I’ll add a warning beforehand so that you can skip the part. And I’ll make it clear what will be discussed in the next bit, so that you have a chance to skip it entirely.

This is an effort to make this as accessible as possible for everyone that wants to indulge on a mad woman’s rambling – and I know there’s a few people that like this sort of stuff!

And, uh, there's obviously spoilers for all three acts. Serious spoilers, even.

Before I can get into the whole ‘why Astarion didn’t really want to ascend,’ we need to understand him a little more. And to understand this pretty boy’s brain, we first need to understand the gist of what we’re talking about when we throw around the word ‘abuse.’

“Abuse” is when someone is treated with cruelty, violence, or neglect – often to bad effect – on a regular basis. Repetitively. Check’s out for Astarion, I’d say, but we all knew that already. I mean, if one thing was obvious, it was this.

1. Astarions Abuse

Next we need to look at what kind of abuse Astarion faced over his long years of torment, seeing as different types of abuse will have different effects on the victim.

Not that that is anything we have to worry about with him – Astarion won the abuse lottery, to put it bluntly. In a horrible game of fate, he got everything. He himself indirectly mentions all the types of abuse he faced, albeit never using the correct terms.

The first we properly notice – fitting, seeing as it is often the most obvious form of abuse – is the physical abuse. Astarions scars are probably the biggest tell Larian could shove down our throats, only underlined by Astarion’s tale about the night itself. About how Cazador ‘misspelled something’ every time he flinched or screamed and had to do ‘many corrections. On top of this, Cazador locked Astarion up for months on end and tortured him – or had him tortured – on a regular basis both as a rite and as a punishment.

Next up, we have the fact that Astarion was forced to basically prostitute himself repeatedly. This is what we call sexual exploitation.

“I spent two hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back for my Master.” – Act 2

Two hundred years is a long time, filled with great many people. Now, we don’t know how many of those people actually tapped into the sexual exploitation and how many he could just lure back with other means, but the fact that it happened a lot is undeniable.

Next we have a form of abuse that we often disregard in adults: Neglect. It sounds odd, I know, saying that a fully grown adult was neglected. They can care for themselves, can they not?

Well. Yes and no.

Adult neglect is proceeded by the condition that one adult has to lean on another adult to fulfil their needs for whatever reason. This could be anything, from disability to income-based issues.

Seeing as Astarion had absolutely nothing, while Cazador had everything, we can assume this was the case. Cazador had the house, the money, the power. Astarion owns but one pair of clothes, assumedly, that he has fixes over and over again. Fair to say, that’s pretty neglectful. (And it’s one more reason to shower the guy in pretty armour and camp clothes. Go ham, people.)

Last we have the form of abuse we actually get to witness later in the game – emotional abuse.

Once again, it’s undeniable that this happened. Especially since we’re all seeing it in the flesh upon meeting Cazador in his crypt.

“Have you no respect for yourself?”

“I strove for perfection in all things. Even those as imperfect as you.”

“A pity you amounted to so little, despite my efforts.”

“A pathetic little boy who never amounted to anything.”

All Act 3, Crypt

Here we have just a few examples of things Cazador throws in his face. It’s like reading a textbook on emotional abuse, this one (and it’s definitely a reason to throw hands).

Blaming the victim, keeping their sense of self and their self-worth as tiny as possible to make them cower and flee. A true classic.

This pretty much shows that Astarion suffered all forms of abuse we commonly see and it is implied – once again by Astarion himself – that at least a few of those instances were ritualistic.

Now, what does that mean exactly? Well, I fear I need to use a real example here, so please skip the next paragraph.

Ritualistic doesn’t refer to a proper ritual – it can, but that’s mostly a thing for those in a cult. So, we’re not necessarily talking about a ‘Vampire Ascendent Ritual’. A husband, beating his wife every evening after his third bottle of beer is also called ritual abuse. It happens regularly. It is part of a routine. Both parties know what will happen.

I can’t find the exact quote, so I’m working of my memory here, but at one point he said that when Cazador invited him to eat and he said yes, he would be served a putrid rat. If he said no, he’d be beaten.

The way it was phrased made it clear that it happened more than once and that Astarion clearly knew what would happen. So, this can be classified as ritualistic abuse.

2. A Note on Conditioning and Compliance

By default, abuse victims are conditioned to behave a certain way or in a certain fashion. This is a natural response to avoid further abuse.

In Astarion, the thing we see most often is his inherent need to please. Not literally, he doesn’t mind being an arsehole. But he initially feels the need to follow Tav’s orders, even if they go against his own wishes.

This can be clearly seen in the conversation with Araj Oblodra. Astarion very clearly doesn’t want to bite her. He doesn’t. But he will do so, if Tav tells him to. This behaviour is not conscious – he doesn’t know why he does it, he just does – and it is to be expected. This is how he kept himself save for two centuries, so of course he will fall back into his usual pattern when the pressure is high.

This goes hand in hand with the fact that most abuse victims don’t fight. Maybe initially, but not after long term abuse. Especially not after two fucking centuries.

This is true in Astarion – offered by his ‘siblings’ during act 3 and unhappily acquiesced by the man himself. Astarion stopped fighting and, once again implied, cowered, and did as he was told in order to survive.

3. The Astarion we know and love

Obviously, all that abuse does have an impact on our vampire boyfriend. He shows various common signs of abuse and just like with the forms of abuse, Astarion raked every coping mechanism he could find. (Not really, but it feels like it.) It’s also important to note that nearly all of the following things happen inwardly. Astarion is not one of the victims, that tries to rationalise and minimise the actions of his abuser. Quite the opposite, actually.

I’ll note from the beginning, that rationalisation will not be covered in this bit, as most examples will be important later on. But he definitely does it.

One of his biggest skills is to hide every ounce of fear or hurt behind sarcasm and snarky theatrics. He doesn’t seem to hide his anger much, though, so that’s something! Our boy is cool with anger, not so much with being afraid.

“Ahahaha, now that you mention it….I might have done…that.” – Act 3, regarding the Gur children

“The thing that will decide my fate forever more? Yeees, it’s been on my miiiind. Why?” – Act 2, regarding the Ritual

And there’s many more instances that prove this. Honestly, half his dialogue is sarcasm, so it would really be too long to get into and we all know what I mean, right? We have alltalked to the guy before. It’s obvious that he’s sarcastic to a fault.

This goes hand in hand with his penchant for defensiveness. I would personally state that he’s simply not really good with guilt. When talking about fear, he usually just opts for sarcasm or avoids the topic completely, but guilt especially has his defences going up. This is also when he’s most likely to shove all the blame off to Cazador.

“Don’t look at me like that. Cazadors orders.” – Act 3, Crypt

“I just did what I had to!” – Act 3, Crypt

And don’t get me wrong, he does that anyway. And with good reason. Astarion didn’t have a choice for the most part, but he’s still easy to shove things off.

This kind of connects to his penchant for denial.

Astarion doesn’t really like to talk about most things. He firmly believes he is an ‘action’ sort of person that just does instead of plans, which invertedly just means he’s great at pushing the thinking stuff away. He also likes to get rid of stuff, so that he doesn’t need to face it ever again.

“I never want to see these little scraps of misery again. The world doesn’t need to know my shame.” – Act 3, about the children

And yes, this partly rings true. He’s probably ashamed and doesn’t want anyone to know what he’s done. But it’s also very clear that he himself simply doesn’t want to face his own actions, something that is just underlined by his extreme willingness to red rid of the other spawn.

As mentioned by Astarion himself, he’s big on manipulation. I mean, I don’t think there is much explaining necessary. The guy is willing to do a whole lot in order to get what he desires – which mostly revolves around safety and survival, to be honest – and he’s not really shy about it either. And that’s despite the fact that he doesn’t really like intimacy – especially in form of sex.

It’s not a secret that Astarion is not big on sex and anything surrounding it. This goes far enough for people to consider him either ace or ace coded.

A claim that, personally, I’m not super in line with.

Now, it’s not entirely wrong and if this is your head cannon I’m surely not going to stand in your way – but on a larger spectrum, I think he’s more traumatised than ace. And while those go hand in hand sometimes, it’s a bit difficult for the ace community if you attach traumatised characters to them because it can fuel a whole lot of stigma that is honestly neither needed nor wanted. But I digress!

If it comes to his own behaviour, he’s great at minimising his mistakes. Honestly, he’s a master of minimisation. A very obvious and famous example would be:

“’Killed’ feels like a…strong word. Not many corpses have your vigour.” – Act 1, after killing Tav

Astarion. You literally sucked poor Tav dry and left them flopping around, cold, and dead. Killed is exactly the right word and we all know it.

“Quite the deviation from my usual routine. Capture, not lure. I didn’t bring them in with sweet rolls or anything.” – Act 3, Gur Children

This is another attempt at minimising what he did, if a bit less obvious because at this point there isn’t much he can say. But at least he didn’t sexualise the gur children, right? They’re still spawn but whoo, at least that didn’t happen.

The next point would be dissociation, which is extremely common in abuse victims – of all forms of abuse.

Astarion himself mentioned certain moments that could be classified as dissociation over course of the story, which is probably the coping mechanism I personally expected the most.

The pale elf has a penchant for violence, but he’s not entirely shameless or abhorrently vile, which gets clearer the more the story progresses. So, two hundred years of forced prostitution, torture and doing whatever other horrible things? Yeah, I’d be more surprised if he didn’t dissociate.

Examples of that would be:

“A moment of disgust to push myself through and then I could’ve carried on, just like before.” – Act 2, after Araj

“I felt nothing the moment I handed them over.” – Act 3, Gur Children

“Did you enjoy it? It felt like you weren’t fully there.” – Act 1, Tav after Sex

The latter is generally more of an assumption than actual prove, but with context it does make sense.

The last common sign of abuse we find in our boyfriend would be his low self-worth. It’s a consistent trait that stays over the course of all three acts, noticeable in many different conversations.

We can see it in his reaction to wanting to break up before finishing his story. We can see it in his genuine surprise when Tav picks him over any of the other characters. We see it in his insecurity whenever Tav asks to sleep with another character. He’s fine with it, but he still worries their decision to sleep with someone else is based on something he did.

It eases up ever so slightly after Cazador is dead, but even then he’s still struggling which is once again perfectly illustrated if you try to break up with him.

“Oh shit. I- Did I do something wrong?”

That is the first thing he asks and I think it speaks for itself. He genuinely doesn’t believe he has much to offer and for Astarion, it’s likely that Astarion will always be the problem.

4. "Oh, I tried them all none of them answered.”

Another big thing that’s important to note, is that Astarion was never saved. No one came to save him from Cazador. There was no darling boy on a white steed riding into that castle to rescue him and princess carry him away. Not even the gods answered his desperate calls.

So, he never received any kindness or luck. To him, the world seems as cruel and horrid as before because he didn’t have the chance to experience goodness in two centuries.

But worse than that, he didn’t even get to save himself. Astarion didn’t stand up to Cazador, he didn’t run out of his own might.

He was beaten to near death and ‘saved’ by Cazador, who would become his abuser.

He tried to save someone and, in turn, was locked up and starved for an entire year.

He was abducted by mind flayers, i.e., saved from Cazador, only to end up tadpoled and on the cusp of getting a fancy, squiddy beard.

Anything that’s good, any kindness, any selfless action…it all came with a ginormous price tag.

5. Over the Course of the Story

Astarions behaviour changes a whole lot over the course of three acts – which is important once we talk about his quests climax – so let’s review what we’re working with!

Act 1 Astarion is guarded as fuck. The man has walls around him that are so high, even the gods can touch them.

A lot of his behaviour in act 1 revolves around staying save and staying liked. He lies, manipulates, and flutters his lashes in order to get what he wants and needs. Instead of asking, like Wyll, Karlach and Gale do, Astarion uses all he has to offer to get by. He is still very much in survival mode and tries to weasel his way through an unfamiliar situation with familiar methods.

On top of that, and most notably, he’s absolutely not fond of kindness or selflessness.

#I saved a child and now my boyfriend is mad

Here, we are most likely to gain disapproval for doing the decent thing – unless you sent him outside for a minute whenever you’re being a good person.

And I’d assume that this is because of two things.

First: The very traditional ‘Why not me?’

As I mentioned before, Astarion wasn’t saved. He hasn’t experienced kindness in a very long time so seeing that the world is literally filled with kind people is hurtful. Why didn’t anyone save him? Why was he left to his own devices for so long? Why should he care about others when it’s so clear that no one ever cared about him? No, dead to all of them. If he didn’t get it, neither will they.

“And what am I owed? What about the injustices I suffered? Am I not entitled to anything?” – Act 3, Crypt

“I was in the prime of my life when I was turned. Everything was taken from me too.” – Act 3, Crypt

And secondly is the fact that, as I mentioned, goodness always has a price. And it’s one most people won’t be willing to pay. That’s how his life has been, so why would theirs be different?

This is precisely why Astarion may disapprove of kind actions, but he mostly neither approves nor disapproves if Tav asks for payment. That’s just how the world works.

Once you venture out into act 2, after getting to know him a whole lot more, he starts to mellow a bit – if only towards Tav.

“He’s afraid, so afraid, of everyone but you, who she should fear the most.” – Sceleritas about Astarion

His approval is a lot easier to gain – or at least keep! – and he tends to approve of some more proper actions. He doesn’t throw a fit if you promise to find Mol, he approves of Tav being kind to His Majesty, of saving Aylin and he even approves of Durge apologising to Isobel after threatening to rip her to pieces.

He's slowly starting to open up, allowing Tav to see some parts of him he previously kept hidden. He accepts their offer to help, if hesitantly and, by god, the man starts experimenting with boundaries.

The social worker in me is shedding tears at this. It’s my favourite thing to see in my clients and it’s no different here. Yay to saying no!

Of course, it’s still a bit hit or miss. If Tav urges him to bite Araj, for example, he will only to later notice that he didn’t fucking have to. He recognises this on his own and he calls Tav out on it. Just like he calls them out on not helping him with his Orthon quest.

Good job, chap. Good fucking job.

And the growth-train won’t stop going even as we reach act 3.

In act 3, there’s not many things he disapproves as of right now – those he does, mostly have to do with how Tav treats him and not with anyone else. In fact, he’s more likely to approve good behaviour now, like giving Yenna food or money.

And yes, we need to consider that this could simply be because he gets used to Tav’s behaviour and just learns to roll with it. But it’s also highly likely that he notices that there’s truly good people around. At least one person. And that person is not only good, no, they’re in the process of helping him break free once and for all.

They’re helping him save himself.

By act 3, he has learned that he can absolutely say his piece where Tav is concerned and he’s more likely to disagree with them on certain things. It’s seen during a lot of small dialogue that he’s no longer terribly afraid to be honest with them, willing to listen and talk and he’ll ask for help if he needs it.

“I can do this. But I need your help.” – Act 3, Crypt

Something that can be viewed both positively and negatively is that he’s definitely loyal to a fault. He will stick by Tav’s side, no matter what.

“I really hoped we could avoid being pawns for a dark god, but here we are, I suppose. I’m with you, my dear, wherever this might lead.” – Act 3, After Jaheira confronts durge

As I said, this can be both positive and negative. On one count, it’s a recipe for disaster, seeing as he could be waltzing into a really bad situation for Tav alone.

But on the other side…this is a man who only cared about himself because that is the only person he could afford to care about. He needed to survive. He now has enough room to breathe and the capacity to care for someone else and I’d be inclined to count that as a good thing.

6. The Crypt

All the progress he made in act 2 and 3 is nearly tossed into the wind as soon as the crew enters Cazadors castle.

It’s not an immediate thing, of course.

At first, Astarion tries to stay light and simple and he hides behind flippant tones and relaxed faces. The way he recounts this is almost comically disinterested and the façade is actually quite good.

It’s start’s cracking after we meet Godie, one of the people who tortured him on more than one account, but he mostly manages to remain as upbeat as one can honestly expect for the first half of the journey.

All that, however, is done for the very moment we meet Sebastian. His mask not only slips, no, it full on shatters and there’s none of his apparent lightness left.

Which, of course it does.

The man is suddenly faced with years and years and years of victims. Innocent, unlucky people he lured back to his master over two centuries. People he liked, people he pitied.

“It’s sickening, seeing them again.”

It’s basically a room filled with guilt, exclusively for Astarion. And, as we mentioned before…Astarion is not great with guilt.

The guilt, however, is not where it ends.

No, he’s also faced with reflections of his own past. The spawn pose as reminders of what he did, sure, but also as reminders of what he was.

Weak, desperate, hungry.

There’s an abundance of images of his worst moments, reflected back at him in the thousands. It’s probably like staring into a funhouse mirror, but instead of seeing yourself in a funky way he just sees everything he so desperately doesn’t want to be.

“It should be [who I am]! I don’t want to be like them. They’re pathetic, horrible…”

He’s forcefully made aware of how darn weak he can be, which claws at all the wounds he’s barely had time to close. Something, he of course won’t admit if asked.

“THEY DO NOT [remind me of myself]. That weakness in me is dead, IT’S DEAD. I have a higher purpose.”

The high pressure of the moment brings out all of his act 1 traits in but a few moments. You can pretty much watch how he starts to shut down mid conversation, one of his old walls snapping back into place to remove himself from the situation.

Thing is though, walls usually become a bit brittle after disuse. Especially when talking to a person you don’t usually want to wall out.

Or, in his case, when talking to Tav.

After meeting Sebastian, Astarion shows extreme reactions to Tav nudging any of his weak spots. His reaction varies on whatever choice you make, but it ranges from aggression to defensiveness, to denial and even to downright begging Tav.

“Don’t hate me. I just did what I had to. I swear I did what I had to.”

This probably the most shocking out of all of them, since that is not something we got to witness before. The begging is likely a mixture of intense fear of losing Tav, his low self-esteem and pre-Tav behaviour, since we can assume that Cazador made him beg more than once.

Another old coat he puts back on would also be the least surprising of them all.

Manipulation.

He falls right back into it, using Tav’s affection to get what he want if we trigger the right action.

“If they die and I ascend, I won't have to rely on the parasite to walk in the sun. I'll be free. Truly completely free. Isn't that what you want?”

This, to me, was probably the biggest tell that Astarion was back in survival mode. He’s panicking, for fucks sake, and who can blame the guy? He’s back. He’s about to face down his abuser.

Of course he’s fucking panicking.

Panic leads to an increased craving for safety and, in his case, power. This is why he clings to Tav, why he begs them to love him still. And this is why he jumps head first into the rationalisation pool.

“I will need to sacrifice them all if I want to perform the ritual. - [You can save them.] – What’s the point? They're as good as dead! I thought they were dead. If they are unleashed, they will cause incredible carnage. […] They must die. Better they serve a purpose.”

Another textbook example.

They must die anyway. They’re basically dead. No need to save them now. They’re dangerous, I’m doing the right thing by sacrificing them. I already thought they were dead, so it’s not changing anything for me. They’re a lost cause and I deserve all this power. I deserve it, because I suffered and nothing will change if they die.

So, seeing as we already spoke about his usual behaviour in act 3 – behaviour he showed after we allowed him to breathe and be himself for a while – I think we can fairly easily conclude he’s not thinking straight.

Astarion is right back in survival mode, where all that matters is he himself. If it weren’t for the seven thousand spawns, he might have moved through this more gracefully, but seeing those tipped the scales and Astarion is absolutely losing it.

Remember that for the last section, per favore.

7. The Ascension

“Astarion wants to ascend and Tav manipulates him into doing what they want.”

That is basically the essence of what people often claim and I can’t help but shake my head at such a blatant disregard of everything he has become. This is completely ignoring the change and growth he has gone through over the course of their journey.

Astarion wants to be free. He wants to be safe. That does not mean he wants to ascend.

And the claim that Tav manipulates him into doing anything is even more baffling. We are all aware that Tav is not manipulative by nature, yes? That is entirely on you. You decide who your Tav is.

And then let’s remember: Astarion is panicked. He’s afraid and he’s not thinking straight. His abuser is on his knees before him and he still feels so weak. And there’s seven thousand spawns that need handling.

Astarion is very much not okay right now.

In fact, reading his thoughts just proves this theory.

“You can see the fear in his eyes but also the hunger. The thick smell of blood in the air and the promise of power being so close is intoxicating to him. All he can see is the power of the ritual and the freedom that power brings. The freedom to do anything. To be anything.”

Tav, however, has none of those problems. They can actually see beyond the current situation and they are fully aware what the consequences are. Astarion is not. As we previously established, Astarion is a doer. Not a thinker. He didn’t think this through, not at all.

The only thing Tav is doing – the persuasion roll – is reminding him of the very real consequences he is facing. The consequences he hasn’t thought about before.

"I know you think this will set you free, but it won't. This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador."

And that is the kindest thing Tav could do in this situation. They’re not bodily dragging him away from Cazador. They’re not even telling him to not do it. They’re just offering him the truth. He can do with that information whatever he desires.

“Astarion cries when he doesn’t ascend, that just shows that it was the wrong choice.”

A hare-brained point that I thankfully have only seen once so far.

That crying? That is healthy crying.

That is him, crumbling under the stress that suddenly dissipates. That is him mourning two hundred years of torment. That’s him letting out feelings he hasn’t been able to for centuries.

And, for the love of god, try to put yourself in his shoes.

Two hundred years of torment, ended in but a moment.

Astarion was abused and tortured for so long, afraid for so long only to see his tormentor die just like that.

Cazador died within a moment and all Astarion needed was a darn blade. Of course he fucking cries.

Seeing how pathetic a being the very core of your life’s misery actually is hurts. It hurts like hell because not only are you finally free – free! – no, you’re faced with the fact that this pile of nothing, the thing that’s bleeding out right in front of you…this was what tortured for so long.

This thing hurt you so much. That guy took everything from you, everything you once were, and broke it again and again and again over years.

You were so scared of this thing.

And yet he has the gall and the gumption to die just like that.

It was so easy.

And yet you suffered for so long.

8. Evil Playthrough?

An evil playthrough is really a different setting altogether.

All of this, as you can probably tell, is really only applicable on a good playthrough. Realistically speaking. I’m not sure how the game mechanics handle it.

On an evil path, Astarion never really gets to experience kindness and goodness. Evil Tav will just prove him right in his believe that the world is a vile and cold place, meaning that he realistically would be more inclined to actually want to ascend.

9. Final Conclusion

I think all of this should be enough to make it clear that no, ascended Astarion is not the best ending for the guy. In fact, it is probably the worst. Because it’s just him, running away. He’s running into a lonely and cold state of being, where cruelty and power lord over everything else and he’s running because he’s terrified of being hurt again. He’s running despite desperately wanting to stop running.

“I'll spend the rest of my life running watching the shadows, never feeling safe…no, this has to happen. Here and now.”

And, the worst part is: Nothing about Astarion is left after he ascends. Even his tone of speaking gradually changes, his theatrics fading. He’s slowly losing himself, until there’s nothing but an evil caricature left.

So, in the end, ascension will have proven him right.

That version of him is dead.

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate #baldurs gate #bg3 #astarion #the dark urge #tav #astarion romance #astarion ancunin #astarion and tav #bg3 act 1 #bg3 act 2 #bg3 act 3 #act 3 #act 2 #act 1 #araj oblodra

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seventeenpins · 3 months ago

Note

⁵⁾ pressing the pads of their fingers into their lips in the aftermath, like they’re either trying to capture the feeling or banish it from memory

with x1!Logan pretty plssssss 😏

YES Ozzie omg thank you I love this ❤️

Forbidden Fruit

pairing: dbf!Logan x neighbor!reader word count: 3.4k summary: You’re a little obsessed with your attractive new neighbor. Unfortunately, he’s quite a bit older than you... And your dad's new best friend. content/warnings: non-mutant AU, unspecified age gap, written as x1 Logan, Scott is your dad (sorry), silence of the lambs spoilers???, yearning, tbh yall are as bad as each other, smut a/n: lmao this was supposed to be a drabble 🤷 ty to @ozarkthedog, the most perfect human 🩷

There’s a party roaring outside. As a general rule, your dad doesn’t like to throw parties often, but when he meets the man who’s moving in next door, he announces to you his plan. “Hosting a new neighbor helps to establish a good relationship!” he insists, and that’s that.

You’re sat in the living room, the space dimly lit, nursing a Pabst Blue Ribbon as the glow of your latest Blockbuster rental illuminates your face.

"You even old enough to drink?" comes a voice just outside the door frame.

You jump, beer sloshing gracelessly down your front. You turn to him, glowering. He’s silhouetted from the hallway and you can’t make out his face. “Yep,” you tell him, “I just have an immaculate skincare routine. Keeps me youthful.”

“So you’re hiding inside… because?”

You shrug. “Just like time to myself.”

He nods, and then strides over. He takes a seat beside you.

“Who are you, exactly?” you frown, looking him up and down.

“You mind?” he asks, smirking as he wiggles the beer you didn’t realize he was holding and nods towards the bottle opener. The audacity.

You glare and grab the bottle opener. He holds his hand out for it, but you withdraw.

“Logan,” he laughs, “Logan Howlett. I just moved in next door.”

“Oh,” you drop the bottle opener into his hand, remembering your dad’s words. Establish a good relationship. “Oh, yeah, my dad was really excited about the party. Hope you’re enjoying it.”

His eyebrows raise. “Your dad?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “Scott Summers.”

“No shit,” he frowns, “That guy sends a lot of emails.”

“That he does.”

Logan pops his bottle open. “Mind some company?”

“Long as you don’t mind watching Silence of the Lambs starting part way through.”

“Ohhhhh yeah, has he asked for a quid pro quo yet?”

“Aahh, a connoisseur,” you grin, “Yeah, just got past that part. I can rewind–”

“Nah,” he shrugs, “Let it play.”

You watch for a while in silence, but then start chatting again, swapping mundane questions.

“So, Scott’s your dad, huh?” he asks, after a while.

“He sure is.”

“When he said he had a daughter, I guess I assumed someone younger.”

“Same skincare routine,” you deadpan.

He closes his eyes, holding back a laugh as he shakes his head. “Sorry, sorry. It’s none of my business.”

“It’s okay,” you laugh, “Yeah, he was still pretty young when I was born.”

“And what about…” he trails off, suddenly realizing tact may be appreciated.

“Dad’s a widower,” you explain simply.

Logan nods. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

You sit in silence for a moment, watching as Lecter is revealed to be wearing the guard’s face.

“How about you?” you ask, “You got a wife? Husband? Girlfriend? Partner?--”

He turns to look at you and you peter off. “Nope.”

There’s something in the way he’s looking at you. You’re not sure if he’s being suggestive, or if you’re reading into things. Maybe it’s just the reflecting light making his eyes look more provocative than he intends.

Either way, you feel your heartbeat surge and your stomach flip.

You turn away and try to affect nonchalance, try not to be suddenly mesmerized by this unexpected plot twist that is Logan. The movie is wrapping up, Clarice taking Lecter’s call as he pursues Chilton. You try to focus on it, the score, the costumes– but instead you notice the way he smells, musky and a little sweaty. It’s nice. A little dizzying.

“What about you?” you ask.

“Hmm?”

"You have any kids?" you ask, and immediately wonder if you waited too long to carry on the conversation.

"Shit," he snorts and shakes his head, "I hope not."

It takes you off guard. You burst out laughing.

He huffs, lifting the beer to his lips to hide a smile.

The credits begin to roll over the ending scene.

With the bottle drained, he pats his thighs and stands up. "Alright, kid," he says, "I probably shouldn’t hide in here any longer.”

“My dad appreciates it,” you tell him, “Don’t wanna give him a heart attack when his guest of honor is nowhere to be found, soon to be discovered with his delinquent daughter.”

He picks up his empty and shakes his head, heading back outside. He calls back, “Oh, you’re trouble.”

Now that you’ve met him, you can’t get him out of your mind.

When you see him again, a couple days later in daylight this time, you have to pick your jaw up off the ground. He’s taller than you realize, and he’s fucking built. And fuck, he’s handsome too. When he sees you, he waves a hand. “Hey Trouble,” he calls, “Keepin’ your nose clean?”

Weeks pass, and, much to your delight (and, admittedly, despair), your dad and Logan become close.

Sundays become your favorite day. Sunday, you discover, is the day you can see Logan through your window, chopping a seemingly endless stack of firewood.

One time, he catches you watching. To your utter shock, he winks at you. Knowing your eyes are on him, he lifts the hem of his beater to wipe his brow, and shoots you a shit-eating grin.

You had plans but that doesn’t matter now. All you can do is shove your hand into your panties and rub circles around your throbbing little clit until you cum with a muffled sigh, knowing he’s outside. Knowing there’s not more than a fence and a few feet between you.

Almost every night, his fire pit is alight and you see him reading, or strumming his guitar, or fucking whittling, serene in the smouldering glow, till the fire burns out and the night turns too cool to enjoy.

As the weeks pass, he’s at your house more and more. You wish your heart would stop doing flips whenever you see him on the sofa next to your dad, beer in hand, laughing at some story that’s being recounted.

He says hello to you each time he sees you, and always asks after you when you’re out.

“Oh, Logan says hi,” your dad will say over his morning toast, “Why does he call you Trouble? Tell me you haven’t been besmirching the Summers name?”

“Nah,” you grin, “Just the littlest besmirchment, at worst.”

His eyes narrow.

“C’mon, now, we want to-”

“Establish a good relationship!” you finish, grinning at the way he scowls.

“Smartass.”

“Hey, Trouble,” he’ll greet you, whenever you find him at your home.

“Hey neighbor.”

“You bein’ good?” he’ll ask.

“‘Course not,” you’ll wink, “Where’s the fun in that?”

You love that he calls you Trouble. That he has a name, just for you. It feels like it could almost be something, and so it’s almost enough.

Before long, what you’d once feared was a one-sided attraction begins to morph into something different.

It’s a Saturday, and you decide to wear a cute little dress. It’s a flowy thing that hugs all your curves in the very best way, hem barely falling past the curve of your ass.

Your dad just popped out for another six-pack, and you’re in the kitchen, making pasta salad. With your father gone, Logan isn’t subtle in the way he looks at you. You delight in how his eyes linger at the curve of your hip, the swell of your chest. It feels like a victory, the way he grits his jaw a little when you lean forward, cleavage on full display.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doin’ wearing a naughty little dress like that?” Logan asks, scowling.

You raise an eyebrow and try not to let the way your heart starts to flutter affect you. “Thought you’d figured it out on day one – I’m trouble.”

He looks you up and down, his gaze lascivious. It’s the boldness of it. The two of you are alone, and you both know it.

“I think you like it,” you narrow your eyes.

He’s silent for a long moment. Then he lets out a deep breath.

“God help me, I do.”

“Why don’t you do something about it?”

He opens his mouth to respond, but then you both hear the latch, and the front door swings open.

Logan sits back, pretending as though nothing just happened.

You turn back to your salad.

You can see Logan in the sitting room, right in your line of sight. Your dad sits across from him, his back towards you.

If you’re honest, you’re not sure exactly what compels you.

You turn to face Logan, wave for him to catch your eye. He does, quickly, immediately attuned to you. Your dad doesn’t notice the way his eyes follow you. You hold a finger to your lips. His eyes dart between you and your dad, and he tries to focus on whatever his friend is saying to him.

Slowly, you slip one strap down, and then the other. You can hear Logan’s breath hitch, which he covers almost believably with a gulp of his beer. Shimmying the bodice just a little, you expose your cleavage to near-dangerous depths. He’s grinding his teeth now, and it feels like victory.

Quickly, silently, you slip your top all the way down, exposing your breasts to the cool kitchen air. Your nipples, already hard, tighten. Logan is holding his can so tightly he’s crushing it in his fist.

“You okay, buddy?” you hear your dad say, and you can practically hear the frown in his voice. In a couple of quick movements, you slip your top back up and turn back to your salad.

“Huh?” Logan asks quickly, and then looks at his beer. “Oh, shit–!” he grumbles, relaxing his grip gingerly.

It’s not till an hour later that your dad stands up and announces, “I’ll be right back, gonna hit the head.”

When he’s gone, Logan bolts up and marches over to you.

“Are you out of your damn mind?” he demands.

You shrug and, not so subtly, glance down at his crotch. You smirk at the way the front is tenting. Logan stares daggers as he adjusts himself, better hiding his hard-on.

“Some of you seems to like it,” you point out.

“Out here? With him here? You want your daddy to kill me?”

“No,” you promise, “No, I just want you to fuck me.”

“Jesus Christ you’re trouble–”

You both hear a toilet flush, and, moments later, footsteps descend on the stairs.

Logan adjusts himself again, and you blow him a kiss as he tromps back to his seat.

It’s a week before you see Logan again. He’s working late this week, apparently. Or maybe he’s just keeping his distance from you.

On Friday night, you debate going out. It’s been a while, and you could use a chance to unwind. But drinks are expensive, and– and you see a fire out your window. Logan sits out by his fire pit.

Without thinking, you put on your shoes.

It’s late, but not too late. Your dad’s on his recliner, game on TV, newspaper in hand.

“You headin’ out, kiddo?” he asks.

“Yep,” you lie, “Meeting a couple friends downtown. They’re picking me up!”

“Stay safe,” he calls after you, “Call me if you need a ride.”

“I will,” you tell him. “Don’t know if I’ll be home tonight. Don’t wait up for me!”

You head out of the house and through your neighbor’s gate.

Logan is golden, illuminated in the glow of the flames. He’s whittling something, angrily.

You realize then that your entrance has been near-silent on the soft grass. “Uh,” you clear you throat and knock on his fence as you approach him. “Hey, there, neighbor!”

Logan looks up and frowns when he sees you.

“You are makin’ me crazy, Trouble.” he huffs.

“Like, in a good way?” you ask.

He glares at you.

You come closer. “Can I sit?”

Logan budges up, putting down his whittling tools.

“So…” you venture “Am I more trouble than I’m worth?”

Logan scoffs.

“Nah.” he concedes, “I just don’t wanna make things complicated.”

You shrug. “They’re already complicated. You’ve seen my tits.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Goddammit, Trouble. I can’t get you out of my head.”

“They’re great tits,” you shrug.

“They are great tits.” Logan agrees.

The fire is crackling and the night is clear, stars hanging above you. You've been sitting side by side, quiet.

You don’t know what to say. Maybe there isn't anything to say. You’ve been patient, dammit. You just need to leap.

You pull him towards you and he moves without resistance.

He growls into your mouth, a needy animal sound. The scruff of his beard feels nice against your chin and you’re dizzy with his proximity, with his lips on yours.

After an eternity in the space of a single moment, you pull apart.

Logan stares at you, overwhelmed. His eyes are dark, his kiss-glistened lips catching the light as the fire dances.

He presses the pads of his fingertips against his lips in the aftermath, as though either trying to capture the feeling, or banish it from memory.

Then, after a long moment, he’s on you. His hands grip you, grasp you, trace the shape of your body as though memorizing it by touch alone.

“Inside. Now.” he growls, “Out here you’re askin’ for your daddy to catch us.”

You’re barely through the door before Logan is tugging at your clothes. You help him pull your top above your head, and you fumble with the button of your jeans as he unhooks his belt and yanks off his beater.

In a matter of moments, you’re both fully bare. His skin is hot against yours as he holds you to him, caging you against the door as he drags his teeth along your shoulder. His hard cock hangs against your thigh, heavy and thick and leaking.

Your clothes trail from the front door to his sofa. You don’t make it any further than that.

You’re a ticking time bomb, a siren, pulling him in, driving him wild. He wants and wants and wants, more than he ever knew he could. So much could be ruined; his friendship with your dad, the scrap of reputation he’s been building, his new life in this new place—

But now his want has turned into a need, and feeling you soft and pliant and oh so willing against him, he’d be a fool to turn back now.

Logan’s gropes at you, fingernails digging into the swell of your ass before cupping your pussy in one large palm. Rubbing up and down your cunt, he smears your wetness around.

“You’re fucking dripping,” he gasps. “Prettiest pussy I’ve seen.”

Then he dips a finger into you and you groan and clench around it. He fucks you with it, deep, gentle strokes. He wasn’t wrong. As he fucks you with his finger, you feel how unbelievably wet you are. When he pulls back for a moment, you can see his hand is glistening with you, drips going all the way to his wrist.

“I can take more,” you promise, and he growls.

“Can’t say shit like that,” he pants, “You’re sure you can take more. Can you take me? Don’t wanna hurt–”

“I can take you,” you assure him. If you’re honest, you don’t know if you can. What you do know is that you’re sure as fuck gonna try.

“How do you want me?” he asks, fighting to maintain the last shreds of his self-control.

Ever the masochist, “Want you on top of me, my ankles round your shoulders. Need you deep.”

“Gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

You lay back as he positions himself between your thighs. He presses a kiss to your left thigh before he hikes it over his right shoulder, and a kiss to your right calf, folding you in half.

He strokes the dripping head of his cock against your folds.

“You ready?” he asks, and you whine in desperation, nodding a yes.

He presses in, notching the tip inside. You groan at the sensation, relaxing into it as he rocks his hips gently.

“Doin’ so good,” he praises, “I know, baby, it’s a lot.”

You writhe and moan. It is a lot, but you still want more. More of his cock, of his hands on your body, of his praise.

“Taking it so well,” he soothes, letting his cock slide that little bit deeper inside, pulling most of the way out and driving back in, pressing whispers in your ear as he fucks into you.

When his pelvis is pressed flush against you, he lets out a sigh.

“Look at that,” he huffs, “Takin’ all of me.”

You look down and watch enraptured as he pulls out and presses back in, deeper than you ever imagined, and rolls his hips, coarse hair grinding against your clit and making you howl.

”Keep making those pretty noises for me, honey.”

”Need more-“ you beg.

He starts rocking his hips, building a solid rhythm. His strokes are deep and devastating, and with every thrust you can feel your wetness start to flood down your thighs and cream around the base of his cock.

The wetter you get, the harder he fucks into you, each plunge punctuated with your cries, of “Yes!”, “More—“, “Please, Logan, please—“

Generous to a fault, he gives you everything you beg for.

The frustration of these longing, pent-up weeks is almost a forgotten memory. As you build towards the peak of your pleasure, the man above you is an animal. He grunts and pants and fucks you deeper than you knew possible. Your whines and cries and demands taper off, replaced by soft moans that start to swell as he litters your collarbone with kisses and rubs a calloused thumb against your clit.

”I’m—“ you warn, struggling to form words, “I’m gonna—“

“‘M close too,” he grunts, “Give it to me, baby, need to feel you— Please, baby—“

With his words and a firm press to your clit, you come with a sob, cunt squeezing around him in pulsing contractions.

He fucks you through it, muttering a steady stream of filth the whole time. “That’s it, that’s it, fuck you’re gushing, soaking this cock. You feel so fucking good, tight little thing stretched so nice around me, taking it all like you’re made for it—”

Before you can even get over the first climax, the second starts to build. Logan can feel the way your pussy twitches for him, the way your breath shudders as he drives into you with staggering thrusts.

”Gonna cum again, aren’t you?” He growls. “Good-“ a thrust, “fucking—“, thrust, “girl—“ thrust, “Just can’t get enough of this cock, can you?”

You try to answer, but all that comes out is a cry as another orgasm overtakes you.

"That’s it,” the praises, still punctuating every word with a thrust, “That’s it! Let yourself feel it, let yourself feel good—"

You do, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through you. It’s overwhelming, the way it tears through you with no end in sight.

When he finally pulls out of you, you start to come back to yourself, your life-changing orgasm starting to wane.

He’s beautiful above you, covered in sweat, your wetness dripping down his thighs as he strokes his creamy cock.

With a groan, he comes on your stomach. You wrap your hand around his, stroking him gently till every drop is spent.

You make room for him on the sofa, uncaring that both of you are covered in sweat and fluids, and pull him down to rest in your arms.

"Fuck—" he exhales, and finally turns to face you again.

You stroke your fingers through your mussed hair.

"I knew you were trouble,” he murmurs, pressing kisses to your sternum.

There are so many things you’ll need to talk about, to work through. You are neighbors, after all, and you can’t do something like this without there being an aftermath.

But whatever is next can wait till morning.

Gently, he pulls himself up, and you with him. Holding each other close, you head to his bedroom. Without a word, you lay together, curled up in one another’s embrace.

He’s silent a long moment before speaking. "Is your daddy expecting you home tonight?” He asks. Neither of you want to think about that.

But thankfully, “No,” you tell him. “Told him not to wait up.”

"Oh, optimistic, were we?” He teases, and you look him up and down. His broad shoulders, sculpted chest, dark eyes, rumpled hair. This man you’ve grown so very fond of.

“Yes,” you smile. “Yes, we are.”

Scott finds out, like, a day later and declares Logan his sworn enemy

#logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #logan howlett x you #wolverine smut #james logan howlett x reader #xmen x reader #logan howlett x f!reader #logan x reader #logan x f!reader #logan x fem!reader #logan howlett smut #dbf!logan #dbf!loganxreader

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woso-dreamzzz · 7 months ago

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Injured (Alexia's Version): Future II

Alexia Putellas x Daughter!Reader

Summary: You go to Manuelas

TW: using sex to reinforce ideas of low self-worth, mentions of eating disorder

You didn't come to Manuelas often.

It was a bad idea, drinking in the club Olga owned. All of the workers knew who you were, dragged out on staff dinners and in the background of Olga's video meetings.

There's no way you could get in without someone noticing who you were.

It's not that you were banned. If anything, Mami and Olga would probably prefer it if you did your drinking in the safe walls of Manuelas where the staff would call them if you needed a pick up.

It would be fine if drinking was all that you were doing.

But you don't go to clubs for the drinks. In fact, you don't even really like the taste of alcohol all that much. It was a means to an end, getting you tipsy enough to approach someone in the crowd. But that was only if you weren't approached first.

And you were almost always approached first.

It was easy now, a practiced routine.

You'd go into a club, hang around at the bar for a bit before going onto the dance floor where, no doubt, some older woman would come over and offer to buy you a drink.

It was practiced. It was easy.

It was self destructive.

You knew why you came to these clubs. You knew what you came there for.

You wanted it quick and rough. You wanted to be demeaned and talked down to because it made you feel better that you weren't the only one that saw yourself like that.

Hooking up in club toilets with a woman double your age that couldn't care less about you made you feel better at yourself.

You couldn't do that Manuelas.

Or, you couldn't do that at Manuelas on days when Olga or her close circle were skulking around, which was almost every weekend.

The only reason you were here now was because your usual club wasn't open today and after another day of brutal practice with no end in sight, you needed to feel something.

Even if it was some woman's hand around you as she took you hard and rough and whispered filthy things in your ear.

You should go home, you know. You should go home to your Mami and let her wrap you up in a warm hug and let her tell you that you were worth something and that she loved you.

But you were here.

At Manuelas on a day you knew Olga was at home and her closest staff were busy in a meeting in the back room.

Or, at least, they should be.

Alexia sighs as Olga pulls her in through the open backdoor.

"I am old, amor," She says with a small huff of laughter," My old bones cannot take going to the club anymore."

It's a joke, nothing more than teasing and Olga rolls her eyes.

"Not even my club?"

"Well," Alexia says," If it's your club..."

With Jaume at a youth camp for the week and you staying over at your friend's, the house had been blissfully silent and all too empty.

She and Olga had a nice dinner before growing restless. It didn't suit the family, Alexia thinks, to have the house devoid of her kids.

Olga wasn't due to go in to the meeting at Manuelas but that didn't mean she thought going there was a bad idea which was how Alexia found herself there now, nursing a drink in one hand and holding whatever fruity cocktail Olga had chosen in the other.

Manuelas had come a long way from the pop up club it used to be, now boasting several permanent bases in the country. Alexia was still glad though that one thing stayed the same - namely the fact that she got free drinks.

It certainly payed to be the wife of the owner.

Olga's gone off to greet a few people upstairs, despite denying the fact that this was all a ploy to see how the meeting was going.

Alexia's left downstairs by herself and does what she does best.

People watch.

Manuelas is still exactly like it was when it was first opened, a throng of dancers grinding and making out on the dancefloor.

The same as practically every other lesbian club in the city.

There's nothing unusual about it but Alexia still leans against the bar and surveys the crowd.

There's movement (or rather more movement than normal) to the left of the crowd as a pair breaks out of the dancing.

It's hard to see in the low light but Alexia feels a bolt of lightning shoot down her spine before she's even computed what she's looking at.

You're pressed up against the wall, head tilted to the side as a woman kisses your neck.

You're meant to be at a friend's house. That's what you've told Alexia.

You were going over to a friend's house after practice and you would be staying the night.

But clearly, you're not because you're here.

At Olga's club with a woman that is so clearly not your age whispering filthy things to you.

Alexia's moving towards you without a second thought and you open half lidded eyes to look at her.

You jolt suddenly, straightening up and pushing the woman away from your neck when you notice Alexia there.

She's not meant to be here and you look around wildly because you know if Mami's here then Olga's around here somewhere too.

Your face floods with embarrassment and you leave your partner for the evening.

Even now, Alexia's angry face makes you feel like a little girl again. Like that same little girl who sat in her car seat after another failed football training.

Like the same stupid teenager who starved herself to fit into a shirt that Alexia accidentally bought one size too small.

"Mami..." You say, throat bobbing," I-"

"Are you okay?" Alexia asks you, cupping your face," Are you safe?"

"Mami...I..."

"Bambi," Alexia says, her eyes boring into yours," Talk to me. Are you alright?"

"I..." Your throat bobs and you're right back to that little girl again, the one staring up at Alexia as she grins down at you, that stupid teenager that had once sobbed in her arms after hurting your ankle during practice. "I want to go home, Mami. Please take me home."

Alexia looks into your eyes. You're not drunk, maybe a little tipsy but definitely not drunk. You're not high either. No one's laced anything you've taken.

You're still trembling though and your head falls forward onto Alexia's shoulder, to hide the way tears fall down your cheeks.

You don't know why you're crying. You don't know why you're suddenly so emotional.

You'd set out this evening to hook up with someone, feeling so bad and wrong in your own skin that you needed someone's body pressed up against yours to feel good about yourself again.

You still want that. Just not with a partner.

You want a hug from Mami, curled up next to her in bed at home. You want her to hold you and tell you how much she loves you and how she's never going to let anything bad happen to you.

You're an adult now.

You shouldn't feel this way.

But you're always going to be that little girl that craved love from your Mami.

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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deadsetobsessions · 1 year ago

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Your name is Tim Drake and you are nine years old.

Today, tomorrow, and soon, you're going to save Robin.

----

Tim stares at his reflection on the sink tap. It trembles, along with the plane, as he contemplates his situation.

His face is rounder, now, with unfamiliar baby-fat rounding out the sharp lines he'd come to expect. Even with the subpar reflection, Tim can tell that his dark eyebags are all but gone, replaced with youthful skin.

Magic. He's being quite literal, seeing as he's been tossed into the body of his younger self at the hands of a crazed magician.

He could find a way back... or he could create a completely different timeline by fixing everything that went wrong. It's not like he has anything to go back to, anyways. That crazed magician was actually competent and killed everyone he ever cared about. Tim barely got away with his life. He could go back to save that shell of a world- surrounded by people whose minds were broken beyond magical and medical repair- or stay here, fix his own personal troubles and cut off the magician before he could start with his world domination bullshit.

Well, Tim already has an idea of what he wants. So he begins a list, after having oriented himself.

Save Robin

There's no point trying to convince Bruce that he knows where Jason's being held. So, Tim finds himself on a plane to Ethiopia a day before Jason's meant to die. This was long before Barbara even thought of being Oracle, and the tech is ancient in his hands. In short order, nine year old Tim has a trust fund with millions in it, all siphoned from billionaires like Lex Luthor and his own parents.

Tim toddles back to his seat, after washing his hands because he still can't shake the extra bit of paranoia that came with a missing spleen. Oh. Tim blinks guilelessly at his seat neighbor, smiling like Timothy Drake, Angel of a Son as he reels from the realization that he still has his spleen.

Tim adds another box to his list:

Keep Ra's away from my spleen, creepy bastard.

What else...? Ah, the League of Assassins.

Damian

Tim pauses. Holy crap. Damian's only six right now. Tim moves Damian's box upwards in urgency. Tim might have a mildly antagonistic relationship with his younger brother back then, but he wants baby pictures of his siblings, dammit. He's gonna put that photography expertise to good use if it's the last thing he does.

Watch over Z, Owens, Pru

'They're alive!' His mind screams. Cold rationality slaps the sentimentality down with a quick 'But they won't be if I fail.'

His mind wanders to Dick Grayson. He scowls as something pops up in the back of his head.

Catalina Flores

Contact Nightwing- in space

He's gotta call Dick back from that Teen Titans mission, Jason's gonna need all of the support he's going to get.

Find Cass

Train Steph

Save Duke's family from Venom

Tim taps at that last point. He'll save them. But that might mean Duke might never join their family.

But he'll be happy and Tim... will deal with it. He'll be the only one mourning, anyways. To end on a lighter note, he adds something that he should have done ages ago.

Give Tam a raise.

Tim sighs as he gets out of the airport, the hired escort he found and vetted, delivering him to a predetermined hotel. They think his parents are already inside. He laughs and does not say anything to make them think otherwise. He has so many things to do, Tim laments as he settles down to track the Joker's movements. Here. That's where Jason's being held. Being tortured.

He can, however, knock two things off his list in one go. Tim picks up the burner phone he acquired. He doesn't have time, or else he would have done this sooner and saved them all the trouble.

[RR: Are you in Ethiopia yet?]

[Deathstroke: Payment confirmed. In Ethiopia.]

[RR: Third building by the docks.]

An hour.

[Deathstroke: Confirmed. Target spotted.]

Ten minutes.

[Deathstroke: Target eliminated. Bringing Robin to Safehouse.]

Twenty minutes.

[Deathstroke: Basic first aid applied. Leaving.]

[RR: Secondary payment sent. Confirm?]

[Deathstroke: Confirmed. Pleasure doing business with you.]

Tim sprawls on the king bed. He sighs a breath of relief. He'd check on Jason in person, if he weren't paranoid about leaving traces that would get back to him. Tim's pretty sure that Deathstroke's going to get hunted down in the near future, regardless, so he made sure to add a huge tip on top of the extra fees for burning one of Deathstroke's safe houses and the emergency first aid. He taps into the rudimentary camera Deathstroke had given him the access codes to, to stare at Jason's rising and falling chest. On a further table, the Joker's head laid in a preservation box.

He bypasses all of the security on the Teen Titan's tech to send Dick a message.

[Robin has been retrieved from the Joker. Contact Batman for details.]

Then, he sends Bruce the location of the safe house. Tim spends the rest of the day staring at Jason and watching his father in another timeline break as he huddles close to the broken body of Tim's Robin.

Timothy Drake destroys the burner phone.

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messyhairedhazeleyeddude · 1 year ago

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━━━━╝‘ I bet you think about me ’╚━━━━━

A Denji x Fem!Innocent!Reader | A little fluff + SMUT

Contents ; Innocent reader, pervert Denji (nothing changed), peer pressure, corruption, tons of suggestive innuendos, groping, heavy mention of titties, titty-sucking, PDA, guided handjob, thighjob, pornography, non-stop fucking, and obsessive behavior.

A/N ; MYYYYYY FAVORITE! This dude has been deep in my heart ever since I was introduced into CSM. And now, I place the dude above everyone on my preferred list of characters. Especially cause I relate to the man so much. He’s too careless for his own good at times, BAHAHAHAHAH. Okay, enough of me rambling, appreciate my boy and my fine story by reposting and commenting. Whatever you’re feeling for, little readers.

Dynamic ; Kind of FWB?? to Lovers

Sexual Dynamic ; Dom!Denji | Sub!Fem!Reader

P.O.V ; First & Third

Age range ; 18+

Music suggestion ;

[ Denji’s P.O.V ; ]

Today was supposed to be ordinary. Power talked her ass off most of the morning, I would chime in once in a while to joke, and Aki spouted shit at me for everything and anything I did. That’s how it went on in the apartment we lived in. In the middle of the day, we would head for the headquarters. Go back to the stressful life of a Devil Hunter.

But for me, that was nothing. I was more than happy to return to work. A lot of my co-workers complained on and on, sure you get your hands a little bloody, although most of us didn’t care about the slaughtering. It’s not like they were human. Not including the people that got in my way, that was not my fault!

All I knew is that if it meant I got to be entertained by a girl like Makima and fulfill the desires I’ve been dreaming about, that’s cool with me. And the power from Pochita was a huge plus.

Yeah, it was supposed to be another one of those days. Makima would’ve given me a case to solve had it been. But, instead, I was staring at her from across the room, talking to another girl who I didn’t recognize. Hell, was she beautiful though.

Her silky {H/C} hair looked recently done, styled into a braided half ponytail with bangs in the front. Long lashes framing her {E/C}, sweet eyes; the smile she had was enough for me to tell that she would spoil a man to his heart’s content. When my eyes drifted down her body, especially to her ass, I almost didn’t want to believe it. But, I was so sure of it. She passed Makima’s thickness by at least ten percent.

I bit my tongue and swallowed the build-up of spit before making my way to where they stood, pushing my hands in my pockets so nothing showed if I popped one. Often occurrence, do not recommend.

Keeping my eyes ahead, I tried to remain as respectful as I could be while addressing my boss, “Hey, Makima. And…” As soon as I looked over at the pretty girl, I paused so she could say her name, but at the same time, I was freaking out about how much better her appearance was up close.

My brain couldn’t keep up. She had clean, soft skin with a gradient to her cheeks and lips that made me want to go for kissing them, no hesitation. When she glanced back at me, I couldn’t pry my eyes away from hers, watching her reply to me in admiration, “Oh, my name is {Y/N}. I’ve transferred here from Special Division 7… Nice to meet you! You must be the Chainsaw boy she has been telling me about!” God, even her name fit her perfectly.

Wait. Special Division 7? A stopping record player noise sounded off in my head and I turned to Makima for an explanation. The auburn-haired woman was smirking at me like she found my reaction amusing, as always. She leaned forward from her sitting position, resting her chin on her palm, and introduced {Y/N}’s background, “Say hello to the famed Youth Devil, Denji. She’s a beautiful one, isn’t she?”

The Youth Devil? Oh, I’ve heard about her before. Aki talked about coming across someone from a division that had become the Devil that aged people, yet she apparently had no knowledge of anything outside of ‘safe-for-work territory’. Or whatever the fuck he wanted to label it as. Really, that just meant she has no idea how valuable those titties are and that gives me a high chance of getting a squeeze. Or… more.

My gaze had unconsciously drifted to her chest at the thought of that, the button of her white top barely holding because of its size as I forgot to answer Makima. So, being the Youth Devil included being incredibly busty too? Good to know.

It wasn’t until I heard the clear of her throat that I had snapped back into the present and responded without thinking, “Yeah, she is.” Turning red once I realized what I had been doing right in front of the two women, a bit of worry brimming the back of my mind.

{Y/N}’s face lit up at the compliment rather than furrowed and she was quick to thank me, “Awww, you’re so sweet! Thank you, Denji!” And for a minute, I was stuck wide-eyed, half-expecting a slap across the cheek because I was obviously checking her out. Well, I’ll be fucking damned. I guess what Aki was saying about her was true after all.

Before I could get out a ‘You’re welcome’, Makima interrupted by getting off of the desk she was using as a seat, nonchalantly dismissing herself, “I have some things to attend to, so I’m sorry to say, but I’m taking my leave. I hope you find yourself comfortable with Denji, {Y/N}!”

About to pass me up, her intimidating yellow eyes locked onto mine and she leaned to whisper into my ear, “If you want to play with her so badly, why don’t you make her your new toy? You’re strong, right?” Then she walked off as if she didn’t suggest what she just did. My eyebrows and goosebumps raising at the comment. She was encouraging me to do it?

Chewing on my bottom lip, my breathing slowly got worse as I was left with horrible thoughts and a growing erection. {Y/N} not making it any better because she lingered. Don’t get me wrong, I was fine in hanging out with her. More than fine. But, not with all of this also in mind now.

“What’d she say?” She asked, fluttering those long eyelashes at me, and I didn’t know why but when I looked into her {E/C} eyes again— it was like millions of memories were yanked out of my brain and put in them like a projector. Causing me to take a step back and rub away whatever was happening in startled confusion. What the fuck was that?

I blinked away the rest I could, however, I remembered everything so that didn’t help; coming to a conclusion from the look she gave. My head wasn’t the one messing with me, it was her. Or whatever the hell that fucking power is. And I was not cool with that.

Avoiding eye contact by glaring at the floor, I grumbled, “Was that you?” I wasn’t going to hang around for any longer if she wanted to manipulate my mind, especially if it was concerning something like my past. I didn’t want to be reminded. I came here to escape.

A gasp left her like she was frightened before I saw her in my peripheral vision; raising a hand and putting it on her forehead. She took a moment to answer me in a tired voice, “I was just trying to find out more about you… I got too curious, I’m so sorry.”

Hearing her say that was reassuring and gave me the go to stare at her again, my tone dropping back to that same inviting one from earlier, “Oh, shit.. Well, yeah. I don’t have that great of a life so I wouldn’t pry too far.” I tried to shrug it off, rushing to a solution so it didn’t get awkward, “You want to go get some ice cream or something, gorgeous?” It was a last minute suggestion, but that could work.

The {H/C}-haired girl seemed to be near crying before she nodded slowly, a smile rising on her face as she unexpectedly got close to me and intertwined her fingers in mine. Pulling me off along with her while chiming, “Who doesn’t?! I’d love to!” Easier than I thought. But, I’m not complaining.

──⇌• Switch in P.O.V ; Third •⇋──

On the way to the ice-cream shop, Denji stumbled on a couple of rouge devils with {Y/N} in an alleyway and as fate has it with them, they ended up having to chase them down into a field. Faced with the ugly things combining into a whole bundle of disgusting flesh and faces.

She had solved what they were dealing with as soon as they began merging while he did not. Denji didn’t care for details, he wanted to go straight into shredding. He gripped onto his pull cord and tugged, the chainsaws ripping through his skull and arms. Making the curious girl stay behind and observe how he handled the monstrous creature.

With a rush of adrenaline, the now transformed Chainsaw Devil tore into its body, piece by piece. Blood and guts splattered everywhere onto the ground from the relentlessness he had. Getting onto {Y/N} because of how much had sprayed.

He finished when he wanted to. Raging on the thing until it was nothing but a pile of mush left to pitifully sit in the middle of the empty space it sought out for safety.

Then he retracted his chainsaws back into himself, his skin latching and coming together when he did. Molding back into his handsome, worn face. Like nothing happened. Leaving {Y/N} to blankly gaze at him, soaked in red, and drift down to witness the true wrath of Denji.

No doubt was she intimidated by the boy, seeing for herself what Makima had been commending about him. He was the real deal. A true Devil Hunter.

Wiping off the blood from around her mouth, she began to smile and clap with a giddy cheer, “That was impressive! You’re really good to be able to take out a Devil that easily. How long have you been in the game?”

He raised a brow at how she was phrasing their work, confused that she was asking but deciding to respond anyway, “I guess as soon as I could survive on my own, I’ve been hunting. It’s all I’ve known.” Saying it so casually out loud was weird for him. No one usually asks about this type of stuff. Other than when Makima does. But, here was another girl doing it.

{Y/N}’s face twisted into a look of wonder, twinges of sadness in it as she thought about a young boy having to deal with that kind of stress. It made him charming somehow. She felt the need to praise him for it, “The dedication you have to helping people is inspiring.. I hope to achieve the same goal as you, Denji.” A small appreciative smile was sent his way right after she finished.

Although, his attention was completely misplaced. Guess where; her breasts. He was zoned, an idea coming to him when hearing her instead. “My goal? You could help me achieve that, {Y/N},” the blonde beamed. His brown eyes finally getting off of her chest to address her politely.

She moved forward, innocently egging him on, “Oh, really? How?” The way she peered back at him while waiting, that sweet look never leaving her face once, it gave Denji the confidence he needed to elaborate, “Ever since I’ve been thrown into devil-hunting, I only wanted one thing out of it.”

Walking closer, he leaned to where he almost touched foreheads with her, murmuring the last sentence, “A pretty girl who’d let me fondle her body, whenever, wherever…” He felt guilty after saying it, but the eagerness was too much. There was no way he would pass this chance up.

Thinking to herself, she concluded what he was hinting to and thumbed the bottom of her shirt; lifting it over her head and throwing it to the side like it was something natural. He held his breath at the sudden action, the full view in front of him because she wasn’t wearing a bra. ‘This was quick..! Why is she undressing?!’ Panicked thoughts went rampant as he tried to process what to do, glued to admiring her front half while also confused about what her reasoning for this was.

The {E/C}-eyed girl told him it with the purest intention possible, “You seemed to be interested in my chest so I guessed that this is the part of me you wanted to touch? And I was uncomfortable by the bloody mess. But, sorry if I got it wrong! I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable!” Even though she had no clue on what she was truly doing, she still managed to get it dead on. Making Denji chuckle out of excitement.

His sharp teeth poked out in a snarky grin at {Y/N}, his hand reaching over to palm one of her breasts and squeeze. Most of it filling the cracks of his fingers and fitting perfectly, if not a little bigger. That grin of his widened like he was off of his rocker as he got greedy; grabbing both of them to push them together. They were so soft. So fuckable. He wanted to stick his dick in them so badly.

A whimper slipped past her lips and Denji went from eyeing her breasts to looking at her brushing her hair out of the way for him. Butterflies erupting in his stomach at how considerate she was despite him taking advantage of her obliviousness. All he could do was commend and thank her with a red blush across his cheeks, “Thank you… so much. Fuck, I can’t even believe that you’re real right now. Your boobs are so fucking huge..!”

She would’ve laughed at the comment if his touches weren’t affecting her like this, his fingertips brushing past her nipples to mess with them, the perverted bite to his lip drawing a bit of blood to dribble down his chin. The girl arched into the feeling and moaned softly, struggling to speak, “Hah.. Thanks.! W-Wow! Why does that mm-feel good?”

They were out in the open, but Denji wanted to go for the risk. He didn’t care if anyone came across the two of them fucking like animals, he just wanted to do it. And nothing was going to stop him the moment he could tell that she wanted to do it with him too.

He pushed on what she said, using it as bait, “You want me to make you feel better? I can teach you a couple more things… Something that’d make us feel incredible.” And as she was about to reply, he leveled with one of her breasts and gave a lick to the bud; a squeal leaving her instead.

Repeating himself, he mumbled against her nipple, her breath hitching at his sharp teeth grazing it slightly as he talked, “Keep getting yourself undressed, pretty baby… I want to have some fun with you.” He sounded desperate, {Y/N} falling for it and hooking her fingers on her skirt zipper, unzipping it and letting it fall to the ground.

Denji grunted and wrapped his entire mouth around the bud after that, sucking at it while unbuttoning his pants. Digging in his boxers to tug out his throbbing dick so it was no longer suffocated. He made a fist around his shaft and began jerking off, pre-cum forming around his tip the more he tightened on the veiniest part.

She peeked over the side of him to get a look at what he was doing, holding her legs together when she was beginning to feel something wet between them, entranced at his lower half. It looked satisfying to do and he had mentioned playing so it seemed normal to go for. But, she was in for a surprise because as she attempted to replace his hand, he jolted back and huffed, “Woah, woah… I don’t think you want to get that serious. Who knows what I might do to you if you do…”

Honestly, {Y/N} really loved the sound of everything he was talking about and she didn’t want this to end. She wanted it to go further. Her curiosity wasn’t something to tease, she will figure it out, one way or another. So, she swiftly rushed back in front of him and pressed up against him, resting her chin on his collarbone while she barely rested her fingers on the tip. Begging at him for compliance, “Please, sir… I do want to find out…”

He sucked in some air through his teeth and tensed, almost driven crazy from the pleasure of her contact with him there. It was a noticeable difference between her hand and his dick but he could definitely make it work. And after her asking like that, she was in for a treat.

The brown-eyed boy grabbed her wrist to position her fingers at a better angle before he guided it down his shaft, watching her unable to wrap her whole palm around from how thick he was. He groaned, his own sexual frustrations leaving from his mouth as she got to savor them now.

Eventually, {Y/N} caught onto him pushing her to go faster and sped up her movements as best as she could. Joining her other hand to clasp around his cock to stroke everything rather than a portion. Until he ended up impatient and lifted her up with his arms underneath hers, holding around her ass to move himself in the middle of her legs. Slowly sliding in the correct position; his dick melting in between her pussy and thighs.

Denji lowered her onto him now, grinding their pleasure out while they locked eyes with each other in a half-lidded daze. She moaned vicariously, stuttering some words here and then to emphasize what she was experiencing, “It’s making me feel so… weak! Nnghh-ah ah! Chainsaw.. boy.. wait! I feel so weird..!” His hips began to collide with hers as he increased in speed, closing his eyes to pretend he was fucking into her. He didn’t want to get too ahead of himself out in public though. He had to be reminded about the consequences they could face if they were caught.

She was ignored and sputtered nonsense once she got close, “God! I think… I have to go! I have to go! Stop! I don’t- mmppph.. wanna..! DENJI!” The blonde figured it was because she hadn’t cummed before and knowing that he was the one that was gifting her— her first orgasm— made him spiral in a violent fit of thrusting hard into the folds of her pussy, right against her puffy clit.

Whines yelped out of her as her juices poured all over his length, creating sharper wet sounds and more friction for him. His tip swollen by the time he was close to falling off of the edge of cloud nine with her. Once Denji could feel the rush of his cum trying to spill, he gave a final ram and angled it around her hole to allow it into {Y/N} a little. She trembled in his hold, watching him leave her legs, bruised and messy. Satisfaction written all on his face at what he got away with.

They didn’t even clean up the cum when they went back for the office, deciding to do it a couple of hours later despite both of them feeling the slick in their underwear. Instead, they kept glancing at each other, exchanging a knowing stare until someone interrupted it to talk to either one of them. That sexual tension never stopped fucking with Denji. And {Y/N} was simple-minded as always, in her own little world.

But, she didn’t bat an eye when the boy randomly slipped hands into her shirt one day to get a feel or let her know he was horny by pressing his boner against her ass. He would whisper dirty words to her throughout it, coaxing her into doing things, just for him, “I want to go back to messing with you, babydoll… Can we go inside one of those bathrooms? Need to relieve this.”

{Y/N} would go into the bathroom and he would strip her down like she was a doll, his pants to his knees, her chest resting on the sink and displaying her in front of the mirror. He took her virginity in them. Forcing his cock to slam into her walls, reaching for her guts, all to get lost in her warm pussy. Denji growled loudly, echoing in the tiny room they were locked in while he demanded, “Spread yourself for me. I want to see my dick plunging inside that cute body of yours..!”

Only able to comply, she used both of her hands to pull her ass apart, exposed completely for him to see as he got worse in his constant pounding. Making the poor {Y/N} drool while she twitched in ecstasy, her orgasm running through her for the second time when he wouldn’t quit.

His honey brown eyes seemed so sweet at first, but now they were glaring deep at her expressions, resting into a melted one the second he neared his end. Denji released every drop inside without hesitation, her moans rocking out of her because of him slowing down as he humped it into her.

Then he started over in the same rough pace from before and she endured it as much as she could, her eyebrows knitting up into an exasperated, sweaty look. He was like a dog mating when it came to sex; stamina, aggressive, and having a bunch of cum to dump. {Y/N} was holding onto the sides of the glass counter once he had cummed for a second time, burrowing his cock deep like it was a ritual by now.

And he repeated. Leaving the girl to barely understand what was happening to her from the overstimulation. Denji wasn’t stopping. Even as she screamed for him to, “Fuck! Please! Please, master, I can’t handle anymore!” The pet name he directed her to say a regular word for her at this point.

After his seed was spilling out of her on its own and creating a puddle on the floor, after Denji was dry-cumming and making her unravel onto him like she was throwing a fit off of drugs; that’s when he finally gave up and got off of her. Slipping his dick out and shuddering a couple of words laced with dopamine, “Not so bad for our first hook-up… I don’t know if I want to wait for the others.” Was he hinting at going for more rounds? ‘Dear god..’ was the last thing she could think before she dropped unconscious.

Lil Special Extra // Denji’s P.O.V

Weeks had passed by after me and {Y/N} became a ‘thing’. Hooking up led to a lot more and now she was basically at my apartment almost every day. Sure, Aki and Power were annoyed at her presence, not wanting to hear or see any of the exchanges we gave. But, a man’s gotta live and how can he not without slapping his girlfriend’s ass?

However, there was one downside to her staying over and that was her availability in walking in on me doing lots of inappropriate activities. Whether that was jerking off to her or to… porn.

She bursted into my room late at night after having woken up from a nap in the living room and I was right in the middle of rubbing one out to my favorite fantasy porno. Jumping out of my skin when I heard her shout, “Darling, you miss-! Oh…” The small ‘oh’ quieter than the rest.

My hand and dick glistened with the lube I had saved for times like this, a blush covering my face as I snapped the laptop shut. The sounds of sex disappearing with it.

Anxiety raged through me at how she was going to react, completely forgetting that she barely had a grip on anything sexual until she squeaked out, “What was that? Can I… see?” As soon as I heard that, I quickly dropped the embarrassment and those dirty thoughts snapped back into my usual perverted personality.

Shit, I almost didn’t remember who I was and who she was. Beckoning for her to come sit down on my lap once she closed the door.

{Y/N} straddled me and observed as I opened the screen back up to the lewd scene of a woman being bred just like she had been. Her eyes going wide and a blush crossing her cheeks at the similarity. That innocence of hers was going to be ruined real quick around me. And I loved ruining it. Sliding my fingers down in between her legs like usual so I could welcome her to another sexual addiction I’d use for my benefit.

#csm denji #csm smut #smut #smut prompts #csm x reader #csm denji x reader #denji x reader #denji x reader smut #denji x fem reader #denji x fem reader smut #this boy crazy with the fucking #kinda kin the dude #corruption kink

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eddiemunson-reader-shame · 16 days ago

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Be My Wife: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: A “friend” freaks out when you split a Coke with Eddie the Freak.

Warnings: references to A Clockwork Orange, bullying, STI/STD mention, backwash drinking

A/N: So… I know this isn’t a Christmas fic. But I wrote this because I had those times in my youth where someone spread horrid rumors about either me or my friends, and I had to make those split second decisions to determine my loyalty. I always try to be loyal as best I can.

Thank you to @writhingg for giving the green light on this fic. And big thanks to @rxqueenotd and @melodymunson as well. And big thanks to viewers like you. Thank you. ❤️

Resources: @strangergraphics-archive for the dividers.

Taglist: @ali-r3n @melodymunson @twihard28

“Hey droogie, can I have a sip of your Coke?”

You looked up from where you were perched on the pony wall by the Seven Eleven bike rack. You had been chatting with a classmate, Chessie Hagar, about purchasing a purse from her mother’s Avon Colorworks catalog. It was a new collection for the year 1977. Said eye catching magazine with its spread of rainbow themed products was currently held between the two of you, and the pages began to rattle as Chessie shook in fear upon hearing the deep voice.

A flutter-smack sounded from the girl dropping the catalog when Eddie The Freak approached. His stride was casual as one could be, whilst battling both midwestern humidity and pit sweat in a white hand-me-down Jimi Hendrix shirt and sleeveless denim vest. As one of the middle schoolers who had been blessed with a growth spurt, his lanky height, shredded second hand clothes, and shaved head often made those in your grade— and some of those above— piss their pants.

You alone did not fear him.

The Fates had elected to weave you both in a tangled web of coincidences: you had been his project partner in every shared class since you started at Hawkins Middle School together, and you just so happened to live in the same neighborhood on occasion. The distance from Al Munson’s janky two bedroom home to yours was but a hop skip and a jump. Eddie used to ding dong ditch your house when he was six, until one day your mother caught him by the ear and brought him in to mend his tattered jeans and offer up a hot meal.

To any other rando, he was an unstable pariah. But to you, he was just Eddie Munson— the cute boy next door who sometimes ate at your place. And you had become his droog after spending winter 1972 sneaking into the Hawk Theater, and making Stanley Kubrick films your new big boy personalities.

Without thinking, you handed the soft drink over. His fingers brushed against yours as he took the Coke out of your grip and went for a swig, with plush pink lips wrapping around the transparent jade glass of the lip and neck. His protruding Adam’s apple was bobbing with the rhythmic gulping, and you couldn’t stop staring.

“Thanks.” He belched out.

“You said a sip, not half the goddamn bottle!” You whined.

Eddie grinned sheepishly and backwashed a good mouthful. Giving a half assed apology and a promise to pay you back mumbled under his breath, he handed the bottle back.

“Still up for doing last minute project prep?” You asked, swirling the leftovers he’d saved for you.

“Nah, let’s take a break from the train wreck brothers. Catch you tomorrow, though?” He said, scratching a blackhead off his nose and snorting a bit, “I had an idea for the oral report that might earn us a little extra credit. Think you can mimic a British accent?”

“Eh. Can’t do an accent without sounding like fucking Alex DeLarge.” You groused.

“We can work on that. Leave your milk-plus at home, though. Don’t want me own droog reenacting some Roman ultra violence on me.”

“Just don’t go popping out from behind your curtains at me again, that’s a good way to get stabbed in the neck with my mom’s kitchen scissors.” You snorted.

“Ahhh, the droog’s no fun. I guess I can tone down the surprise pop ups, though. If you insist. Catch you later?” Eddie said, waving.

“Later. Peace out, man.”

Chessie let out a shaky, sobbing exhale when you made to drink the dregs of your soda, and you turned and raised an eyebrow.

“Whassamatter?” You asked.

“Are you nuts?! You just shared your drink with the freak!” She blurted out.

… since when the hell was sharing with Eddie a crime?

“Yeah, so? It’s hot out. He looked thirsty.” You said.

“Did you seriously forget everything we’ve heard about him?!” She whisper-screamed, “Don’t you care what everyone talks about?!”

You rolled your eyes. Everyone talked about Eddie. If you hadn’t heard at least one rumor from a faceless student whenever he walked by, you were either stupid or living under a rock. They said he was a bad boy— yes, even with a full vocabulary of slurs and insults available, they still called him a bad boy. Like if he was still in diapers drawing with crayon on the wall, and needed a spanking.

Depending on who you asked, Eddie either did or sold drugs, it was never clear which. Some of the other trailer park kids said he was a mean scrapper when he went to his uncle’s on alternate weeks. Women’s restroom lore stated that he carried a switchblade in the back pocket of his Wrangler jeans, and that he used it to torture animals for his Satanic rituals.

A million and one things were said about him on the daily, but you knew none of them were true in the slightest. None of the talk deterred you from spending time with him. Sometimes he came to your house, more often than not you went to his.

Every other day found the two of you parked in front of his mom’s turntable, jamming to Deep Purple and putting together an elaborate poster board with some spray painted fake leaves made into laurel crowns, along with a block of text about your chosen co-emperor of the early Roman Empire.

You had wanted to write about Caligula so you could use the word ‘orgy’ in the report without getting in trouble, but Eddie had insisted he had a better idea when he discovered a two years tumultuous ruling of brothers from 209 AD to 211 AD.

“As much as I love a good sex party on paper, you just know that’s what everyone else is gonna write about. Let’s write about this nut job Caracalla instead! Dude killed his brother in the arms of his mother, and struck his name from the record. That’s like, the most metal shit ever! Also, here’s a better word for you to learn: fratricide. Apparently there’s a whole list of technical terms for when you kill a family member.”

“… what’s the rumor mill gotta do with my Coke?” You deadpanned.

“If you drink after him, you’re gonna get mono like Cindy! You gotta throw it out!”

Cindy Bishop in your science class had told everyone that had functional ears— swearing up and down on her life— that Eddie Munson had kissed her and given her mononucleosis. A dreaded affliction whose nickname to you sounded like one of the variations of sound formats for any sort of audio.

“Mono…?”

“Yes! Or the syph!”

You knew Eddie had to have heard Chessie’s vitriol. Turning around, you could see him staring at the two of you from across the parking lot, one leg over his bike. There was a stinging look of betrayal on his face. Telltale signs of a wet cherry nose and shameful red cheeks gave away his mistrust; as if he was expecting you to do as your friend told, and throw the bottle he drank from in the trash.

His imaginary affliction was just that: imaginary. You knew that to be gospel.

The kiss with Cindy was real, unfortunately. It happened way before Cindy was kept home with mono, and you remembered the incident well. Eddie had come running to your house just to brag that he’d finally gotten his first kiss, and that pretty soon he’d be popping girl’s cherries left and right.

Just learning about the simple kiss had pissed you off, because the closest you’d ever gotten to kissing Eddie was sharing the same fork whenever you both roasted Vienna sausages on the gas burner in his kitchen. Eddie hadn’t been sick when Cindy stayed home, he came faithfully to school to trap you on the playground and speculate about the thousand and one hidden meanings behind the kiss.

With all the excitement, he never noticed the smallest details like you did. One of the guys in your PE class had been sent home with a rash and a high fever, and it was only a month after Cindy was rumored to have also kissed the collapsed boy that she got sick. You had always shared cups, utensils, and other things requiring mouth use with Eddie and had been fine. Yet Cindy and Tommy Hagan swapped spit once, and both were out of commission.

But no one would ever say anything about Tommy Hagan getting mono. They’d always redirect every disease outbreak to the poor loser who split time between Cherry Street and Forest Hills Trailer Park. The same poor loser who had the misfortune of wasting his first kiss with Cindy; a girl who frenched behind the portable classrooms with anything that had a pulse. People could be so blind and stupid, they failed to notice the sickness timelines were not matching up.

No one deserved their first anything to be with Cindy. Not with the way she stabbed people in the back.

You took a long, hard pause as you stared into Eddie’s wet brown eyes. He was asking you a silent question you already knew the answer to: were you a stinking traitorous droog, or a loyal one? Were you, his one friend in the entire world, going to stand against him?

Without saying a word, you looked at Chessie, then looked back again at Eddie.

In a world of traitors— where brothers stabbed brothers in the arms of their mothers, or where violent men disowned each other with drug laced milk bottles to the face, you would always pick instead to be Eddie Munson’s loyal droog.

You lathed at the lip of the bottle and stuck your tongue down the neck, and shotgunned all of Eddie’s backwash.

Chessie’s mouth dropped open as she began to gag, and Eddie opened his mouth in an obnoxious and breathless laugh as you chugged the entirety of his germs. The carbonation caught up to you, so you let a belch rip before turning back around to face him.

“I GOT YOUR MONO NOW, MUNSON!” You screamed out to him, “NOW YOU GOTTA MARRY ME!”

“IS THAT HOW IT WORKS, DROOGIE?” He shouted back, a shit eating grin stretched across his face, “YOU SHOULD HAVE LET ME KNOW BEFORE I TOOK A SWIG, I WOULD HAVE MADE SURE I GOT YOU A RING POP FIRST!”

“IT'S GODDAMN ROMAN CONFARREATIO LAWS, EDDIE! YOU GAVE ME MONO INSTEAD OF SPELT BREAD, NOW YOU GOTTA MARRY ME!” You joked.

You noticed from the big, smart ass grin that he was about to do something outrageous, and your heart began to sing. He immediately got to his knee on the asphalt, everyone in the Seven Eleven parking lot watching as he began to scream like an orator in the colosseum. He used your full government name and everything when he called out to the small parking lot audience.

“HEAR ME, CITIZENS OF HAWKINS! I AM BUT A VESSEL FOR THE GODS, A BEARER, A MESSENGER OF THAT MOST HOLY WORD FROM MOUNT OLYMPUS! I HAVE SHARED OF THE COOTIE WITH A WOMAN, AND THUS OUR MARRIAGE BETWEEN EMPEROR AND DROOG IS SOLEMNIZED-…!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, FREAK!” Someone called out, immediately flinching back when Eddie rounded on him.

“THE GODS. HAVE. SPOKEN!” Eddie screeched, a glob of spit flying out of his mouth and onto the hot asphalt.

He was wide eyed. Deranged. Eddie lifted up the hem of his denim vest and held it out and to the side, to look like wings unfurling, screaming to the heavens as you began howling with him.

“YEAH!” You screamed out, raising your bottle and shouting every bit of nonsense you could think of, “GOD SANCTIONED DROOG MARRIAGE CO-RULER ULTRA-VIOLENCE! MAZEL TOV!”

“THE IMPERIAL HUSBAND NOW DEMANDS TO KISS THE DROOG BRIDE!” Eddie screamed, “PLANT ONE ON ME, GODDESS DIVINE OF THE REPUBLIC OF HAWKINS!!”

You looked at Chessie, who looked as if she was going to throw up or scream. It wasn’t immediately clear which. Instead of ending the joke, you grinned. Shrugged. The glossy magazine paper pages of the forgotten Avon Colorworks catalog ripped under the tread of your shoes when— without warning— you took off towards Eddie, and planted a fat wet kiss on his mouth. He froze for a moment, but returned the kiss with fervor, making an obnoxious hum and wet smack when you pulled away.

“Yum.” You gushed, licking your lips and changing your cadence to the unhinged Kubrick Cockney, “Them’s tasty cooties, they are, brother sir!”

“Yeah? Them false cytomegalovirus germs are what taste good to ya, droog?” He laughed, wrapping his arms around you and putting on his own terrible accent.

“That they are, sir, that’s what gives all me food and drink that plus flavor.” You grinned.

The two of you cackled, thoroughly enjoying throwing out random quotes and various insanities that to the normal person would put them off of your insanity and edge-lord humor. Chessie had long since taken off for the gated community of Loch Nora on her bike, but you didn’t care. You could live without a selection of eyeshadows, a rainbow tote purse, and all of your false friends if the choice came down to choosing them, or Eddie.

“Wanna go into the gas station and split another bottle of mono before we blow this joint?” You asked.

His grin could have rivaled that of Malcolm McDowell.

“Now, how can I say no to my new wife?” He grinned, holding out his arm for you to take, “But I am a man of my word, so you’re getting a new Coke, plus that Ring Pop so’s we can make this thing official.”

“Spare no expense, huh?” You grinned, and he pulled you in closer. Both of your hips knocking together.

“Hey… Only the best and finest gems and refreshments for Empress Droog the First of Hawkins, Indiana.” Eddie said with a confident smile.

You smiled at him, nudging one another with your bodies all the way into the gas station, until he pulled you in for another sloppy kiss in the middle of the snack aisle.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson fandom #joseph quinn #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson fanfic #fluff #friends to lovers #Spotify

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twistedpink · 16 days ago

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Lilia becoming addicted to ignihyde reader after they gave him a small pep talk aka brutally and insightfully breaking down his character when he was reminiscing about the past and eventually sleeping together but reader didn’t think it meant anything and avoids him

ugh I need to write for peepaw more!!

Addicted!Lilia’s a monster of your creation,, Cater said it’d fun coaching the pop music club for a bit (it helped that he threw down some cash), so you got off to work as a temp manager!

Addicted!Lilia presents himself as being a helpful little scamp to gain your trust- totally sucking up, but why?? Lilia’s very aware of himself (even when he’s in denial) and you dissecting all his flaws to “level up the band” is something he hasn’t heard in years. He needs to figure you out..

Addicted!Lilia that fancies you his little fan, because when you’re done being a task rabbit how else is he supposed to woo you? He knows it won’t be enough just to spook you in the hallways. It’s already set in his head- he’s decided to win you over before your work period is over! He loves a challenge :)

Addicted!Lilia hardly has to try for you to become his only favourite groupie.. poor tech nerd’s putty in his hands! You only resisted him on account of “you’re my junior, and you look like a freshman,, wouldn’t that make me a little pervy?” But you don’t know the half of it, hon.

Lilia’s addiction only gets worse from here- it seems like the youth doesn’t value lovemaking as they used to :( he’s confident it won’t be too hard to win you back, all he needs to do is break into ignyhide for a romantic evening! He’s done worse for love <3

#twst yuu #twst x reader #yuu twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twst wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #lilia vanrouge #lilia x reader #lilia twst #twst pop music club #lilia vanrouge x reader

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loveisanimaginarydagger3000 · 1 year ago

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The Devil And An Angel

Wanda X Natasha X Reader 18+

Summary: During one of Tony's parties, both of your girlfriends tease you and try to tempt you into giving into your sinful desires.

Warnings/Tags: Smut 18+ MDNI, Threesome, Strap-ons, Fingering, Oral sex, Double Penetration, Dirty talk, Praise, Squirting, Dom Natasha/Switch Wanda/Switch Reader, Brief Aftercare.

General Masterlist

“Are you really not going to tell me?” you complain, looking between both your girlfriends with a small pout.

“You’ll find out soon enough Kotenok,” Natasha coos, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. You smiled at the action before remembering how you were supposed to be acting grumpy.

“But why can’t I know now?” they laugh at how eager you are to find out what they are going to wear. Tony had decided to throw a party tonight, every couple/relationship must dress up as something together to change it up a bit and have some fun. The problem was, your two girlfriends were reluctant to tell you what they were dressing up as and assured you that anything you wore would be fine.

“Because it’s a surprise,” Wanda says while wrapping her arms around your middle and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Now go and get ready and we’ll meet you at the party.” Grumbling, you left to go and get ready, imagining what they could have installed for you.

When you arrived at the party you had to give Tony his dues, the party looked amazing and it was a brilliant idea to have people dress up. You looked around trying to figure out what people were meant to be, smiling at how much effort everyone had put in. Steve and Bucky had dressed up as people from the 1940s, their old fashioned clothing probably from their youth. Peter and MJ were dressed as mad scientists, Peter fluffing his hair up to look crazy and constantly checking to see if it was alright, much to MJ’s amusement. Clint looked so done with the whole party despite it just starting, dressed up in a Santa costume that was from when he pretended to be the jolly man at Christmas for his children. Laura wore an elf hat and a simple dress that suited her, but she was too busy trying not to laugh at her husband. Tony and Pepper just looked incredible, their theme most likely meant to scream money and wealth.

Suddenly, you felt two people lean on your shoulders, their different perfumes invading your senses as you turned to look at them. On your left was Natasha who was dressed in a tight red dress that left little to the imagination, devil horns sticking out of her fiery red hair, black, smokey eyeshadow making her eyes pop and a sinister smirk on her face. Wanda was on your right, dressed in a white, flowy dress with a gold halo in her hair, a soft look on her face compared to Natasha. You chuckled at them, dressed as a Devil and an Angel on each of your shoulders.

“You both look beautiful,” the compliment causes them both to smile at you, the two of them having a turn to compliment your choice of clothing as well. You leaned in to give Wanda a kiss, innocent and sweet, and then turned to Natasha who had no shame in sliding her tongue into your mouth, a small moan escaping you at the action.

“Don’t be tempted by her,” Wanda whispered in your ear, her voice soft while her arm interlocked with yours. “Or there will be no reward later.” You stifled the noise that wanted to come out and just watched as Natasha winked at you before walking off.

Wanda and yourself followed behind and you had to try your hardest to not drift your gaze lower on Natasha’s back. The three of you ended up on a sofa talking with Steve and Bucky, them rambling on about a story from their past while you three nodded along. You were paying attention until Natasha moved closer, her mouth on your ear as her breath tickled the side of your face.

“Do you know how hard I want to fuck you right now?” she purred quietly, “Have you trembling with pleasure as I thrust my fingers deep inside you? Or even better, my cock.” You groan at her words, low enough that no one other than Natasha could hear, making her smirk in victory as she works you up. Her hand grips your thigh, squeezing the skin and moving up higher teasingly before drifting down to rest on your knee. “I could have you coming in my mouth right now in that bathroom,” her gaze travels to the ladies room on the other side of the room, your eyes following as they darken with lust. “Come on, let's have some fun,” she bites down on your ear while no one looks before pulling away and giving you a predatory look that sends another wave of arousal through you, your panties definitely soaked as you clench your thighs together.

After a few moments, Natasha excuses herself to the toilets, her eyes staying trained on you as she gets up and starts to walk away. You remember Wanda’s earlier words and reluctantly stay still in your seat. You know this is a test, Natasha staying true to her outfit and trying to get you to sin with her, give into her temptation and end up with a punishment equivalent to hell. That however doesn’t make it any easier as you suffer with the results of her dirty words and teasing.

You don’t realise that Steve and Bucky had left, leaving you alone with Wanda as Natasha waits out in the bathroom to see if you crack. Her touches are far more innocent that Natasha’s, her hands interlocking with yours, her thumb running over the back of your hand.

“You’re being such a good girl,” she whispers, the praise making you whine slightly. “I bet you’re so wet for us both right now,” your eyes widen at her words, not expecting her to be in on the teasing.

“I thought angels were supposed to be innocent and pure,” you say, hoping she’d stop the torment. She just lets out a low chuckle and smiles at you, making you nervous for what else was to come.

“The devil was an angel once,” she comments, her voice raspy and sultry, “Who says we can’t be tempted as well.” Her hand goes to your thigh, scratching through your clothing and even going as far as your inner thigh near your core to draw invisible patterns. Your breathing hitches and you bite your lip to stop yourself from saying anything.

Soon Natasha returns, having given up waiting for you, and takes her seat to your left again. She notices the prominent blush on your cheeks and how your hand is gripping the cushion of the sofa, knuckles almost turning white.

“So Y/n,” Natasha starts, drawing your attention away from Wanda’s hand on your leg, “Are you enjoying the party?” you go to answer her question but your breathing stops when your thoughts change.

You’re tied to the bed while Natasha roughly kisses your lips, pulling out moan after moan as her tongue explores the roof of your mouth. Her hands grope at your chest, pinching and pulling at your nipples causing sighs to leave your lips. Wanda was in between your thighs, looking up at you with an innocent look, and licked a stripe up your core, her tongue gathering the wetness that was dripping out of you.

“It’s rude to ignore people,” the spy moves closer to you, her chest pressed up against your shoulder as she talks into your ear. “I’ll ask you one more time,” You look over to Wanda who has a sly grin on her face before Natasha grabs your attention again by sucking on your neck, “Are you enjoying the party?”

“Yes,” is all you could manage out in a breathless whisper, mind clouded with arousal and desire as both women relentlessly tease you.

“Are you sure?” Wanda whispers in your other ear, the hand that was teasing your inner thighs moving to drag her fingers over your clothed pussy under your dress, the fabric soaked with your arousal. “Because I'm sure there are more exciting things we could be doing,” you stifle a moan when she starts to circle your clit through your panties and move your hand to sit on top of hers.

“I just want to be good,” your whine has them both grinning, “I’ll do anything you want me to, just please let me be good for you.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, Natasha drags you away towards the elevator to get to your shared apartment, Wanda quickly on your tail.

Once you reach the bedroom, Natasha immediately straddles you on the bed, her mouth descending onto yours as she roughly kisses you and slips her tongue into your mouth. The whole thing is hot, her hands tugging your hair to pull moans out of you, her tongue tracing the roof of your mouth while her hips grind down harshly onto yours as she uses you for her own pleasure for the moment. Instinctively, your hands go to her waist, guiding her movements as she ruts against you.

“Fuck,” she rasps out as you both pull away breathless, Wanda unzipping the spy’s dress as she climbs off your lap and passionately kisses the witch. You watch in awe as their tongues fight for dominance, hands roaming freely across each other's body as they undress each other. You can’t move, frozen on the spot as bare skin is exposed to you, Natasha’s red dress dropping to the floor while Wanda’s is pulled over her head and discarded carelessly somewhere. They wear lingerie matching their outfits, Natasha wearing a black and red lace set while Wanda has a gold and white one on.

“Enjoying the show?” Wanda teases, swaying her hips as they both crawl onto the bed to join you. Her lips crash to yours, nothing innocent about her now as her hands rid you of your clothes. Natasha is now behind you, her chest pressing into your back while she bites at your neck, littering you with purple and red marks and sighing wantonly against your ear to make you shudder. Wanda’s hands cup your breasts unceremoniously as you revel in the pleasure, her running her fingers over your hardened nipples and tugging playfully. You lean your head back onto Natasha who moves to nibble on your ear, her hand coming up to rest on your throat, a pitiful moan escaping you.

“Don’t worry Kotenok,” She purrs, “You’ll get what you want soon.” You can feel her smirking into your skin as your hips buck at the contact of her knee slotting between your legs. “But first Wanda has a question, Don’t you Wands?” Her green eyes snap over to the witch who pulls back from the sloppy kiss with you, her cheeks flushed and eyes darkening.

“How do you feel about you and Nat fucking me at the same time?” she whispers against your lips and your eyes widen at the question.

“Fuck that would be hot,” you sigh out, imagining Wanda in between you and the spy as you pound into her from both sides. “Are you sure you want that?” She bites her lip at you sultrily and nods her head before moving forwards to press her lips back to yours.

“On your back baby,” she husks out between kisses and you move away from them both to lay on your back near the top of the bed. Wanda kisses down your body, licking over the marks Natasha made soothingly before ghosting her hot breath over your nipples and then kissing your inner thighs that were slick with your desire for them. “I’m going to give you your reward for being so good for us,” Her breath fans over your core, your hips bucking at the feeling which causes her to place a strong hand on your hip to keep you still. She licks through your folds, her tongue swirling around your clit while her free hand moves to be near your entrance. Her fingers gather your wetness before she thrusts two fingers straight into you, your back arching off the bed as you let out a guttural moan. Her mouth sucks at your clit while she pumps her fingers into you, your hands fisting in her hair as she eats you out

Moans pour out of your mouth when she curls her fingers and you almost scream when you feel her moan into you loudly. Your eyes wander away from the brunette between your thighs and to the redhead behind her. You hear a click of a bottle and assume she’s used some lube to ease one of her fingers into Wanda’s tight hole and let her get used to the feeling and stretch. Wanda’s face moves to kiss at your thigh for a moment, trying to get used to the feeling of something in her ass before continuing to reward you. You softly stroke her hair and let her take her time and watch as Natasha moves to have Wanda sit on her face, her finger slowly stretching her tight hole out.

The room then fills with your moans and Wanda’s muffled ones as Natasha brings her close to coming and manages to work her up to having three fingers pumping in and out of her ass. Your legs tighten around Wanda’s face as you come with a scream, body spasming with pleasure as you ride out your high grinding against the witches mouth. She follows soon after, clenching around Natasha’s fingers and tongue as she screams into you, biting down on your inner thigh to muffle the scream. The feeling was painful but also pleasurable and you’re certain you're going to have a dark mark there later on.

Natasha moves from under her, not wanting to overstimulate her, and carefully pulls her fingers out. You pull Wanda up your body, peppering kisses over her face as she tries to steady her breathing.

“You did so well for us,” you praise, still breathless from your own mind blowing orgasm as you talk to her. She hums in response and slowly kisses you, the taste of yourself on her tongue making you moan into her mouth. “Are you still up for us both?” you whisper against her lips, your hands stroking her back as she presses her body weight onto you.

“Yeah,” she murmurs back and you see Natasha move to get the strap ons before lubing them both up so it doesn't hurt her.

“Remember your safewords?” Natasha asks while Wanda gets off you so you can put the harness on.

“Green for ok, Yellow for slow down and Red for Stop,” Natasha smiles at Wanda softly then pecks her lips and helps guide her to hover above your plastic cock. Your hands move the tip of the toy to rub against her clit teasing before letting her sink down onto it. She moans lewdly as her hips meet yours and slowly starts to rock back and forth. She braces her arms next to your head and moans into a kiss as you thrust up into her gently, her hips starting a rhythm with yours.

Natasha soon has her harness on and moves to kneel behind Wanda while her hands slow her movements down. You whisper comforting words to the brunette, checking if she’s still ok by asking her for a colour, as Natasha slowly pushes the head of the toy into her ass, a loud gasp leaving the witch as she screws her eyes shut. You’re both patient as you let Wanda adjust to the toy, Natasha soon having the whole toy inside her and letting the pain fade to pleasure.

Experimentally, Wanda moves forwards slightly then pushes back, a low groan escaping her as she enjoys the feeling of Natasha and yourself deep inside her. Natasha starts a gentle pace of thrusting in and out of her while you swallow her moans with your mouth and thrust your hips up into her. Soon Wanda starts to move in time with you both, as soon as you pull out, Natasha pushes in and vice versa and her moans become louder.

“Fuck,” she moves to lean backwards against Natasha, who wraps a firm hand around her middle to keep her upright, while your hand moves to circle her clit. “Harder,” She sighs out, the two of you listening and increasing the force at which you pump your hips into her. “Faster,” the sound of skin slapping echoes around the room as you pound into her from underneath and Natasha snaps her hips against her. Wanda’s breasts bounce with each thrust and her legs start to shake as she nears her orgasm. “Please, I’m so close, don't stop,” begs tumble out her mouth as her hips move frantically between the two of you.

With a loud scream, liquid gushes out of her around your cock as she comes, her hips stuttering as her hands grip behind her onto Natasha to stop her body from collapsing forwards. You both slow down your thrusts as she rides out her high, her legs spasming around you while her hands fall off the spy to rest on your chest while she pants for breath. Natasha kisses along her neck and back while she calms down and when you see her wince at the feeling of being so full, you motion for Natasha to slowly pull out. She whines at the motion and soon moves off your lap to lay on the bed next to you.

You quickly discard the harness while Natasha moves to the bathroom to start a bath for you three and pull the witch close to you to murmur praise to her. Her body naturally moves towards you, her face tucked into your neck as she tries to fall asleep, her body exhausted from coming so hard. When Natasha returns, you carry her to the bath and gently lower her in and climb in behind her so she can lean back into your embrace. Natasha also climbs in, helping clean Wanda off and start her aftercare before quickly washing herself from any sweat.

“Are you ready for bed milaya?” Natasha murmurs into the witch’s hair after placing a soft kiss. She nodded back sleepily and the spy helped her dry off before taking her to bed. You quickly drain the tub and dry off yourself before joining them in bed. Wanda curls her body into Natasha but when she feels your presence next to her, she moves her hand back in search of yours and she places it around her middle. You smile at her drowsy actions and kiss them both goodnight before drifting off to sleep.

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crushpunky · 2 months ago

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rafe surprises kook!reader with a new “friend”

masterlist | kook!reader masterlist

this one is sort of long, so enjoy <3

Beach days were a tradition for the youths of Kildare and y/n and the boys were no exception, often spending their days off lounging in the sand, soaking up the sun, and splashing in the ocean. So, when Kelce suggested they meet up in their “spot”, the y/n was ecstatic. Sure, Topper would probably bring Ruthie, which would undoubtedly put a damper on a bit of the fun, but they could still manage.

“You got everything?” Kelce asked, his hands full with beach chairs and the umbrella. Y/n slammed the door to Kelce’s car, her own arms full with snacks, towels, and sunscreen. Kelce and y/n, ever the time sensitive people, had gotten to the beach first, Topper and Rafe texting they were stopping to pick up some drinks and ice.

“Yep, all good, Kelc.” Y/n grinned as the two of them made their way across the sandy terrain before beginning to set up camp in the usual spot. Despite the beautifully sunny day, the beach was nearly empty, littered only with a few other locals who knew about the spot. As y/n Kelce finished setting up the umbrella, y/n spotted Rafe’s Jeep parking next to Kelce’s car. Shielding her eyes from the sun, y/n waved to them as they got out of the car: Topper, Ruthie, and Rafe… and Sofia?

“Howdy, y’all!” Topper said cheerfully, Ruthie and him lugging a cooler between them. Rafe and Sofia trailed behind them carrying beach chairs. Y/n swallowed harshly, flashing a smile once again before returning to setting up her beach towel. She didn’t have any issue with Sofia, she was a whole lot nicer than any of the other girls Rafe had hooked up with over the years, but then again, none of those girls had ever really talked to or even acknowledged her…

“‘Howdy’?” Kelce teased as Topper and Ruthie sat the cooler down, Sofia and Rafe dropping the chairs behind them.

“Exactly.” Ruthie scoffed. “He sounds like a fucking pogue.”

Y/n’s eyes widened, her gaze shifting to Sofia as she looked down at her feet quietly.

“No, I think he’s just been spending too much time with you. Starting to lose his cool factor.” Y/n said, a sarcastic smile on her lips, causing Sofia to let out a muffled giggle. Ruthie scowled before plopping down in one of the beach chairs.

“Sof, you want something to drink?” Kelce asked as he dug into the cooler.

“Uh, sure. Do you have any pineapple High Noons?” Sofia said with a gentle smile.

“Yeah, you’ll just have to fight y/n for it. There’s only one left and that’s her favorite.” Kelce laughed, his gaze jumping between the two girls. Y/n looked over at Sofia, who was looking at Rafe nervously. Rafe glanced over at y/n, his mouth open as if he was about to say something.

“She can have it. I’ll have… something else.” Y/n nodded, digging into the cooler before offering the last pineapple drink out to Sofia. She took it with a grin, settling into one of the beach chairs. Rafe walked over to the cooler, grabbing a beer and popping it open.

“You didn’t tell us you were bringing a friend.” Y/n said, grabbing a beer and attempting to pry the cap off. Rafe watched, a smirk spreading across his lips as she struggled.

“Thought you’d like that I have friends other than you three dumbasses.” Rafe said, grabbing the beer from y/n. He lifted the hem of his shirt, a sliver of tanned skin peaking out as he popped the lid open before handing it back to her.

“I forgot I’m talking with Mr Rafe Cameron, King of Kildare, friend of all.” Y/n rolled her eyes playfully before sitting down on her towel. She shrugged off her coverup, adjusting the straps of her swimsuit before settling down with her book.

“Rafe, could you get my back?” Sofia asked, offering a tube of sunscreen out to Rafe. Y/n’s eyes danced up from her book as Rafe nodded, taking the sunscreen. She watched as he rubbed it along Sofia’s shoulders, his hands moving skillfully across her flawless, tanned skin. Y/n could feel her cheeks warming as his fingertips moved along Sofia’s toned torso before finally finishing on the small of her back.

“Girl, you need some?” Rafe asked, tearing y/n’s gaze away from the way his hands moved. Y/n blinked harshly, noticing as Sofia turned around, her eyes darting between her and Rafe, her brows furrowed.

“Um… I’m fine.” Y/n said shortly. Rafe shrugged before pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it down into the sand. Y/n’s eyes quickly feel back to her book, feeling her heart skip a beat at his muscled body. Y/n was very much aware of the effect Rafe had on women… however, that didn’t mean she herself was immune to it, of course. Doing her best to rid her mind of Rafe and Sofia, y/n sank further into the sand and took a sip of beer, trying to distract herself with the words on the pages in front of her.

It had been hours of y/n trying (and failing) to get through her book, but she kept finding her eyes floating up to look at Rafe and Sofia. The two of them chatted lightly, their beach chairs resting closely to each other as Sofia smiled up at Rafe. He grinned back at her, biting his lip in a way that made an odd feeling rise in y/n’s chest… what was it? Annoyance? No, Sofia was a sweet girl and Rafe was her best friend. Anger? No, neither of them had done anything. Jealousy? Shit. She took another sip of another disgusting beer, the buzz of the alcohol helping to numb her head, but not to stop the churning in her stomach.

“Hey, you guys want to get in the water?” Topper asked, Ruthie hanging off his arm. Rafe and Sofia glanced between each other before getting up out of their chairs.

“I’ll get out there in a minute. You guys go ahead.” Y/n said, swallowing harshly as she squinted up at her friends. Kelce quirked an eyebrow, remaining in his chair.

“Suit yourself, party pooper.” Ruthie sang, flashing a fake smile before pulling Topper out towards the water.

“I’m going to drown her.” Rafe looked down at y/n, his eyes wide. Sofia giggled, elbowing Rafe lightly, which caused a grin to spread across her face.

“You can do it, boy. Have fun.” Y/n hummed causing Rafe to groan. With an exaggerated sigh, he and Sofia made their way out towards the water with Topper and Ruthie. Y/n watched as the two of them waded deeper into the water, Sofia’s hand grasping onto Rafe’s bicep as the waves crashed around them. She felt her heart clench, watching as he lifted her into his arms, causing Sofia to squeal before he tossed her into the water. Once she resurfaced, she splashed water at Rafe, the two of them smiling wildly under the sun.

“You good?” Kelce said, forcing y/n’s gaze away from the way Rafe and Sofia laughed in the water. As she looked over at Kelce, she felt the familiar prickle of tears in her eyes. Why was this hurting so much? Rafe was happy, the thing she had hoped for for so long after all the shit he had been through. Yet, here she was, crying like an idiot.

“I’m just not feeling well… I think I should go home.” Y/n whispered, her lip trembling slightly as she closed her book.

“Um, do you want me to drive you?” Kelce asked, his gaze darting out towards the water.

“Yeah… thanks.” Y/n said quietly, swallowing back the bile that rose in her throat. Kelce nodded, getting out of his chair and shuffling through the beach bag for his keys. Y/n followed suit, shrugging on her coverup and beginning to roll up her beach towel.

“Hey, hey, where are you going?” Y/n turned to see Rafe wading out of the water, his wet hair plastered to his forehead.

“Y/n said she wasn’t feeling well. I’m gonna run her home, but I’ll be right back. I’ve got a few more hours left in me.” Kelce said simply. Rafe’s head whipped over to look at y/n, his brows furrowed.

“I’ll run her home. I think I’m done for the day.” Rafe said, his gaze suspicious as he grabbed his towel from the chair.

“No, it’s fine, Kelce said he’d take me—” Y/n started, pulling her beach bag onto her shoulder.

“I’m taking you home, y/n. It’s fine. I was ready to leave anyway. This sun is kicking my ass.” Rafe said, folding up one of the beach chairs and slinging it onto his arm.

“What about Sofia?” Y/n gestured out towards the water where Sofia stood talking to Topper and Ruthie, her body awkward as she stood opposite the couple.

“Kelce will hang take care of her, right Kelc?” Rafe cocked his head towards the water. Kelce’s eyes widened before a smirk danced across his lips. Without another word, he tore off towards the water (and towards Sofia) at a near sprint.

“Seriously, Rafe?” Y/n scoffed, putting her hands on her hips as she stared up at Rafe as he began to make his way towards the car.

“What?” Rafe turned back to her with a shrug before continuing towards his Jeep. Y/n jogged behind him, her feet trudging through the sand to keep up with his long strides.

“You’re seriously just going to abandon your girlfriend here with—”

“Woah, woah, woah. My ‘girlfriend’?” Rafe said with a small chuckle as they neared the car. Y/n knit her brow as Rafe opened the back of his Jeep, slinging the beach chairs into the back with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“I mean… you invited her here. You’ve never brought any of your other hookups to something like this…” Y/n said, eyeing Rafe suspiciously as he took the beach bag from her and sat it in the car.

“I didn’t invite her to anything,” Rafe chuckled. “We ran into her at the gas station when we went to get the drinks and Topper, in all his extroverted glory, invited her… and she’s definitely not my girlfriend. I haven’t even talked to her in months.”

Y/n blinked harshly, her mouth falling slightly agape at Rafe’s reveal. Rafe smirked as he closed the back of his Jeep.

“Why, did you think we had something going on?” Rafe teased, elbowing y/n lightly. Y/n groaned, rolling her eyes as she rounded the Jeep. Rafe followed her, opening the passenger door with a smirk as y/n climbed in.

“You guys were being all couple-y, with the sunscreen and playing in the water… I just thought that maybe there was something going on.” Y/n shrugged as Rafe climbed into the driver’s seat.

“I didn’t do anything with her I wouldn’t have done with you.” Rafe peered at y/n from the corner of his eyes as he put the key in the ignition. Y/n furrowed her eyes for a moment before really thinking about what he said. The touching, the smiling, the teasing… all things, and more, he had done with her a million times before. Hell, he had even offered to put sunscreen on her, and she had said no.

Y/n groaned, allowing her head to fall back onto the headrest in embarrassment. Embarrassment because of the jealousy that she had allowed to creep up on her until she had freaked out, letting it consume her to the point of tears and nausea.

“Aww, someone was jealous.” Rafe teased. Y/n slapped his arm lightly, causing him to let out an exaggerated gasp as they pulled away from the beach.

“Shut up.” Y/n shook her head, a grin spreading across her lips.

“Don’t you worry. You’ll always be my favorite girl.” Rafe whispered, grabbing y/n’s hand and squeezing it lightly, his gaze focused on the road in front of them. Y/n felt her cheeks heat up at the gesture, the words causing her heart to flutter.

“Do you think we could get milkshakes?” Y/n asked, blinking up at Rafe.

“I thought you didn’t feel well.” Rafe scowled.

“Nothing milkshakes couldn’t fix.” Y/n grinned. Rafe rolled his eyes, pulling a u-turn and heading towards y/n’s favorite ice cream shop. Sure, it was the complete opposite direction of either her or his own homes, but there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for his favorite girl.

#obx #obx au #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x kook!reader #kook!reader

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absolutebl · 1 month ago

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GMMTV 2025 Line Up - My Totally Biased and Wildly Flawed Feels

This is the point where I remind you that GMMTV announced 16 BLs for 2024 and didn't actually release 4 of them in 2024: My Golden Blood, Ossan‘s Love, Sweet Tooth Good Dentist, and The Ex-Morning.

So despite the fact that these are from GMMTV 2025 line up, some of them will not happen until 2026, and some could get dropped entirely or have cast changes.

I'm not including the GLs, grab bags, or possible bromances. Confirmed full-tilt gay af only.

In order of ones I'm most excited about.

Dare You to Death

trailer

JoongDunk as police investigators in a mystery suspense thriller. Yes, I'm in. This is it. This it the one I wanted to instantly watch. Even though their's 20 BLs airing right now.

This is the only trailer I immediately rewatched.

Boys in Love

trailer

Our only true high school BL from GMMTV and it's fresh faces for the youths and old favs for the teachers. It's milk teeth Make it Right and that is perfectly fine with me! I like lotte milk. Also DIMPLES! Yay! I suspect they're using this one to test some new pairs for future seasons. Like a Project 101 Thai BL. (Honestly I just invented an amazing reality TV for you GMMTV, you're welcome.)

Like My School President was in 2023, this could be a major 2025 sleeper hit for me.

Memoir of Rati

trailer

Sing the praise song with me BLabies! GreatInn in a HISTORICAL with a class divide and everyone's favourite side couple! Be still my heart! I'm beyond pleased. (Also I got my boat in a lotus pond at last.) My only concern is this could end sad, it's in the title after all.

This is the only trailer that gave me chills.

My Magic Prophecy

trailer

Paranormal mystery with a fortune teller and a doctor. I'm in. I hope the script doesn't fail JimmySea again, they are such a great pair. I'm intrigued by this one but it felt the most formless of all the trailers, so I'm thinking we could see some significant tweaks.

Me and Thee

trailer

A photographer gets involved with the mafia? OMG is this a Thai dupe for Target the Finder? Only mixed with Cyrano? WILD. I mean to say, this one is wild WILD! Plus Est (my love) back in suits and ear dongles I see. Also GMMTV never gonna let us forget they bagged two of BL's best bods with PP, thanks all for the visuals.

Of course this is for me. I'm the shallowest, remember? Plus I love a BL that's just a little bit...... well...... stupid.

A Dog and A Plane

trailer

A prissy gay flight attendant in a push-pull relationship with an EMT dude-bro. Characters are a bit throwback to PeteKao (no bad thing) not to mention the looming shadow of What the Duck? (bad thing). But the side couple is the always appealing MarcPoon.

Okay GMMTV, surprise me, I'm game. And you know TayNew are my OG GMMTV pair du jour.

Cat for Cash

trailer

Finally something fluffy with a pair I like. Looks cute. I like cute. Yay for me! Adorable gay boys and cats.

This one is basically made to be a tumblr comfort meme meets thirst trap. I see what you're doing GMMTV and I applaud you. Carry on.

That Summer

trailer

The only side pair to seriously level up. Okay so amnesia is my least favourite trope, and I tend to not be wild about secret identity either, but I like both pairs in this one, so I'll watch.

My Romance Scammer

trailer

New couple! My boys Ohm and Fluke (no, not that Fluke, the one from My Ride). Honestly, Fluke has popped up as a side in a couple GMMTV shows I was wondering who they'd BL him with.

This could win. Prettiest human on earth paired with the world's most potent single dimple. Will I survive? I honestly don't know, because Ohm historically doesn't have much chemistry with anyone but the original Fluke so... Still I l do love JuniorMark and this as a really unique premise (gay Heartbreakers), so I'm game.

Head 2 Head

trailer

The Boo kids are back. I don't love this pair (I find their chemistry and acting awkward) or the main trope (E2L) but I do like the new sides and their trope (2nd chance is a fav of mine). So this one will depend on whether those are full side dishes or just crumbs.

Ticket To Heaven

trailer

GMMTV is doing Boy Foretold by Stars concept? Interesting, did not have religious boundary pushing and bildungsroman down on he Thai BL bingo card.

This isn't my thing but I think G4 are actually going to be amazing in it and I certainly look forward to them pushing their acting chops. Not to mention the discomfort something like this can cause in general/global viewership. I like it when BL makes people (who aren't me) uncomfortable.

Burnout Syndrome

trailer

GMMTV doing edgy is never a good thing IMHO, and in this one they're handling sex work. *shakes head* However, Not Me is the noted exception and this is that same pair with the same director. So I'm curious if not wild about the content.

That said, I'm delighted to see Gun with someone else (Dew is a stunning choice, thank you Casting) even if only for a love triangle moment. It's been a WHILE.

Melody of Secrets

trailer

Not wild about ForceBook, do like a mystery, don't like horror or psychological thrillers... not sure on this one.

I like BL pushing into new territory, even if it's not my territory, but this is defiantly not made for me, that's for damn sure.

And that's the end of my list.

"But wait," you cry. "P'ABL you're still missing some."

How Dare

Only Friends Dream On

trailer

Yeah, no fuckoff. I will not be watching this. I already marked it pink on the Spreadsheet of Doom. (Pink means CNF or an automatic no watch for me.)

But dude was it nice to see all those pairs busted. That's always a good time for me. Anyway, all you so-n-sos who gave the first one your eyeballs are to blame for this. Watch it n weep. Without me.

(Side note: I love it when a title reviews itself, Only Friends: Dream On, indeed. It's like media aptronym.)

and last and definately least......

Love You Teacher

trailer

no no

NO NO

NO!!!

I do like Perth & Santa (although I'm not sold on them as a pair). But words cannot describe how much I dislike this premise. SERIOUSLY? No thank you very much. I could, just maybe, hate watch Only Friends 2, but it's gonna be hard for me to even turn this on. Infantilization and people acting like children wigs me tf out. YKINMKBYKIOK of course, but not in my BL GMMTV. Stop it! (This one also got the dreaded pink of will not watch.)

More Disappointments

Thor didn't get the lead in anything. (Pouts in "but he so sexy.")

No major pairs were significantly busted.

Tonally it's gone darker than I expected. I prefer lighter fluffier BL so this tonal shift for GMMTV as a whole is not a win for me personally. Should be left to Japan IMHO.

That said, most of my favorite GMMTV pairs are in my top picks to watch as well, so I'm happy for that.

I'm Intrigued Despite Myself

My favorite trailer of all was actually Wu (red thread fated paranormals are my favoritest thing ever next to isekai) but that's not a branded pair so I'm not convinced it's BL. Hoping it is, but that happened in 2024 with these boys, so I'll leave it in the air for now.

I like that we're making push to leave uni and high school behind (don't worry, other Thai studios will fill the gap). I think GMMTV is doing this in order to

keep branded pairs together and

keep the actors of those pairs interested in the BL scripts.

As their major pairs age out of uni, GMMTV has to hand them more meaty and grown up stuff. I didn't think they would actually do this, so I'm pleased to see it happen. Even if it's all going darker than I like, at least it's different.

I don't really report on GL and I rarely have time to watch it these days. I thought the new MilkLove looked cute, but I'm still recovering from whatever happen in their last one. The Girl's Rules one looks like a light-weight L-Word. Still happy to see GMMTV move out of school for thier few GLs too.

(source)

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roosterforme · 11 months ago

Text

This Sunday Is for My Girl | Hangman x Reader

Summary: Jake can barely remember what Sundays were like before you were part of his football watching tradition. When his team makes it all the way to the Super Bowl, his nervous energy practically has you on edge too, but you formulate a plan to distract him. The results are better than you could have predicted.

Warnings: Fluffy Jake, oral, smut, coach/football player roleplay, 18+

Length: 2200 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Written to accompany Sundays Are for the Boys! Seriously, who let Jake on my masterlist!? Banner by @thedroneranger

It was Super Bowl Sunday, and your boyfriend was in rare form. He was up and out of bed at the crack of dawn, cleaning the living room even though the game didn't start until later in the afternoon. You rolled over and tried to cover your head with a pillow when you heard him start running the vacuum, but it was no use. Now you were wide awake and stumbling out of his bedroom.

"Jake," you called out over the noise as you stood behind the couch. "Jake!"

"Yeah, Baby?" he shouted, not bothering to turn the appliance off. You reached along the cord and pulled the plug from the wall, and his brow creased as he asked, "What's wrong?"

You rubbed your eyes with your hands. "It's eight o'clock. You've been cleaning and running around for two hours. Your friends won't even be here until the game is about to start. Come back to bed!"

But Jake shook his head and planted his hands on his hips. "Can't, Baby. It's the big day."

You sighed and walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and kissing the Dallas Cowboys logo on his shirt. "You're nervous about the game?"

He groaned and whispered, "The Cowboys never make it to the Super Bowl. I swear this all happened because of you, and I don't want them to let us down now."

"That's sweet," you whispered, rubbing your cheek against his chest as an idea started to form in your mind. "But if you keep stressing about this, you won't even be able to enjoy the game. So... how about I try to take your mind off of it for a little bit?"

He kissed the top of your head. "How are you going to do that?"

"I have a pretty good idea."

Jake followed you into his bedroom, your fingers loosely linked with his. He stood patiently as you pulled out one of his blue and gray Cowboys jerseys and a pair of gym shorts, and then he watched you change into your pink jersey and some shorts. "You look cute," he mumbled, and you smirked. He wouldn't be saying that in a few more minutes.

"Come on," you coaxed once he got changed as well. "Come into the bathroom." You messed up his hair with your fingers and then swiped some mascara on a q-tip along the tops of his cheeks. "Just like the pros," you whispered once he had the black lines in place.

"What's your plan, Baby?" he asked, looking at himself in the mirror with a laugh.

Instead of answering his question quite yet, you asked him, "Where's your whistle? From when you coached youth football? The silver one on the lanyard?"

"I think it's in my nightstand," he mumbled, reaching for you as you slipped out of his grasp. "Where are you going? You know that pink jersey makes me wild." He followed you back into the bedroom where you rooted around in his drawer until you found the whistle and looped it around your neck. "Baby?"

"That's Coach Baby to you, Seresin. Now drop and give me twenty."

His eyes went wide as his lips parted. "Coach Baby?" he whispered, bringing his hands up to your hips.

You blew the whistle softly and said, "Ten more push ups for touching your coach without permission. That's thirty. Count them off."

With wide green eyes filled with lust and confusion, Jake dropped down into a push up position right there next to his bed and counted out each one he did until he got to thirty, making it look easy. When he popped back up to his feet with an expectant look on his face, you smiled. Keeping him distracted like this was going to be all too easy. "Let's go, Seresin. Get your shoes on. You're going for a run."

"I am?" he asked, and you blew the whistle again.

"Call me Coach Baby when you're addressing me! I want you nice and sweaty!"

"Yes, Coach Baby," he recited with his back rigid before he ran for his closet to get some socks and shoes.

You stood on the front porch with the whistle perched between your lips and your hands planted on your hips as Jake ran back and forth, up and down his street. This was almost too much fun for you, tooting the whistle each time he ran past. When you estimated that he must have run three miles, you called him back to the porch, pleased to see that a sheen of sweat was coating his face now.

When his next door neighbor waved as she walked her Cocker Spaniel, you and Jake both said, "Hi, Nancy," before you pointed to the cement at your feet. You didn't really care if everyone else in his neighborhood thought the two of you had lost it, you were getting a little turned on by the smell of fresh sweat and the warmth of his body right in front of you.

"Thirty more push ups," you told him, trying not to smile as your black eye makeup started to smudge on his face. "And make them snappy, Seresin. If you want to start in to today's game, I expect some hustle out of you."

"Yes, Coach Baby," he replied, dropping and giving you thirty more effortless looking push ups. He was all bulging biceps and sexy drawl as he counted them off for you, and you found yourself pressing your thighs together gently.

"Thirty," he said, only slightly out of breath as he hopped to his feet. Damn, his Navy training was better than you thought if he was still barely winded. You had to scramble for something for him to do now as you handed him a water bottle and watched him wipe his forehead with his forearm. He chugged the whole bottle and tossed it aside on the porch, looking at you expectantly. "I'm ready, Coach Baby."

You nodded and murmured, "You always did have good stamina," before you cleared your throat. "Fifty jumping jacks, Seresin. No stopping. Count them off." You blew the whistle with one long toot when you were ready for him to start, and you had to stand there with your arms crossed and watch him. When you started this little exercise, you didn't think you'd end up as short of breath as him, but you were wrong.

"Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen..."

"Beautiful form, Seresin," you said, nodding like you had any actual expectations at this point other than making him as sweaty as possible before you caved and took him to bed. "Keep going." He grinned at you until you narrowed your eyes and walked around him in a circle.

"Yes, Coach Baby," he replied, not missing a single count in his jumping jacks.

When he got to fifty, you tooted the whistle again and said, "Sit ups, Seresin. Fifty of them. And make them quick, because I have plans for you."

He eased himself onto his back on the porch as he grinned and said, "What kind of plans, Coach Baby?"

As he started to fold his body for the first sit up, you stepped over him with one foot so you were standing and straddling his hips. He looked up at you with a little smirk as you eased yourself down so you were sitting gently on his thighs while he finished his first sit up. "Plans that will be more fun if you're all sweaty and messy. Plans that will require me to join you in the locker room showers afterwards."

Jake cranked out a few more sit ups as he grunted, "I think I like these plans."

You let his lips get very close to yours, but you didn't kiss him. "Count them out!" you demanded, and when he started counting louder, you brushed your lips to his one time.

And that was a mistake, because now you were clutching the metal whistle in one hand and squeezing your own thigh with the other as his powerful, muscular body worked beneath you. The tang of his sweat on your lips was delicious, and you wanted more. He raised and lowered his body with perfect, fluid movements, occasionally dripping some sweat on your legs.

"Forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty."

You practically moaned, "Let's hit the locker room."

"Whatever you say, Coach Baby," he murmured against your neck as he easily stood with you in his arms and opened the front door.

You ran your fingers through his damp hair and whispered, "When I say the locker room, I really mean your bedroom. And I expect this stellar performance to continue. Understand?"

"You got it."

You somehow ended up underneath him on the bedroom floor as you asked, "Do you think you have a few more push ups in you, Seresin? I'll let you be my starter today if you can give me ten more."

Jake lowered himself down slowly and kissed you sweetly, and when he raised himself up again, you giggled and said, "One."

When he started to lower himself down again, you pushed his hair back from his forehead while he kissed you softly. "Two," you whispered as he pushed himself up.

The third kiss wasn't quite as sweet, and the fourth one wasn't either. The fifth kiss was a little rough, and the sixth ended with a swipe of his tongue against yours. The seventh one left you panting.

"Eight," you moaned, already needy for more. "Nine," you whined, spreading your legs a little wider underneath him. "Ten! That was quite a performance, Seresin."

Jake devoured your mouth, and you could practically taste his adrenaline as he pulled your shorts and underwear off. Your senses were all muddled as his lips found their way down to your bare inner thigh where he nipped you. "Ready for another kind of performance?"

"Absolutely."

"Alright," he said before pressing his lips to your pussy. "Count it out, Coach Baby."

You started out saying coherent numbers in order, and then you couldn't focus as you rambled off whatever came to your mind. "Thirty-five? I don't know, Jake. Oh my god! Jake!" His tongue was working you into a frenzy as he tasted and licked you up and down. Your fingers were tangled in his hair, pulling a little hard on the strands as he made you come on his face. "Fifty! One hundred! Two thousand!" you panted, and you could hear him chuckle as you started to come down from your orgasm. "I forgot how to count."

"You sure did," he drawled softly, pulling you into his arms. "Let's hit the showers."

-------------------------------

Jake had you giggling, pinned against the tile wall of his shower. Your fingertips were all wrinkly from being wet for so long, just like his, but he didn't want to get out yet.

"You still have some of my mascara on your cheeks," you whispered, running your prune-y thumbs gently along his skin before kissing him there. "That's better."

"I love you," he said before kissing the tip of your nose. "Coach Baby." That sent you into another fit of giggles. "I thought the whistle was a nice touch. Very hot."

"I'm glad you think so," you replied, running your fingers through his squeaky clean hair. "We should get out. The boys will all be here pretty soon."

Jake looked at you in surprise. It was Super Bowl Sunday, and you'd managed to distract him for several hours with your antics. "You're right," he said as he turned off the water. "Damn, you're good. You know that?"

"Of course I do," you said with a smirk as he handed you a towel. "Now let me put my pretty pink jersey on again so the Cowboys can win the big game for you."

And with those words, Jake was somehow instantly thrumming with need again as you walked out of the bathroom wrapped in the towel. He followed you and helped you into your jersey just in time for Bob, Javy and Bradley to arrive, and the guys all greeted you just like you were one of them. You were even talking game stats as you assembled another charcuterie board that they all demolished within twenty minutes of the start of the game.

Mickey spilled a High Noon on your lap when he laughed too hard at a Doritos commercial, and Reuben ate the last slice of pizza with your preferred topping, but you never complained about anything. And Jake couldn't even remember what Sundays were like before he had you. Not that he wanted to.

"It looks like your Cowboys are going to win," you gasped excitedly when there were just two minutes left in the game and they got possession of the ball once more. "I knew they would do it."

"All thanks to you, Coach Baby," he whispered, kissing you breathless while the game played in the background.

-------------------------

Jake and I will be cheering for the Cowboys today. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

@blahehblah

@sotalife

@desert-fern

@furiouspiespytaco

@rosiahills22

@daggerspare-standingby

@je-suis-prest-rachel

@callsign-joyride

@theharddeck

@withakindheartx

@roosterscockpit

@whatislovevavy

@hangmanbrainrot

@neferpatra

@sehnsuchts-trunken

@averyhotchner

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@mygyn

@hoyaharper

@gennyanydots

@callsign-magnolia

@whisperofsong

@seriouslyseresin

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@katiebby04

@anotherr-fine-mess

@supernaturaldawning

@chassy21

@tylerjones98

@captainjaspenor

@gigisimsonmars

@fanboyswhore9

@angel-w0nderland

@abaker74

@idontcare-11

@isaebella

@bringnattolife

@xoxabs88xox

@djs8891

@hufflepufftruffle

@cottagecori

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asteroshearts · 1 year ago

Text

My Type

Oh no! Nanami's wife is just Itadori's type!

Or the story of how, upon meeting Nanami's wife, Itadori just can't take his eyes off her.

Nanami x Reader

Tags: this story was referenced here, but can be read completely alone, she/her pronouns, discussions of body types, Itadori's a bit of a pervert here (but he doesn't actually see anything!! Nanami, however, ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)), typical anime flashing

Hey Ken: How are you feeling?

You: Like shit My fever got worse after you left

Hey Ken: I'll be home soon. Please take ibuprofen, drink lots of water, and rest as much as you can. I'm finishing up now.

You: I just checked our cabinet We ran out of Bufferin UGHHHH I feel terrible I fucking told Daiki from accounting that he should go home if he was coughing but he said it was fine AND COUGHED IN MY FACE And now look at me

Hey Ken: We're out? I'll pick some up on my way home while I grab our other groceries. Please wait for me until then. Take a nap if you can. You're just going to get more exhausted thinking of the idiots in your office.

You: I looked online, delivery is going to take over an hour I'm getting dizzier I don't want to wait I'm going to go to the Matsukiyo near us to get it myself

Hey Ken: What?

Hey Ken: Don't go. I'll pick it up.

Hey Ken: Darling. Read my messages.

Hey Ken: Pick up the phone.

(10) Missed Calls

Several moments ago…

Itadori already thought that today got off to a weird start.

To begin with, it wasn't Ijichi in the driver's seat to pick him up today, but Nanamin. It also wasn't the Jujutsu Tech standard vehicle, but a nice, sleek, and expensive Porsche.

"W-Woah! Nanamin!" Itadori called then. Eyes wide and bright at the polished paint that glistened in the heavy sunlight. "Nice ride!" he said giddily, running his fingers across the aerodynamic doors. Popping his head up toward Nanami's window, he said, "This must've cost you a fortune!" And he thought that Gojo-sensei spent crazily.

"It was a gift," Nanami flatly said. The boy gaped at him like a fish. But who would just give away a car like this? They had to be really close — or maybe he had saved some rich guy and he thanked Nanamin by giving him a brand new car! The boy's eyes shone. Maybe one day he could get a nice gift like — "Get in." The doors unlocked.

"Hiya, Ijichi-san! Must be nice not driving for once, huh?" While marveling at the car's clean interior, he hopped into the back seat, feeling the leather under his hands and the cool blast of the AC hit his sweaty hair after being in the summer sun.

"Good morning, Itadori-kun," the dark-haired man said with a nervous smile. The car rumbled beneath them as Nanami turned the engine back on. "Nanami-san is surely giving me a nice change of pace — "

"Our duties will not change," Nanami stated, turning the wheel. "Ijichi-san is still required to do his job, as well as you, Itadori-kun. Don't get distracted." The pink-haired boy pouted in the backseat. "It just so happens that I have urgent errands to run after this, so time is of the essence."

Turning into an alleyway, Nanami smoothly hit the brakes and put the car into park. "Let's go."

Luckily for him, the curse was a low-level one mostly used for teaching Itadori the ropes, and the two of them managed to exorcise it in record time. For someone who was just thrust into the world of curses several weeks ago, he was doing well. As well as anyone could in his situation.

The boy was still a bumbling newbie, but he had a good head on his shoulders and was a strong opponent for most curses that they dealt with on a daily basis. Lips twitching into a frown, the blond thought that if Gojo didn't poison the youth's mind, surely Yuji would continue having a nice and mature head on his shoulders.

Nanami had to drop Ijichi off at his next assignment, but other than that, all he needed was to drop Itadori off at the college and then he could return to his sick wife. Paperwork still needed to be done, but luckily he could finish that at a later time. Unfortunately, last night you had a major headache and showed signs of an upcoming sickness this morning.

He had just barely convinced you to not do remote work and just take the day off to rest instead. However, as he checked on his messages with you, he found out that you were insisting on double — no, triple mask to go to the pharmacy yourself. All while you had a 37.5-degree fever.

He tried to call you once, thrice, and all of them were left for voicemail.

Cursing inwardly, Nanami leaned his head back on the headrest. Normally, the blond man was the arbiter of restraint and level-headed thinking, but all of that went out the door at the mere thought of his sickly wife dragging herself out in the street to get some medication. Why did you have to be so stubborn?

"My apologies, Itadori-kun." Nanami pushed up his glasses. "I need to take a detour before I drop you off at your dorm. I apologize for the inconvenience."

The boy blinked owlishly. "Oh that's alri — GH!"

Without another word, Nanami quickly turned left, jolting the teen to the side from the momentum, increasing the speed of his vehicle, and raced down the streets.

Within five minutes, Itadori felt like a dog left in the car as his "owner" raced into the nearest grocery store to grab medication, vegetables, and grains for the upcoming, proverbial storm. Even as the cashier tried their hardest to ignore the intense stare of the tall blond man before them, every second that ticked by as they scanned his purchase felt like hours.

As soon as he nearly threw his money on the tray and took all of the grocery bags under his toned arms, Nanami was off again, shifting into drive and ignoring the speed limit all the way back home.

Nanami could've nearly run into his apartment's chain-link garage doors if it had lifted any slower, allowing him access to his own underground parking before he landed in his designated parking spot within three seconds.

Racing out the car, he took all of the grocery bags over one muscular arm and was prepared to run off until he remembered he had a teen in the backseat.

"Itadori-kun," he said hurriedly. "Can you — " The man stopped himself short.

He originally planned to tell the boy to wait for him in the car, but caught sight of the boy's skin gleaming with sweat, reflecting one of the garage's low lights. Summer was brutal right now, with insane humidity that made Itadori's hair damp as if he had just taken a dunk in water. Even though the parking garage was cooler than it was outside, it was still unbearably hot, not to mention cruel, if he had forced the teen to just sit here and deal with it. Itadori had already waited in the hot car when he went out to grab groceries, and although he rolled the windows down, suddenly Nanami remembered all of the articles of puppies and toddlers dying in the back of cars during the summer.

Sighing, the man pushed his glasses up. "Behave yourself. Come with me."

"Ken?" Eyes wide, you held the door open. Keys were lifted up in the air in the man's hands, but you had beat him to the chase and opened the door before he managed to get the key in the keyhole. "Oh! I didn't know that you were bringing a guest." Stepping back quickly, you realized another person was standing behind your husband. "If I had known, I would've worn a surgeon mask!" Alert, you said. "Hold on, I'll go grab one right now — !"

"No need. We'll make this fast." He was about to take a step forward, but then realized that the student hadn't moved an inch ever since you opened the door. "Itadori-kun?"

As still as a statue, pink slowly rose from the boy's neck all the way up to the tips of his ears. He couldn't rip his gaze from you for even a second. Although your hair wasn't done and your face was covered, he could tell just how beautiful you were.

Furthermore, you looked just like the pin-up models he had in his room — you were just his type! Your little chemise barely ended at the middle of your thigh, and although everything important was covered up, it left little to the imagination with how the fabric hugged your waist and hips. As you held the door open for them and leaned forward, the loose triangle top of your nightgown was teasing him with the exposed curves and valleys of your chest.

You were too hot!

"Itadori-kun," Nanami repeated, irritated.

Way too hot for Nanamin!

"Nanamin! You didn't tell me that you were married!" Eyes nearly bugging out of their sockets, Itadori almost thought they had gotten the wrong apartment when you had just opened the door. While his mentor was an attractive man, it was like a mountain and a molehill to the teenager. Not to mention that this strict and serious ex-salaryman was hitched! To a babe no less!

Certainly, you didn't marry for personality!

He couldn't imagine what your daily life was like while Nanamin talked about doing the bare minimum and never smiled.

Raising an eyebrow, Nanami followed Itadori's stare to your state of dress. You weren't even wearing your indoor slippers, and you were absolutely breathtaking even if you had a dark clay mask over your face. He wasn't an idiot, and he could feel his blood vessels pumping harshly. Trying to remind himself with mantras of how Itadori was just a stupid, hormonal teenager, and you could dress how you wanted, and that he especially couldn't beat up Itadori. Pinching his nose bridge, the man couldn't even look at the boy. "My personal life and my work life are completely separate. I wouldn't anno — !"

"But you don't even wear a wedding ring!" Itadori insisted.

"Why would I wear my rings when my daily job involves fighting and getting messy?" Nanami rhetorically asked, stepping through your door with all the groceries in one go. "Wedding and engagement rings are investments, and I'd be damned if I lose my rings and be forced to inflate the wedding ring industry any more than I already have."

Grinning, you beamed at Itadori. Only you really know how seriously Nanami took the "three month's salary on rings" tradition, especially on his sorcerer's salary. "Now you know, Itadori-kun! If you catch him committing adultery while he's out without his ring, you'll shank him for me, right?" Placing both of your hands on your husband's waist, you laughed when you playfully tried to shake him. Of course, that didn't do much. Your man continued to stand there like a stone statue, as if you tried to rock a brick wall while he remained wholly unamused.

From your weak roughhousing, all that managed to do was drop your spaghetti strap from your shoulder. With your dress threatening to slip, Nanami sighed and quickly stood in front of you, blocking your body from Itadori's gaze. He carefully and slowly pulled your shoulder strap back up your body before you managed to flash the poor teen. When you looked up, his brown eyes met with yours.

Gently rubbing your bare shoulder with his large hand, he asked, "I thought you said you were going to Matsukiyo?"

"I was," you rasped out, voice raw from all the coughing you did. "But then I took one step outside and it was too damn hot." Laughing weakly, you said, "I slunk back like a vampire the second the humidity hit me."

The man sighed deeply, and his shoulders dropped in relief and exhaustion. While he ran around like a chicken with its head cut off from worry, he was glad that you ended up not going out after all.

"Why didn't you pick up my calls?" he said deeply, leaning in close enough for you to feel his breath on your ear.

"I was making okayu with kombu," you explained. "Sorry," you said genuinely, "that's all I managed to make for our dinner today."

"I'm upset that you cooked in the first place," Nanami scolded. "You should be resting. I said I'd take care of it. Why were you in the kitchen when the hot fumes could make your fever even worse?" Turning away from his nagging, you pouted.

"I'm hungry though…" you mumbled, far too much like a spoiled child, and Nanami was sure, in some way, that you were spoiled, of his making too. He always prioritized you and let you have your way. "And I already ate the miyeok guk you made."

"You could've ordered delivery," the man countered.

"Nothing interested me there."

Inhaling deeply once more, Nanami tried to calm the upcoming headache he felt. There was no point in arguing with you, not when you were coughing and sick like this. "Stay here. I'm going to whip up a bowl of okayu to have with your medicine," the man ordered before he picked up a blanket you had draped over one of your couches and wrapped you in it like a burrito. When you opened your mouth, your husband only sternly repeated, "Stay."

Playfully rolling your eyes when he left to go to the kitchen, you puffed out your cheeks in mock irritation. Closing the door to your apartment so the AC couldn't escape anymore, you turned to the teen who was standing awkwardly in your home.

"Aw I'm sorry," you said, voice sounding like sandpaper again. "You know, Kento's kinda strict, but I assure you he's a good man," you said gently. "Thank you so much for taking care of him."

"M-Me?" Itadori sputtered. "I'm not the one taking care of him! He takes care of me! Um…" The boy grew demure when he realized he had no way to address you.

"Oh," you realized you didn't introduce yourself. "I apologize! I totally forgot! I know you since Ken talks about you and Ino all the time, but I didn't realize you didn't know me!"

Itadori gasped. "He talks about me?!"

"Of course! All good things!" you assured. "Even though Kento seems like a meanie, he's a genuine person and wouldn't exaggerate, so he wouldn't praise you unless he absolutely meant it." You knew that this was the teen that hosted Sukuna, the King of Curses. It was a heavy burden for someone who wasn't even an adult yet, and your heart grew heavy at the thought of this boy's fate.

"Before I forget…" Quickly, you ran to your bathroom and cleaned off your clay face mask before you returned with your bare face wet and a cloth Pompompurin headband keeping your hair out of the way. "I need to introduce myself."

Now Itadori was sure that you two were married with the way you introduced yourself nearly identically to your husband. With your back straight and shoulders squared, hands flat, and arms straight at your side, you closed your eyes and bowed.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Itadori-kun." You acquired your business card out of thin air and held it out for the boy. "My name is Nanami [Name], and I'm a senior project manager at Yurukawa Corp. If you or your friends ever get tired of exorcising curses and want to look into engineering, you can ask me!"

Huh?

It was too silent.

When you rose and looked up, you realized that your husband had suddenly materialized out of nowhere. Standing in between you and Itadori, your husband's stern expression could freeze hell over as he stared down at Itadori with a frown, arm outstretched and his hand held up — right where Itadori's eyes would've seen your cleavage when you bent over to bow.

"Itadori-kun."

"Y-Yes!"

"We are going. Now."

The car was completely silent the entire way to the dorm rooms. Quickly shifting the car into park, Itadori jumped at the sudden stop.

No one said a word. The entire ride felt like the air was heavy enough to drown in.

"Itadori-kun." Nanami's eyes were hidden by the reflection in his glasses.

"…Yes?" the boy squeaked out, pressing his index fingers together.

"Never ogle my wife again."

#nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk nanami #nanami fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #nanami

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l0v3tast3 · 2 years ago

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the pervy older bf konig was amazing, pleaseee can we get one for price!! on my knees begging cos damn the konig one hit the spot mammm

god i love john price so fucking much. he makes my daddy issues go off the damn charts and his voice?!?!?! good god (*♡∀♡) also uwu tysm ily anon i hope you like this!!! <33

✎ tags: mdni! nsft, f!reader, age gap (r is 18, john is late 30's), body worship, semi-public s3x, car s3x, mirror s3x, he fucks you while you're on the phone with your mom, dirty talk, abuse of pet names, edging, overstimulation, tiny bit of dacryphilia, some fluff, john is basically your sugar daddy

✎ word count: 1.6k (not proofread)

masterlist | requests are open!

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!john who wouldn't take his hands off of you even if there was a gun to his head. you're just so soft and full of youth, it makes him feel a little bit younger too. he's obsessed with smoothing his hands and his lips over every inch of your skin, always taking his sweet time with you, always making sure to worship every bit of you before he presses your thighs to your chest.

✧ ˖ ° he doesn't take for granted what you give him; he makes sure to thank you in the best way he knows how. it's after a lavish dinner and a stroll along a beautiful river that involves him buying you flowers and chocolate from vendors open late. john always means to end the night with just a kiss, opening your door for you and leaning against the car to watch you walk down the street back to your house (you make him park a few houses down so your parents don't see him). somehow the drive always ends with the car parked in some inconspicuous spot so he can fuck you in the backseat, because you insisted that you couldn't stay at his house overnight without your parents asking too many questions.

✧ ˖ ° despite your disapproving whines and squirms, john still takes it slow while he has you laying in the back of his car. he does it mostly because he loves how your legs shake when he builds your orgasm slow, but also because he knows that your parents will call you to check in soon. sure enough, while he's got two fingers buried knuckle deep in you and his mouth latched around one your nipples, the buzzing tune of your ringtone sounds from your bag on the floor. you barely notice it until his mouth pops off your breast and his fingers nearly slow to a halt, and he's holding up your phone for it. "answer it, love. don't want to make them worry, right?"

✧ ˖ ° when you have the phone in your weak grasp he presses the answer button and sinks back down, grinning while he hears you stutter out your greeting. he picks up the pace again, curling his fingers into the spot that makes your hips jerk. your hand is pressed into your mouth as you try to listen to what your mom is saying. her bleating practically becomes white noise when john's tongue licks a stripe from your hole to your clit and starts laving across it. you manage to spout out that you'll be home soon, you and your friends lost track of time, and john makes sure the call is actually ended when you throw it onto the floor again before he finally makes you cum.

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!john who absolutely loves fucking you in front of literally any reflective surface. bedroom mirror, bathroom mirror, entryway mirror, windows, the tv, anything will suffice if he can see your pretty tits bouncing while he fucks into you from behind. it's high on his (long) list of his favorite ways to have you.

✧ ˖ ° if you're standing up, he'll use one hand to keep your hips lifted high enough to line up with his, the other wrapped around your neck and partially holding your jaw to keep you looking at yourself. "look at how pretty you are, darling, don't y'see how beautiful you are? say it, love, tell me how pretty y'are. c'mon, know you can do it." when you try to avert your eyes in embarrassment he'll use the hand on your throat to press you into his chest, slowing his hips until he's dragging his thick cock back and forth across all the spots that make your brain go haywire. "you know the rules, darling, won't let you cum until y'say it. well? don't start being a brat now. we both know how that goes, don't we?"

✧ ˖ ° it's also a semi-regular occurrence for john to bring you shopping at higher-end stores and fuck you in the secluded dressing rooms. he sits and tells you how gorgeous you look in each pretty dress and outfit you try on, always doing a little spin for him that makes his dick twitch in his too-tight pants. after a particularly short sundress or skirt he follows you into your fitting room, feeling you up before you even get the chance to squeak about how he's not supposed to be in here with you. john loves watching you scratch at his arms as he holds you up to fuck you, one hand shoving his middle and ring fingers to keep you quiet. it's addicting how quickly he can make you forget that you could be caught by someone at any moment.

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!john who might as well shine an actual spotlight on you when he brings you with to formal military events that he's "required" to attend (you always overhear about people skipping out when you're there). he tells you not to worry about buying a dress for it, and when you show up to his home you find he spent probably hundreds on a dress, heels, and all-matching jewelry, all matching your favorite style and colors. and he does it every time you go to an event, always buying you new things; not to mention the matching set of lingerie he gets you for each outfit.

✧ ˖ ° john makes sure to always wear a coat long enough to cover his straining cock when you squeeze his hand or press yourself closer to him when he brings you with. he knows you're nervous, never straying from his side and always glancing to make sure he was still next to you, but of course he wouldn't let you go even if you wanted to. there was always a hand on your back or waist or holding yours, kissing yours knuckles in between brief chats with other officials and soldiers.

✧ ˖ ° the way you cling to him while he introduces you to everyone he makes small talk with for a few minutes makes him so eager to leave already, to finally get home and rip off your dress (you've learned by now that he doesn't care how much he spent on it just to destroy it). just you being dependent on him made both john's heart and cock swell; you were so adorable with your puppy eyes looking up to him for what to do next.

✧ ˖ ° john wants nothing more than for you to rely on him and to trust him enough to take the reins for you. that especially applied to your sex life, of course. "there y'go, sweetheart, that's my girl. just let me handle it all. all you have to do is lay here all pretty and take my cock. i'll go slow, sweetheart, don't worry. i know you're still sensitive, but you can cum for me one more time, can't you? oh, don't whine, love, i know you can do it, just one more for me. you feel so good around me when you cum, don't you want to feel good too?"

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!john who is obsessed with making you cum. he only uses the threat of edging you as a way to get you to say or do whatever dirty thing he wants; the rest of the time, he prefers you to be a blabbering, overstimulated mess. he's known (by you) to spend hours going down on you, switching between his mouth and fingers when either gets tired. when you tug at his hair and try to push him away, you always get "jus' one more f'me, darling, know y'can," and a quick kiss to your thigh before he's right back at it.

✧ ˖ ° the sight of you trembling and twitching from the overload of pleasure he gives your little body is just the most satisfying sight in the world to john. after sating his near-constant hunger for your sweet cunt, he'll crawl up to hover over you and press kisses across your face, gently wiping away the trails of tears that escaped during his mouth's endless assault. "y'with me again, love?" he asks softly, pressing little kisses to your swollen lips until you start returning them. the moment is sweet and slow before he's pressing his cock into your tight hole, pushing deeper and deeper until his fat tip is kissing your cervix.

✧ ˖ ° john doesn't give you enough time for your nerves to calm down before he's thrusting into you; the gasps and whines and tiny pleas that stumble out about needing a break. "but i already gave you one darling, just now, remember? shit- so fuckin' tight, even after i spent so long workin' y'open- hah, don't try to squirm away, princess, just take it- fuuuck-" he groans. john's calloused hands collect your smaller ones to intertwine his fingers with yours and hold them above your head, nose-to-nose with you as he coos down at you about how well you're doing for him.

✧ ˖ ° every time he gets you into his bed (or yours, or any bed, really) you know you're in for a long night. john will fuck you until you're about to pass out. he lives for pushing your limits, finding new tricks to get you to cum faster or harder for him, molding you to his cock and drilling it into your head that he's ruined you for any other man.

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #john price #john price x reader #john price x female reader #john price smut #reader insert #— ask!#— lilly writes! ♡

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peachetteprice · 6 months ago

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Driving Habits | TF141

Disclaimer: Some of these are UK specific, including the style of car, manoeuvres, terminology, and gearbox. That's what happens when the boys live and work mostly in England! Also, I am almost taking my practical test in September, and I need to rant about certain habits. Sorry in advance to Soap and Ghost. Love you both, boys.

Credit to @soaps-mohawk for giving me the inspiration to explore this headcanon! It began with an exploration into what cars TF141 might drive! You can see the original post that inspired this here.

+ Including interactions when driving with an S/O!

Notorious one-handed driver. The other hand is either on the gearstick - just resting, contemplating - or mediating between the gearstick and your thigh. He loves a good reverse bay park. (He's an absolute beast at it, too. No need for minor adjustments. He just... knows the space. And he will make fun of you when you can't park as perfectly as him). Helps to get the shopping in better, because at least you can get to the boot! Has been known to swerve a little bit for birds in the road, but that's because he's an avid watcher, and the poor things get enough grief as it is - he wants to still be able to watch Robins and Thrushes in the trees on the weekend!

Captain John Price:

He does, however, neglect rabbits, foxes, badgers, squirrels, and rats. And the... occasional deer in Scotland? Not out of malice - not at all - but they're not worth swerving over and potentially causing a collision for. He might, only if you're with him - because you'll squeal if he doesn't and positively become harrowed by its body popping beneath the rear tyre - but it's much safer for a driver to simply ram it into the gravel than to mess around with the safety of himself, other drivers, and - of course - you.

Takes extra care around vehicles with stickers that denote that the occupants of said vehicle - bar the driver or secondary passengers - are animals or children. He will be extra sure to check his mirrors, touch on the brakes if need be, and will actively scan for dangerous drivers that he can shield the car from. His duty is to protect, after all, in whatever capacity.

That being said, in his youth, he was known to drive... a little faster than required. Only on country lanes does he still retain some of his more... reckless habits. He may go a touch too fast around corners, and ignore the chevrons that indicate the severity of a turn (one arrow, two, three), and if the road opens up to a sprawling range, whereby speed control for tight corners and blind junctions is not an issue, he will... perhaps... occasionally - only rarely if you're in the car with him - let her rip.

Begrudgingly drives your shuddering little Fiat 500 or itty bitty Hyundai i20 (hey, what do you mean, tiny, it's perfect for the city, John! Pay no mind if your boys giggle and point when you turn up at the base in it...), though much prefers the Triumph Spitfire, 1979, mint-condition, that he bought in 2008 for three grand and fixed up over a ten-year period (when he wasn't deployed, that was) which is now worth £18,000. That is his profit! But he won't let another soul touch it, drive it, or so much as look at it - unless it's you, on a good day - until the day he dies. It's in stunning condition, but God help you if you reverse into the driveway without him watching like a hawk, wiggling his hand as if it were the paddle of an aeroplane conductor, telling you to move closer to the wall and risk scratching your car just to protect his darling baby. It... oh no... it might be the only thing he loves more than you...

But those roads are his home, that's all!

Always, always, always over-revs the engine to get out of a junction. He can't help it! He's used to manoeuvring through rough terrain with a car the size of a military tank - he's bound to forget to treat a normal car with a normal amount of strength. He comes flying into and out of roundabouts for that exact reason! He has to get on and off them quickly enough - don't you know, they're deathtraps, they are!

Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley:

He's also prone to checking his side mirrors and rear view mirror an inordinate amount of times for a twenty-minute pop to the shop. He is convinced that the Kia Sportage behind him is right up his tail - he's sure it's stalking you in the passenger seat, especially with your bumper stickers on the rear, the nasty perverts - no matter how many times you explain to him that the mirrors are convex! They will make everything seem closer than they truly are! Now, however, he does not and will not ever brake-check a car, but he will sure as hell give them the dirtiest stare if they decide to overtake him... or until they back off a few more feet behind you.

The poor man gets impatient at lights. He does. And crossings, too. Train, tram, pedestrian, any and all of them. Despises them all. He'd rather a set of traffic lights for people to cross at, than have those silly zebra, pelican or toucan markings along the road that he has to pray Grandma Doris won't divert her walking cane in its bilateral direction. Oh, and he bounces his leg like there's no tomorrow. Again, he can't help it! He isn't used to waiting in cars. He's used to tumbling down roads in Middle Eastern deserts as the crow flies. None of those silly turns and re-routes into estates because he took the wrong turn at a junction. He wouldn't have messed up had he had time to think! Had there been no traffic! And, oh, Christ, the traffic. Simon does not like traffic. He does illegal U-turns as soon as he sniffs there being a road closure - that's how much he dislikes waiting!

You'll never forget the day that he wrenched the handbrake up way too high, and you had to get your father to re-tighten it. You're sure there aren't any more notches he can lift it to. You're rarely ever on a hill that warrants it. He'll crank it up six times just to stop at the traffic light before the Tesco. It's bloody Tesco! It's not Mount Kilimanjaro!

Never gets the bite point consistently. Never gets the damn bite point. Always too low or too high. He doesn't over-rev it like Ghost does, but the amount of times he stalls the bloody car, thinking he's in another one of those tank-sized vehicles that has a brand-spanking new bite point - or dare he say, an automatic gearbox that doesn't even require a clutch - is incalculable. You'd think the man has only just learnt to drive!

Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish:

Notoriously speeds through built-up areas. Often commits to doing 45mph in a 30mph zone. Only when there isn't anyone around, like at nighttime! He consistently zooms past speed cameras in his BMW. His poor 3L engine is just too powerful for those dinky little roads. And, promise, he doesn't do it on purpose! He just routinely forgets to glance at his speedometer (and his mirrors, but that's another issue), and he drives for himself and himself only. In fact, he often hums to himself and forgets you're even there, beside him, clutching onto the internal handle on the roof in case he veers too suddenly to either side. His object permanence doesn't prevail unless he has one hand on your inner thigh, and if he doesn't, well, you can kiss safe driving habits goodbye.

(Oh, and he always sits on the brake. And bite + gas. The handbrake is too cumbersome, and his feet are strong enough, Goddamnit!)

Alright, that isn't to say he's an... unsafe driver. He's only slightly inconsiderate. He brakes too harshly, too late, too suddenly, he coasts on the clutch around corners, he never feeds the steering wheel, and he sometimes forgets to check his mirrors before turning into a junction (but he's never T-boned a cyclist... yet... you can give him a tick for that one). But he hums and whistles a nice tune to himself - he prefers it to the radio, and that's not to say he prefers quiet so he can hear the sound of the engine, no, no... never... not at all - and he always makes an overt point to note every field of cows, sheep (especially horses!) as well as every cat he sees lurking along the pavements. Never dogs. Doesn't like the bastards. Got bit once. That was enough to turn him right off.

Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick:

Beautiful driver. Test-accurate. He could re-take it today and pass with flying colours. What a brilliant driver. The only bad habit he's picked up is driving with one hand (he tends to bite his fingernails on the other when he drives - helps with the stress of commuting in London), and never feeding the steering wheel through his hands. He does the wipe-on, wipe-off manouvre, mostly because he looks hot when doing it, though he tries not to. Mama Garrick always swats his hand whenever he does it because that's how drivers get into accidents, baby!

Car-shares with his mother, whether it's in her duck-egg blue Kia Picanto or his lime green Ford Fiesta - it has failed its MOT three bloody times, and he's revived that girl from death's vice grip more times than he can count, it has the mileage of a postal worker in the 1700s, nearing 200k - but this gentleman always remembers to bring the seat forward and upright after he's finished using it, so that her feet can touch the pedals, and to, naturally, reduce her back pain. He does the same with the headrest, too, because if there's anything he cares about more than his job, it's the safety of his family and friends!

Tends to drive on the cautious side. The only minor fault he'd get in a test would be hesitance because he simply doesn't trust any other driver but himself. His mother drilled that into him. She said that there's nothing worse than watching a car flash its headlights and signal you to go, with caution, as always, because the flash is not universal for 'go', only to pull in front of you and trigger you to emergency brake. Or, God-forbid, a pedestrian puts their hand up at you before they've even crossed the bloody road, and he has to slam on the brakes like he's Speedy Gonzalez at a traffic light. Lordy Lord.

Never mind the fact that he waits too long at pedestrian crossings because there could be somebody shrouded by that tree on the corner there. Do you see it? Over there! No, behind the sign, love! There could be someone - oh, whatever. He has to wait to make sure it's clear - otherwise, Grandma Doris is getting bumped in the legs and thrown fifty feet along the road! And he cares about the elderly!

Always nervously bites the insides of his cheek at roundabouts. Which is the most bewildering part of all, because he's so good at them! He always signals onto the roundabout. Never cuts lanes. Always follows directions perfectly, and if he doesn't, well, I guess you're taking a different route until you can turn around in a safe place. He always signals off the roundabout, too - even at mini-roundabouts - but he'll scrunch his face up every time, huff, and mutter:

"Yeah... botched that one."

...Regardless of how many times you tell him that he's a gorgeous driver! It's sexy, too, how he abides by the Highway code and gives way to more cars than he really should - no, except he really should stop doing that, actually, they're starting to take advantage of his kindness and he doesn't realise it - and how he's so... so... so fucking smooth with gear transitions. Going from stationary to a comfortable 20mph? He'll pop that sucker so fluidly into third (or second, if it's his mum's car) with such prowess that you barely notice the engine take the gas he's giving it. There's no jolt between first and second. He plays those gears like he's bowing a violin. How delicate his fingers are. How gentle his touch. It's mesmerising to watch.

And, you're about ready to give him your hand in marriage when you notice that every time he comes to a stop - on a hill, at a traffic light, in crawl traffic, waiting to turn into a junction, he puts the handbrake on, then takes his foot off the foot brake, then knocks the gearstick into neutral, then takes his foot off the clutch, and waits patiently like the darling man he is. Unlike someone else, he never sits on the brake...

Gaz even brakes in ample time, and you thought he couldn't be more perfect! That's what really gets you going - he gives the car behind him just the right amount of time to slow down that it's almost a waltz, and he's the conductor of traffic. Though... maybe don't let him get trapped at a stalemate on a mini-roundabout where all cars are turning left and are subsequently blocked by the need to give way to the right... his poor brain will short-circuit! If he does, give him a pat on the thigh and let him wait for someone else to make the first move - he hates decision-making when he's off-duty.

Bonus Round - Road Rage!

Captain John Price:

Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley:

Road Rage? You mean, showing a healthy amount of anger and vigour towards a bloody idiot driver? You mean... baring his teeth and swatting a hand at them, occasionally honking the horn past eleven-thirty, even if people are sleeping, or pulling out one of his anger-insurance cigars? That's what road rage is? Well... Christ, he must be terrible for it. Don't tell his boys that... they think he's the most level-headed man on base.

He's slightly oblivious to the technique of cars around him. He drives like he's the only driver in the world, because usually he is - except for those fuckers behind you who won't back off - but if something does happen, and if it isn't too much of an issue, he'll grunt, clench his teeth, grip the steering wheel and let out a muttered 'bastard'. If, however, something really irritates him - especially if another car puts you in danger - he'll honk the horn and flail his hand at the windscreen in the hopes that the driver sees his frustration (even if you're the one driving, he'll reach over and honk the pad for you, even though you've told him not to!)

Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish:

Well... he certainly knows a lot of Gaelic, doesn't he, your boy? You've hardly a monkey's bottom of what he's saying, but the vitriol in which he says it - he's not known for bottling his anger very well - makes it clear to you that he needs a hug and de-tox before bedtime. If the accused does anything on the defensive or antagonistic, he has been known to pull up beside them on a two-lanes-go-straight-on road marking, even if it isn't the right way to your destination, just to glare at them and give them the... stern finger. Maybe... maybe a word or two about precious cargo.

Sergeant Kyle "Gaz" Garrick:

Gaz is a simple guy when he's off-duty. He will sigh, tut, shake his head, and mumble 'nutter', or a very hushed 'oh, you absolute...' (bonus: he never finishes his sentence!) It's what his mum does! If another car puts you in danger, he may groan and roll his eyes - but he always asks if you're okay as soon as, and apologises for the sudden violence of his attitude! What a sweet man.

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