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t-o-m-hollands · 3 years

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Summery: You and Tom bet on who will touch the other first after he comes home from filming. Both refusing to give in you resort to some teasing measures to get the other one to break.

Pairing; Tom + female reader.

Themes: Light-hearted, lots of teasing. Established relationship. Fluff. Cocky Tom. Cocky reader too, let’s face it. They are both stubborn idiots. Lots of horniness all around. To be honest, very little plot and mostly smut. Bit of fluff as well though.

Warnings: Unprotected sex in established relationship. Masturbation. This work is strictly +18.

A/N: Not beta-read, I’m wine drunk and wrote this in like 2,5 hours so it is what it is.

It was such a stupid fucking bet and he wish he never agreed to it. It is all your fault, he decides, as he watches you bend over into downward dog, your breathing rhythmic and even as you stretch your beautiful body. He tries to look away from your ass, honestly he does, but you’re wearing those light grey yoga pants that practically has him drooling and the fabric is hugging your body so perfectly it would be a crime to look away.

Plus, he’s pretty sure that’s the whole point of you doing this, practicing yoga in the living room right in front of him as he’s supposed to be working. The whole point is to have him staring, so he doesn’t feel too bad about it.

It had all started the week before he was set to return from filming. He had teased you (and sure, in retrospect that was a terrible idea and he should have known better) had said that you would jump him the first chance you got, that he probably wouldn’t even get through the door before you had him out of his jeans. You had retaliated with an accusation that he would be the one all over you and obviously he had to deny that.

It had spiraled, neither one of you willing to give in and admit defeat and now here you are; a full day after his return and he hasn’t as much as hugged you.

Because whoever touches the other first loses the bet.

And now here you are, in front of him; wearing skin tight yoga pants and bending over.

A part of him, the midsection of his body to be precise, wants to just give in; to hand you the victory - fuck his pride. But the part of him, the rational part he likes to think, that has him bashing up golf clubs every time his dad beats him in a golf round; refuses to give in.

So what if he hasn’t seen you, hasn’t felt your body in over three months? Or that he now has your magnificent ass right in his face as he’s trying to concentrate on his dull emails. So what? He’s not faced by that, he’s a man of the world after all.

You lean forwards again until you’re on the ground, turn to your back and start to slowly but steadily push your hips up and down, in what Tom can only assume, is referred to as the ghost fucking position.

“Aren’t you supposed to answer emails?” You ask and he doesn’t even need to look at your face to know that you have a smug smile on your face.

“I am” he mutters, looking away from your body on the floor and back to his phone screen.

You laugh, and he pretends not to hear it, while you pretend that the visible hard-on he’s sporting doesn't make you want to climb into his lap and give in to both of your temptations.

The bet was stupid and totally his idea.

Tom comes out of the shower, drops of water still pouring from his wet hair onto his sculpted chest. The only thing he’s wearing is the white towel wrapped around his waist and the silver Rolex on his wrist. Seeing you standing in the kitchen and slicing tomatoes he sends you his widest smile.

And you thought you were playing unfair with the yoga.

He sits down by the bartop, all bare chested and golden. “Anything I can help with?” he asks as you place the tomatoes in the salad bowl. “A change of music perhaps?”

You throw a left over piece of tomato at him and it hits him square in the chest. He just smiles wider, completely unfaced. “Leave my dinner playlist alone, yeah?” You tell him, resisting the urge to give him the finger.

“So tense” he snickers and leans his head to the side, “I know what could help you relax.”

“Throwing more tomatoes at you? Because we need them in the salad, Thomas.”

He stands up and moves around the kitchen island until he’s behind you, careful as not to touch, framing you against the bench with his strong arms on either side of your body. You can smell him, fresh out of the shower, feel the warm radiate from his body; it is as he’s already holding you. He’s so close, it’s like every cell in your body is reaching out for him.

And it’s been so long.

Three months of twisting and turning alone in bed, of only your own hands as company and him on the phone screen as he encourages you; tells you how goddamn gorgeous you look fucking yourself for him. Three months of only seeing him on the phone; not being able to touch him and feel him for yourself, to taste his skin. To just see him spill all over his own hand instead of being there, catching it all with your tongue.

But it will have to wait a little while longer, because although you might love him, and the way he makes you feel, there’s no way you’re giving in just yet.

Slowly turning around, carefully as not to touch him, you reach for the bottle. “You can open this, since you wanted to help” you say and hand him the wine, “that would help me relax.”

He smiles, unbothered by his failed attempt at luring you to defeat, and steps back. You stir the pasta sauce, trying not to look at his bare chest as he’s leaning over the kitchen counter, looking for something. Finally he finds the corkscrew and sits back again at the bar table. He gets to work with opening the bottle, his strong veined hand wrapped around the throat of the bottle, as the other inserts the screw. His brow is furrowed in concentration and he’s biting his lip. Around his wrist the Rolex watch reflects in the light. Uncorking the bottle he pours blood red liquid into two wine glasses and hands you one before taking a sip from his own, brown eyes looking at you from over the rim of his glass.

“Put a fucking shirt on, Thomas” you mutter, going back to chopping vegetables.

The song and dance of torturing each other continues for the following two days. What goes on between you can only be described as a red-hot war.

“Oh for fuck sake!” Tom’s voice booms over the living room.

“Too direct?” You ask, eyebrow raised.

“No, no not at all” he answers, voice dripping with sarcasm, “no please, keep deep-throating the banana, it’s incredibly subtle.”

Slowly he wakes, blinking into the dark night. The alarm clock on his bedside table tells him that it’s just after 2 am and for a few long seconds he stares at it.

A rustling of sheets beside him in bed and it hits him. He’s home, home in his own bed with you laying next to him, as it should always be. Except that things aren’t the way it should be.

Because of that stupid goddamn bet.

The sheets rustle again and he wonders if you are awake as well. But then he hears it; a soft moan.

Turning over in bed at lighting speed he stares down at you. “Are you fucking touching yourself?” He asks, heatedly.

Your answer is another soft moan as you look up at him, pupils blown wide and lips parted. Tearing of the duvet he looks down at your naked body, at you hand, covered in slick, moving over your clit.

Fuck.

He moves over, leans over you; his legs on either side of yours and his arm on each side of your face, carefully making sure that he isn’t touching you. A slight catch of breath is all the sign you give of having been surprised, your hand keeping it’s gentle pace.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, voice low in the quiet room.

“You” is your breathless reply, “you touching me.”

“Think this is how I would touch you?” He asks, snickering. He’s holding his body over you, looking into your lust-filled eyes. “I’d go much slower at first, tease you. Slowly move around your clit until your hips are bucking up and you're begging me for more”.

He moves his head, so that his lips are almost touching yours. Almost.

“You’re so good at begging after all” he murmurs against your lips, moving his boxer clad hips so that they almost touch you and you groan, your face telling of vexation and volatile bliss. But you do as he says, follow his instruction with the movement of your hand.

“Good girl” he whispers softly against your lips.

“Then I’d slide one fingers inside that wet cunt, still slow; still teasing.”

You whine, but you do as he says. Slowly you move one finger in and out of yourself, as the other hand is still circling your clit. “Need more” you moan but he just smiles.

“Such a greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He teases with a devilish grin, tilting his head to the side, looking down at you with sparkling eyes. “But your hands are smaller than mine, so maybe you should add another finger.”

You insert your middle finger as well; and moan. “Faster” you beg, but he shakes his head and so a string of curses fall out your mouth and all he can do is smile at it.

“That filthy fucking mouth of yours” me mutters.

“Well if you shove your dick into it instead then this stupid fucking bet will be over and we’ll both get off.”

“You know, I’ve really missed your fantastic sense of humor while I’ve been away” he answers dryly, but with a smile.

“Tom” you whine. “I need more.”

He wants to kiss you so badly, to press his lips against yours and taste you; to remove his boxers and sink into you in one swift movement until your hoarse and wanton whines turn into satisfied moans, soft and sweet like honey.

“Go on then, darling” he says, voice huskier than usual in the dark night. “Speed up for me.”

You do, your body hungry for satisfaction, hunting your orgasm with determent, sharp movements.

“Fuck,” he swears, “fuck you’re soaked.” He looks down at your wet slit, your rapidly moving fingers, your hips bucking up to meet your hand. Looking back into your wild eyes he groans, his mouth still dangerously close to yours.

“The whole room smells of you” he moans, and it’s true. The scent of your arousal mixes with the scent of your perfumed skin and this is the closest he’s been so far to falter; to give in to temptation.

Your head is thrown back against the pillows, throat exposed, soft moans escaping freely. He wants to touch you everywhere, feel the softness of your skin with his rough hands, his wet mouth, his teeth. He’s breathing hard and he hasn’t even been touched, but he feels the want of touching you in his bones.

He wants to wrap his lips around your hardened nipples. To suck, bite, lick and kiss them until you fall over the edge.

“So fucking beautiful” he breathes out. Even if he had wanted to he wouldn't have been able to look away from you. “But it’s my hand your fucking, remember? Think I’d wouldn’t fuck you harder than that?”

And god, he wish it was his hand you were fucking, wish he could feel you come; hot and wet and pulsing around his fingers. Instead he is left to watch. Watch as the movements of your hand speeds up until fucking yourself with a carnal kind of need, until you fall apart at the seams; luscious bliss spreading over your features, and your tense body relaxes until you soften against the mattress; loose limbed and starry eyed.

And he is left to take care of the his erection all on his own.

A thin layer of sweat is covering his chest and his muscles are taut as he forces his arms to carry his weight into another push-up.

“Thirty-six” he groans out, his voice strained and deep from the physical effort, curls of brown hair falling over his face as he lowers himself to the ground again. “Thirty-seven.”

You couldn’t look away even if you tried, your eyes fixed on the muscles of his back, and the way they move as he moves.

You feel agitated and frantic and in that moment you want nothing more than to lay down beneath him; look up at him as move above you with swift, powerful moments. It’s beyond reason, the carnal tug inside you as you watch him and it is absolutely maddening that he hasn’t given in yet to his desire; because you know he desires you, have seen it in his dark eyes, always following you around the room, over the last few days.

But you are not going to be the first one to give in.

“Forty-two” he moans out, and the sound of his heavy breathing and deep groans vibrate somewhere far inside you.

You’re not.

You just need a change of tactic, that’s all.

The pub is packed tonight, but the more secluded pool area section is scarce of people. Tom sips on his beer, scrolling through instagram; waiting for you, as the speakers blast out ‘Galway Girl’ for what feels like the hundredth time since he came in. He’s been visiting a friend while you’ve been at work, having decided this morning to meet up at the pub after for a meal and a game of pool.

A text pops up on the screen, beside your picture. It simply says ‘Look up’.

He does. And fuck.

Oh, fuck no.

Oh, for all that is holy, surely you wouldn’t be that cruel to him.

Not the white shorts.

Not the white shorts you had worn last summer, the ones you know very well turns him on like nothing else. The ones you had worn that time when you had driven down to the beach on bonfire night; the time when you pulled him aside from the rest of the company and he had ended up fucking you against the birch wood tree just some meters away from all your friends, your shorts around your ankles and your nails digging into his back as you tried to bite back you moans.

Surely you wouldn’t be this cruel to him, because he’s pretty sure he’s going to die. He hasn’t had sex in over three months and you show up looking like this and he’s pretty sure he’s going to die.

He’s just not sure about whether this is going to be heaven

or hell.

He watches you as you walk through the pub with long confident strides, the goddamn heels you're wearing extending your legs, and the fabric of the white tank top stretching over your chest. Your lips are painted blood red, as if you are ready for battle.

He’s not the only one in the pub staring at you but you keep your eyes fixed on him, burning into his eyes, as you move across the floor.

“Honey” you greet him. “Got one of those for me as well?” You nod to the beer in his hand, frozen mid movement to his mouth.

“Why?” He asks, trying to regain the upper hand. “Feeling thirsty?”

You laugh dryly, looking down at his crotch, where he’s painfully aware a bulge is showing. Instead of commenting on it he hands you the other beer bottle he ordered and watches as you wrap your red lips around the opening, swallowing down. He feels warm all over in the stuffy pub and he pulls at the collar of his t-shirt.

He reaches for the cue sticks and hands you one. “Alright, darling” he sighs, knowing very well what kind of teasing hell you are about to put him through tonight, “let’s play.”

The playlist has gone from Ed Sheeran songs to Mumford & Sons and the pub is still packed with people, though the pool area remains empty apart from you and Tom. It's warm in there and Tom takes big gulps from his third beer of the night. He can feel sweat forming on his back, his brow, his chest.

You’re not helping the situation. Although he’s pretty certain that helping is opposite of what you’re trying to do.

“You’re so fucking annoying” he whines, as he watches you hit the white ball perfectly, resulting in two of your striped balls ending up in the pockets. He’s leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and mouth in a thin line.

He fucking hates losing.

“You know what you should do?” You ask, lining up against the table, arched back as you bend over with your cue stick; giving him a full view of your fucking fantastic thighs, “try to fuck it out of me.” You hit another perfect shot and a third ball goes in. You look over your shoulder at him, still bent over the table, and wink.

Standing up straight you turn to him. Swaying your hips to the music you lift the beer bottle to your red lips and you swallow a mouthful. Placing the bottle next to you on the side of the pool table you walk over to him, standing so close you’re almost touching.

Almost

In fact, you might as well be, for he can smell your perfume, mixing with the scent of your shampoo. Can feel the heat radiate of your warm body. It’s been so long since he’s held you and his entire body is painfully aware of it.

With your lips just centimeters from his you whisper; voice husky and low, “I know how bad you want me, honey.” You move your face so that you’re almost kissing the stubble on his cheek, mouth nearly pressed against it.

“You want my hands” you whisper again, looking up at him, your hand hovering right over his erection, carefully as not to touch it, and he nearly bucks out to meet your hand. He’s glad that the area is more secluded, part of the wall hiding the pair of you from view. It feels like there’s just the two of you in the entire world; might as well be for all he cares right now. A blush colours his cheeks as he stares back at you.

“You want my mouth” you breathe against him, your lips curled into an evil smile. “You want my tongue” and you lick your lips before biting it, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You wish I was on my hands and knees right now, so you could fuck my mouth.” you finish.

His skin feels tight and overheated, but he keeps his tone casual as he replies, “actually I wish you were bent over the table so spank that arse of yours, but sure, I wouldn’t say no to a blowie.”

“What’s stopping you? You think you can hold on forever? You know I’m not going to give in, Tom. You know me. Can you imagine going to sleep tonight? Untouched? Again?”

There’s no use he thinks as he plunges in for a kiss, pulling you tight against him; eager to touch as much as you as possible with impatient hands.

He tried to beat the devil at her own game and he lost.

“Think you lost, honey” you say between kisses as he’s pressing you up against the front door.

“Don’t give a flying fuck love, just keep touching me and I’ll die a happy man.” His voice is breathless and hoarse and his hands are all over you; as if he can’t get enough. Your hand is in his soft hair, holding on, as the other is cupping the bulge in his trousers, stroking him through the fabric as he whimpers in your ear.

“We should probably get inside,” you whisper. “Unless you want your neighbors to witness me give you a hand job on the front steps.”

He groans, but steps away from you. His hair is ruffled and his pupils are blown wide, spit from your previous kissing covering his lower lip. You imagine you look just as disheveled.

“Think you need to learn a lesson in delayed gratification” you tease, not being able to stop yourself.

His eyes go even darker and he takes a step forward again, cups your chin and looks you straight in the eye in a way that has bolts of excitement shoot up your spine. “Before the night is over” he says in a slow, gruff voice, “I will teach you all there is to know about delayed gratification.”

He digs in his pockets, pulls out his keys and unlocks the front door, guiding you in with a hand on your lower back.

He feels as if someone has lit a match under his skin. His whole body is screaming with vehement urgency for yours. His hands can’t get enough of you; his lips never want to leave your soft lips again. Your soft little noises are filling his head and he hardly even registers your hands unzipping his jeans; until you’re pulling them, alongside his boxers, off of him in a sharp tugging notion.

“Filthy girl, I fucking love you” he moans out between kisses as you wrap your soft hand around his hard cock.

He pulls at your tank top and for a moment your skin separates entirely from his as you step away, so that he can remove the fabric from you. Yanking at the goddamn jeans shorts he pulls them down around your ankles and you step out of them. Your underwear soon follows suit along with his t-shirt until you both are free of any inconvenient clothing.

He needs your warm and soft skin pressed against his, needs your soft little moans in his ear as he fucks into you, needs the taste of your sweet skin on his tongue.

He lifts you up on the bed and soon follows suit. Reaching down he slips a finger between your legs, feels how wet and warm and slick you are and groans loudly against your shoulder.

Lining up against you, cock in hand he looks at your lust filled eyes. “Next time I’ll go slow, yeah? I’ll take my time.”

Your answer is your hands on his shoulder, pulling him against you and he slips inside you with an ecstatic moan. You moan as well, wrap your legs around his hips. He starts moving, thrusting in and out of you with greedy dragged out jabs. The wet sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room and mixes with your whimpering mewls.

You are so hot and tight and wet around him and the pleasure is so intense it’s bordering on painful. His face is so close to yours, it is as if you are sharing breaths.

He wants to punch himself from denying himself this for several days when he already had to go without for months.

“Did you think your hands could stand in for mine while I was away? That it could measure up at all?” He asks you, voice thick with lust. He’s so full of want for you and you’re all soft noise and wandering hands. Your warm breath on his even warmer skin. His lips on your nipples; kissing, sucking, biting.

You writhe beneath him, unable to lay still as you buck your hips up to meet his; fucking into him. He’s not going to last long but neither is you and holding on is a losing battle. Like he said, next time he will go slower, gentler, softer. Drag it out for an entire night. But you both have too much built up pressure inside you to last now. He feels like a bomb about to go off, sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine, as he fucks into you with even greater force. You’re hot and swollen and hugging onto him so perfectly he feels like he’s going to lose his mind if he doesn’t get to come soon.

But he knows that you are close. Feels it in your nails, dragging along his back, in the sharp movements of your thrusts, in your laboured breathing against his shoulder. He feels it in the way your cunt squeezes around him.

“I’m coming” you whimper and he wants to cry from the relief as he feels you spasm around him.

“Fuck” you moan out as your breathing calms down, and he’s holding you pressed against his chest. “Haven’t had a decent orgasm in months, I wasn’t prepared for that.”

“You really can’t function without me, can you?” he says with a smug smile and honestly, hadn’t you’ve been so blissed out you probably would have bitten him.

A/N: I honestly don’t know if any of this made sense. I’m drunk and tired and I’m going to bed. If you read it, please leave your thoughts.

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland smut #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader

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binniesthighs · 4 years

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wetter | reader x minho

Pairing: self insert, gender neutral reader x lee minho

Genre: smut, angst, pwp

Tags: harddom!minho, sub!reader, fuckboi!minho, fratboy!minho, waitstaff!reader, hookup au, degredation, penetration (r), oral and facefucking (m receiving), several mentions of gagging bc of deepthroating, fingering (r), semi-public sex (bathroom), quickie, cumshot (face), several allusions to infidelity

Word count: 2.5k

Requested: “hard dom!minho... with degradation...pls...” & “my thoughts are filled with hard dom!minho with degredation 🤤” (original ask)

There’s something intoxicating about hooking up with a person when the only thing that you know about them is the heat from their lips.

Some would argue that this makes them less of a “person” but more of a fantasy. If you had know their name, it would’ve made other strings twist in the mix. If you had known their name, maybe you would have been inclined to look them up maybe, or even worse, fall asleep with their name running over and over in your mind.

It was best when they tasted like sin and like the daydreams that you had never uttered.

He wasn’t like the other men that you would lead into the spotless bathroom of the country club which practically shone from the hard work of janitors who were paid less than the meals served at the god-forsaken place. As a part of the wait staff, your pay was dismal, but at least you could get a good fuck out of it once and a while.

Then men that would frequent the country club and golf course were always the kind that had starving hands and dicks that would twitch under their belts from the slightest brush of your hand. They were the kind of men who had wives, mistresses, and even handsome young men who could be at their beck and call. You liked to think that you were unlike those who they secretly craved. If anything, you were their daydreams.

This man seemed to be no different--at least in looks.

He sat with his legs spread where he socialized with his young friends on the veranda. The small group ate their salmon on bagels and caviar along with expensive cocktails that you barely knew the names of. A couple of them already had girls on their laps, and they fed them cherries which stained their plush (and likely fake) lips.

This man sat alone with his cardigan and perfectly pressed pants and loafers that appeared to have never been worn before. He had barely touched his food, but rather seemed to satiate his appetite from the teasing and dumb laughter of his friends. Judging off of his chunky and extravagant watch, there must’ve been no way that he had paid for the thing himself. Daddy or Mommy’s money made him appear as if he was some heir or prince. He even smelled like one too.

The male patrons would often follow the way that your hips moved when you walked to and from their table, or how your hands would rest on the crystal glass tables as you took their orders. You knew they must have been imagining what your fingers would’ve looked around their cocks.

He even gave you the same look.

You had guessed that he must’ve been college age or some kind of graduate. His friends wore Greek letters, so you assumed that he must have been one of the “brothers.” A long time ago, someone had told you to be especially careful of his breed of boy.

“Care to accompany me away from this crowd?” He had whispered into your ear, tickling it, when you had reached across to grab the plates.

The other boys had decided to go to the pool or the gym--not that it mattered--and his hand crept behind your waist as soon as he had excused himself from the rest of the group.

“I’ve got to call my mom real quick. If she wasn’t such a nag all the time...”

He held your hand as if he had known you, but it was likely not to rouse suspicion.

“Nice to meet you.” He sneers, looking back and passing the crowds of women in their feathered hats and other golfers in their finest designer polos and slacks.

You nod, noting that his hand feels strong and domineering in your own, and you can’t even begin to wonder where he might be taking you. If you were lucky, they would take you to their rooms and lay you down on the California King Sized Mattress, then you wouldn’t have to bend uncomfortably. However, this wouldn’t always be the case. Most of them favored coat closets, bathrooms and powder rooms.

You kept your head down as he pulled you further down hallways, praying that none of your coworkers would take notice. Some of them already had, however it wasn’t like any of them cared...not when they would often indulge in the same vice. Unhappy marriages were where most of you found some brief moments of happiness.

The young man snickered finding his hiding place and promptly lead you along with him into the towel closet which had been unlocked by the pool boys. The door was painted white and louvered with slits for airflow. It was then when you knew this would have to be one of the times when you would have to bite your tongue back.

He closed the door as quietly as he could, then turned to shove you back against it, and smear his heavy breaths over your mouth where he slicked his tongue against yours immediately. As he did so, his heated fingertips set to shrugging off your apron and hastily throwing it aside. You returned by sinking your fingers under his leather belt and jingling the metal around. If he was to see you bare, you wanted to see him too--something told you that he had something to show under his designer cardigan and this cotton shirt which must’ve cost a similar fortune.

His abs were toned as you had expected, and they rippled under your fingertips. The young man popped the button to your pants, and you reciprocated doing the same. Just like the others, it barely took anything for him to get hard. His length swelled against your stomach and he grinded it into you too just so you could feel his eagerness.

“You were practically asking to get fucked? Weren’t you? You whore.”

The young man smiled out his poisonous words, but they felt as luxurious as they usually did when you had heard them grace your ears. He kissed you once again with a mixture of teeth and tongue that ran your lips raw while you pulled down his pants to his ankles and tugged at the elastic to his briefs.

“Fuck, you really do want it that bad don’t you baby?”

His hands palmed at your own quivering sex which had slicked with your own arousal from his greedy advances. His hand pushed at the confines of our underwear and pants where he started to rub incessantly, then ate up your shuddering moans which floated from your lips to his.

All at once, he removed his hand and left your knees to buckle from the sudden lack of contact. With a deathly glare, he brought his fingers to your gasping mouth.

“Wetter.” He demanded before dipping them onto your tongue. You lathered them with your salvia where he twisted them around your muscle with the taste of bitter sweat and your own cum.

Once he saw fit, he drew his soaked fingers back down to your waistband and resumed teasing at your sensitive skin.

“You’d like to taste my cock wouldn’t you? Are you hungry enough for it, kitten?”

You nodded, trying to hide your whimpering from his touch.

“Get on your fucking knees then.”

He nearly shoved your shoulders to the ground, but you didn’t need him to prompt you. You pulled down his briefs on your way down his body, springing free his hardened member that was wrapped in thick veins. You firstly jerked at his hooded shaft beading with his cum, and you kissed at his tip roughly too for good measure.

“Did I say to tease me? Take me in your throat, you slut.” He slapped at your cheek, then aligned his dick with your lips. “What? Scared that it’s too much for you?”

“No.” You answered while testing him from below. “I can take it.”

“Show me.”

You did so--even though his considerable length burned and stretched out your throat at first. You knew that sometimes they liked it when they saw you cry, so you let the tears well at their own will. You hummed against his dick while he pushed at your gag reflex. With your right hand, you took his shaft back to twist at it while your head bobbed. Your steady pace kept your gags at bay, but every so often he would jerk his hips a little with a grunt, and you would nearly loose your composure.

“Is that as deep as you can take it? Fuck...here I was thinking that you would feel different...”

The young man laced both of his hands to the sides of your face: the exact place to give a cue into his intentions.

“Let me know if you need me to stop.” He growled.

He fucked your face deeper and deeper, gradually working up to a pace that felt comfortable while you puffed up your cheeks. Gag after gag he teased, and the strings of your drool slicked and bubbled on his cock while dripping down your neck too.

“Your pretty, tight, little throat feels so fucking good on my cock. Is that how you like it you cockslut?”

Hot tears dripped down your cheeks while you nodded the best you could in response, and your feet startled to tingle where they had fallen asleep where you knelt.

“Oh fuck yes.”

All that you could do to steady yourself was claw at his lower back, then moan helplessly against his length which stretched you out so well, it was impossible that it had felt this good before.

The young man pulled out after leaving your lips raw, pausing to pant like a wild animal while still firmly holding your head. You gasped, open mouthed, and sucked in air greedily while your spit strung from your lips to his cock.

“Stand up.” He commanded, and pulled you to your shaking feet. “Ready to get fucked sweetheart?”

“Y-yes.” You said, lightheaded, wiping the drool from your mouth onto your uniform sleeve.

The young man smirked out before turning you face first into the door. “Good. Don’t make a fucking sound doll. That is, unless you want to get caught? To have someone see you fucked out like this?”

“N-no...”

“Lets feel then how tight this hole of yours is.”

He let out a devilish sounding chuckle while bringing his hips to yours and coaxing his cock into your leaking entrance. He was just as thick in your hole as he had felt in your throat, and you squeaked out feeling the challenge. With your face pressed against the wooden door with ventilation slits, you could see the feet of those walking past, barely even knowing what had been occurring on the other side. Light from the hallway peeped in and striped over your whole body which the man ravished.

“Spread your legs farther...that’s it...just like that.”

The stranger thrust slowly at first, like he could just barely give you a taste of his full length; like you barely deserved it too.

“Fells good, doesn’t it? Such an obedient little fucktoy for me, aren’t you? I bet you were dreaming of this happening weren’t you? ...Looking at me the way that you were...”

“P-please...” You begged for him to quicken, but that wasn’t even your place.

“Do you fuck everyone like how you fuck me? I should have guessed that you would put out for anyone with those coy glances. I’m no idiot.”

“H-harder...fuck me harder...”

“Harder?” The rich young man scoffed, “I get to decide when I go harder.”

The man rolled his hips, and the patting of skin filled the darkened room. He gasped out while finding his rhythm, then reached around his fingers to tease at your lips once more.

“Wetter.” He chanted.

You did as you were told, he and rewarded you with the harsher grinding of his hips. Once his digits were properly wetted again, he brought them back to your throbbing sex, and rubbed at it with the same ferocity that he snapped.

“Cum all over my fingers you whore, cum like you fucking want it.”

His words were dizzying, and you gently rocked yourself over his hand and focused everything you could to drawing out your orgasm which was nearly there.

“That's right. Fuck my fingers kitten.”

The stranger too began to shake and you could sense that he had started to let go as well. The door rattled where he had you pressed against it, but he didn’t appear to care in the slightest.

“Oh god,” You peeped as quietly as you could, and felt your orgasm begging wildly.

He stopped for a couple moments to tap lightly into your arousal nearly on the edge, then laughed wickedly at the way that your whole body shook in response. All the while, his hips maintained their quick drags.

“Cum for me.” He demanded once more, and you obliged, finally erupting over his fingers with the cream of your cum lathers over your thighs and wrapping around his digits.

The words came out airy and broken, “S-shit....s-shit...”

He had become unchained, then turned his whole attention to the way that his fingers dug into your hips and how he could graze you so deep inside, it was like nothing you had known of before. He then grabbed at your ass with the bite of his fingernails while he pumped with hitched breaths.

“Back to your knees.” The command was sudden, but soon you found your shaking legs right back on the ground.

The stranger jerked himself fervently with eyes screwed shut and his own soft moans trailing from his pink lips and wetted tongue.

“Look at me.” He whispered. With one more flick of his wrist, he sent himself spewing his white and warm cum all over your face; ruining every feature. You closed your eyes to protect them but permitted your tongue to him freely where he jerked out the last of his milkly liquid directly onto your taste buds. His cum had painted your cheeks, and dripped from your jaw. At last you swallowed down the most you could with the bitter aftertaste that you had loved so much.

“Well, that’s certainly a sight.” The man reveled at his work.

You gasped out for him and grabbed a nearby towel to wipe the rest away, although he appeared somewhat disappointed by this. He too took a towel to wipe off his length and sweating forehead. After, he was silent picking up his clothes, and jingling his belt once more back over his waist. It often ended like this: the few words spoken in the moments before they left.

“Thanks for that babe.” He grinned. “Name’s Lee Minho. ‘Hope I’ll be seeing you around again.”

~🌹~

Bunch of (Ro)ses!

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @lunarskzzz @yourdaddychan @bubblelixie @spnobsessedmemes @lmhmins @eunaeiekim

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iamtheblondestblonde · 4 years

Text

Temptation

AN: I... I don’t even know what to say except for I’m so sorry? We had some tech issues at work today and I had this idea while I waited and it didn’t fit with Slides so here’s some plot with porn at the end with Mat? I wrote this in first person narrative but there’s no name or description in it. Also this is my first time writing anything like this and I didn’t spend much time proof-reading so please don’t judge too harshly

AN 2: I wrote a sequel called No Control and you can find it here so please check it out!!

Word count: 7.4k (things escalated what can I say..)

Warnings: cursing and smut, like really explicit content

He was only wearing a towel. Again. Seeing him walking around in nothing but shorts was already bad enough but this was on a whole other level.

When Mat had first invited me to come with him to his lake house by Vancouver to wait this mess out I had been thrilled. Fancy lake house overlooking the water with my best friend definitely sounded better than stuffy Brooklyn apartment in a city crammed with thousands of people infected.

Thankfully my online classes made the journey across the country possible and I only had to fly back for a short while to take my final exams. This wasn’t really how I envisioned my summer after graduating college but it could be worse I guess.

As I took a look at him all glistening wet from his shower on his way over to me by the kitchen island, I felt like I was trapped in an episode of temptation island or something like that.

Neither of us had expected this lockdown to last this long and almost two months of being holed up together was starting to take its toll. I’d known for a fact that I’d go batshit crazy if I were to stay with my own family or my crazy roommate though so his offer had truly been godsend. With the fancy club I usually waitressed at closed there was no way I’d be able to pay for my rent either, so I’d given my landlord my notice, put everything that I wouldn’t take with me in storage and followed Mat across the country.

His family was supposed to be up here with us and that way I’d have his sister as a distraction, but they’d decided to stay in the city, meaning it was only Mat and I. And my sexual frustration.

It didn’t help that my quarantine buddy looked like a fucking Greek god either. Any nun would probably go for him as well, frustrated or not. And I was definitely not a nun.

“Do you want to go paddle boarding after breakfast? The water shouldn’t be too cold today with the sun out.”

I looked out through the large floor to ceiling windows at Mat’s question, I’d been so distracted by him running around practically naked that I hadn’t even noticed that for the first time in three days there were almost no clouds visible. With May well underway British Columbia was apparently finally getting ready for summer.

“Yeah let’s do it. I still have to respond to a couple of emails before we leave tho.”

He took a look over my shoulder at my laptop, water droplets from his hair falling down my neck making me squirm.

“You’re getting me all wet”, I huffed before giving him a shove. Not thinking about the way his muscular shoulders felt underneath my fingers at all. Definitely not thinking about that. Nope.

“You’re the first girl I’ve ever heard complain about that you know?” He winked at me before throwing his head back in laughter as I flipped him off. The flirty banter that had been going on between us ever since we met almost two years ago wasn’t really helping my case either.

I was convinced the only reason why we hadn’t hooked up yet was terrible timing. We’d met at a time when both of us were seeing others and by the time we both were single again the previous months of platonic friendship had set our relationship in stone, never allowing for anything more than playful flirting and teasing. I’d thought about it for a couple of times, because honestly who wouldn’t with the way he looked?

Mat filled a cup with coffee and grabbed some of the breakfast I’d prepared before pulling out the chair next to me, looking at me expectantly. I was still munching on the remainder of my overnight oats so it took me a couple of seconds to swallow before I could ask what the hell he was waiting for.

“For you to finish whatever it is that you need to do. I have nothing else to do”

“I can’t concentrate with you hovering over me like this. Go work out or something.”

Mat had a really nice gym set up in one of the rooms and let me tell you if I had to pick one place to plank for the rest of the life, it would definitely be in there so I could at least watch the calming water while I died such a slow painful death.

“I already worked out, that’s why I just got out of the shower.”

“Well then put some fucking clothes on, you’re not some cave man who can get away with only wearing a loincloth”, I exclaimed, slowly getting flustered with him in such close proximity while knowing that one tuck could expose him completely. He cackled but got up nevertheless, making his way back towards his bedroom.

“Me being naked is yet another thing no one has ever complained about either, you wound me.”

“I’m sure Tito would disagree!”, I yelled, desperate to have the last word so I could at least keep some semblance of control in this situation. I could hear him laugh all the way from the other end of the house and quickly shook my head so I could finally get some things sorted out before he got back.

With the way the sun was shining right now I could probably get away with wearing only a t shirt over my swimsuit, which was a lot better than the full-on wetsuit we’d donned whenever we’d spent our time doing any water activities over the past few weeks. Although Mat in a wetsuit was truly a sight to see, with the way the fabric clung to him so tight that you could see every ridge of his muscles underneath.

I hustled through my emails, ready to relax for the day. Perhaps I could even start on my summer tan already, being out on the water always sped things up. Thankfully I’d bothered to bring lots of clothes and a bit of online shopping had closed any gaps that I had in my wardrobe, this bikini being one of the new acquirements as well. It was super cute and my butt looked really good in it and it would look even better once I finally got my tan going.

Mat was already lounging on the couch in the living room, scrolling through his phone and looking annoyingly perfect as ever. I knew for a fact that he hadn’t done anything with his hair and it looked so soft that I just wanted to push my hands through it. And pull it until he groaned.

“That one’s new”, he immediately said once he lifted his gaze to look at me, pulling me out of my fantasies. I hadn’t put my shirt on yet so he was getting the full view of me in the bikini, which might have been on purpose. I knew that quarantine must be getting to him as well and he wasn’t the only one that could be a tease.

I nodded, biting my lip before twirling around so he could get all angles. “You like?”

This bikini was a little bit skimpier than the ones he’d seen me in before and I could tell by the look in his eyes that he wasn’t as relaxed at the sight as he pretended to be. Finally.

We grabbed our paddles and boards and slowly made our way out on the water. It still took me a couple of minutes to find my balance, no matter how many times I’d done this before but eventually I managed, Mat now slightly ahead of me. If I had my phone with me I would definitely take pictures of him right now, they’d be outdoor magazine worthy.

“Come on slow poke, what’s keeping you?”, he yelled over his shoulder and I was tempted to splash him but I already knew that that would end up in a fight I couldn’t possibly win so I only stuck my tongue out before working to catch up.

At first we kept close to the shore but eventually we slowly made our way out farther onto the lake, laying down on our boards to enjoy the gentle up and down of the water. The sun was hotter than anticipated so both Mat and I ended up taking off our shirts and using them as pillows instead. I closed my eyes to keep me from staring at him, instead relishing in the way the sun warmed my face.

“This is what life should always be like”, Mat sighed contently, breaking the comfortable silence.

“You’d miss hockey eventually. You belong on the ice.”

“Probably. But right now I’m not missing a thing ‘cause I got everything I need right here.”

I didn’t want to look at him out of fear of what I might see on his face, only giving him an affirmative hum instead.

“You’re seriously the best”, Mat sighed after emptying his drink yet again. I had decided that tonight would be taco night and made some margaritas to accompany them, both of us a couple of glasses in by now. It honestly could be a Tuesday but who even knows anymore. I was convinced that at least part of the reason why Mat had asked me to come with him was because he liked my food so much, especially when I cooked Mexican.

The sun was setting over the lake and we were sitting outside on the porch so we could watch the sun set above the water, music playing quietly in the background. He reached for the pitcher and I grabbed the golf club leaning against the sofa we were currently sharing, even though there was lots of space to lounge elsewhere.

Now I didn’t really like golfing, in fact I thought it was among the most boring sports to watch and not much better to play, but I did like to swing at the ball as hard as I could. I’d found some golf balls that would dissolve into food for the fish so for the last couple of hours Mat and I had taken turns in trying to get the ball as far as possible, both of us with a subpar form that only got worse after every margarita.

“No you need to rotate your hips along with the swing”, Mat commented and I threw him a look over my shoulder.

“You’re not much better you know.”

“Yeah but I’m also stronger than you so I can hit harder.”

“I’m not sure if that’s how it works Matty.”

For my next swing I made sure to exaggeratedly turn my hips with the movement, causing me to lose balance of course. In a split second Mat was there, his big hands resting on either side of my hips so I wouldn’t fall.

“Good reflexes”, I giggled, letting my head drop back onto his shoulder so I could look up at him, our eyes locking in an intense stare. He was standing so close to me that I could feel his breath fan across my neck it was very tempting to take the little step that was needed for me to be pressed against him completely. I knew I shouldn’t be thinking about him like this, but the alcohol wasn’t exactly helping.

I could see him swallow hard, closing his eyes for a second before reluctantly letting go of me. “It’s what they pay me millions for you know.”

“Cocky little shit.” And just like that we fell back into our old rhythm again. I pushed any and all dirty thoughts out of my mind and instead focused back on my golf swing.

With every sip I felt myself relax more, the amount of alcohol in the second pitcher definitely stronger than in the first. I knew that Mat felt the effect of the alcohol as well by now, the way his gaze would turn unfocused from time to time giving him away.

I gave him a curious glance when he got up, knowing for a fact that him with a golf club would be a dangerous combination if he tried anything right now. To my surprise he walked over to the box where all the blankets were stashed, pulling out the fluffy grey one that I liked most before spreading it across both of our legs. He surprised me even further when he wrapped his arm around me, pulling me close to his side so I could rest my head on his chest. While behavior like this wasn’t completely unusual for the two of us, it had been a while since we last cuddled. It was as if Mat had been careful to not get too close up until this point, his resolve now gone.

“You know, I really like knowing things and learning how stuff works, but sometimes I just wanna be a kid again who doesn’t have a clue. I remember how I used to think that every star was a little fairy like the ones in Tinkerbell or something, I don’t know. The world used to be so full of wonders and now it’s all science this psychology that, you get me?” I listened to him ramble, the alcohol making him stumble on his words a couple of times as he tried to figure out how to properly articulate himself. I’d listened to his drunk thoughts for years now, still amazed at his ability to get all philosophical out of apparently nowhere.

“Kinda yea, but I also think there’s still lots of wonders left, some of them having to do with science. Why do comatose patients wake up? What must it feel like as a surgeon to be able to give someone a new heart, a new life? How can we know so much and yet still be wrong so many times? So the way I see it there’s still wonders, you just got to know where to look”, I finished my rant, looking up only to see Mat intently staring down at me. This wasn’t our first drunk real talk, but the way I was wrapped in his arms somehow made it feel more personal.

“By the way, I think I got lucky because I wasn’t even looking and yet I still somehow ran into you”, I continued, needing him to understand his importance to me all of the sudden. He’d truly been my rock over the past few months, keeping me from going insane as I approached the final stretch of my senior year. He’d reminded me to take care of myself and practically forced me to whenever I didn’t.

I couldn’t even count the amount of times I’d crashed at his place because my roommate was having some kind of crazy rager in our apartment, effectively making it impossible to study. He’d even offered up his spare bedroom once he moved into his new apartment but I declined because I wouldn’t be able to afford the rent at this place and I wasn’t about to leech off of him when I had other options.

“You are my wonder too, you know. I couldn’t have wished for a more supportive friend.” I smiled up at him, drunk happiness mixed with genuine love for the guy that had slowly turned into the most important person in my life. We’d come quite far.

It didn’t take long until the both of us were yawning so frequently that it was impossible to keep up a conversation, quickly gathering everything so we could go back inside. I hadn’t even realized how cold it had gotten until Mat’s arm dropped from my shoulder and my legs were exposed again from underneath the blanket.

“You wanna have a sleepover?”, Mat asked grinning at me cheekily while walking across the living room. Never one to say no to cuddling with Mat, even before all this quarantine horniness, I nodded before dashing off to my room to get ready.

Mat was already snuggled under the covers and he lifted up one side as soon as he saw me getting closer. He liked to be the big spoon and because that was one of the best feelings in the world I basically let him do whatever until he deemed our sleeping position comfortable. He’d definitely pulled me a little tighter than he usually did, our bodies now practically touching from head to toe.

He’d tangled up one of his legs with mine and my back was flush to his chest, his face nuzzled into the back of my neck. He had wrapped one arm around my waist so even if I wanted to leave or move, I wouldn’t be able to. It was like a big perfect Mat cocoon.

As I laid there listening to his breathing slowing down I thought back to what Mat had said on the paddle board a couple of days ago, about how he had everything he needed right here with him. I knew that that wasn’t exactly true because he missed his family and even if he denied it I knew he missed hockey as well, but he’d also admitted to needing me with him and I would be lying if I said that I didn’t feel the same.

A few rays of sunshine had lit up Mat’s bedroom the next morning, but that wasn’t what had woken me up. Mat was calling for me from the ensuite bathroom and I could faintly make out the sound of water running.

“I need you to bring me your shampoo, I’m all out”, he yelled and I groaned before slowly rolling out of bed. In daylight I could make out the mess his room had become, clothes littering the floor and every other surface and I almost stumbled over a set of weights on my way out of the door.

I grabbed my shampoo out of my shower and even reached for the conditioner for good measure. His hair had gotten so long by now that it would surely appreciate the extra attention.

Making my way into the bathroom I was faced with a problem that I hadn’t thought of up until this point. The lake house was pretty new, meaning the interior design was cozy yet still modern. Meaning all bathrooms were equipped with big glass showers. Meaning that there was currently no shower curtain preventing me from seeing Mat fully naked in the shower.

I could close my eyes but I would 100% trip over his clothes that he’d strewn all across the bathroom floor so my only option was to try and keep my eyes up high. Keyword being ‘try’. At least he had his back turned to me but I was still mesmerized by the water running down his body and the way his back muscles rippled as he reached up to push his hair out of his face. And that ass..

I slowly approached the shower, praying that he wouldn’t turn around to face me but also kind of hoping he would. I opened the door a little bit so I could set the bottles down inside and thankfully he stayed put.

“Don’t put the conditioner on your roots or your hair will look greasy”, I said on my way out and even I could hear how breathless I sounded, the view having my thoughts run a mile a second.

As soon as I had the bathroom door closed I squeezed my eyes shut to try and regain my composure. The image of him in that shower was one I wouldn’t be able to get rid of for a long time. I couldn’t even take a cold shower to cool down because Mat had my stuff and he’d know something was up if I were to simply rinse myself off and I couldn’t exactly tell him that the sight of him naked had gotten me all hot and bothered.

So instead I decided to use all of my pent up energy to go on a run, hoping for the runner’s high to clear my thoughts. By the time I got back Mat was laying in the corner of the couch, an episode of The Office on the big flatscreen.

“We need to go to the store later”, I reminded him, knowing that I couldn’t walk in on him naked again without losing the little control I had left in my body. He nodded and then looked me up and down and for a second I was embarrassed. Even with only wearing running shorts and a sports bra I was still drenched in sweat, probably looking disgusting.

At least he’d put my stuff back so I could finally shower in peace, my thoughts still wandering back to earlier this morning. I wouldn’t have turned him down before all of this shit started but now that I only had my own hands and trusted toy to take care of myself, I was borderline desperate. Two months without sex was the longest dry spell I’d had in years and I couldn’t imagine Mat feeling any different. I knew from firsthand experience that he brought lots of girls home as well. Perhaps he needed something to happen as much as I did.

It was hard to believe that his shampoo had just been empty all of a sudden without him noticing first and then there was the fact that for the past few days he’d been parading around the house in only his boxers or towels.

Two can play this game, I thought to myself, pulling on a comfy shirt and some tight booty shorts, foregoing a bra which he was bound to notice because of how it stretched over my chest.

I pretended not to notice how Mat almost choked on the sip of water he’d just taken as I made my way into the living room, walking over to the kitchen to grab my own bottle. Even if I couldn’t see it to confirm, I was pretty sure that he was staring at my ass as soon as I turned away from him. For good measure I even made sure to lie down with my head in his lap, murmuring something about how he’d taken up the best spot so he really left me no other choice.

The first few minutes he didn’t move an inch, resembling a statue. I knew that he could feel my boobs pressed against his thigh and I made sure to shift a couple of times to make sure before placing one of my hands on his thigh. Eventually he relaxed and even went as far as to rest one of his hands on top of my hand, slowly moving his fingers through the tangles in my still wet hair. When he accidently pulled at a few strands I let out a content sigh while simultaneously digging my nails into his thigh out of habit. I pretended to not hear him groan lightly and instead gave him the most insincere apology of my life, thoughts now definitely elsewhere.

I was royally screwed. Or actually I wasn’t, and that was becoming a big problem.

I’d made it my personal mission to get a reaction out of him as much as I could. Mat was the same, I hadn’t seen him wearing a shirt in days. It was like this competition to see who could make the other one snap first. Currently I was making breakfast in nothing but a shirt and my panties. Granted, the shirt went to my mid-thighs because I’d stolen it from Mat a couple of months ago but still.

One of my upbeat playlists was playing over the speaker system and I was dancing around in front of the stove, careful to not let the our breakfast burn.

“What a sight to wake up to”, I heard Mat’s voice behind me and his hoarse morning voice did things to me I would never admit out loud. I gave him a cheeky grin over my shoulder and wiggled my butt for good measure as my favorite part of the song came on.

“Can you set the table? Breakfast is almost ready”, I asked and he nodded before moving to grab everything. We’d gotten our morning routine down to a t by now and I couldn’t help the warmth that spread in my chest at seeing him do something so domestic. Our friendship had certainly evolved since practically moving in here together. It would actually be weird to not have him around constantly once all of this was over.

The day continued like most of the days before, us lounging on the couch after working out together for a while. It was something we’d made a habit a while ago. His trainer knew that I was with him so he’d give Mat tandem exercises from time to time or he’d ask me to take videos so he could make sure that Mat’s form was okay. I certainly didn’t mind the view.

Mat was always hot of course but there was something to be said about the way he looked after a workout, all flushed and just downright delicious. It was definitely a great motivation to join him in the gym.

This time I had managed to snatch the corner seat and I was sprawled out on the couch, Mat’s head resting on my stomach. While I’d managed to put on some shorts he was of course still shirtless and I’d given in to temptation long ago, my fingers now slowly running across his back. He had one of his arms thrown across my stomach, hand resting on my hip and drawing slow circles on the little patch of skin that had been exposed when my shirt had ridden up. While cuddling wasn’t unusual between the two of us, this was certainly new territory, the show we’d been watching kind of forgotten by now.

“Use your nails”, Mat pleaded and his voice was so raw that I would’ve done anything he asked of me at this point. He let out a groan when I softly raked my nails across his back and I was glad that he couldn’t see my face right now. There was a spot on the left side of his back that would cause him to shudder slightly, goosebumps spreading quickly. I found myself watching him in awe, fascinated by the reaction I could get out of him by such a simple act.

I couldn’t stop myself from wondering what kind of damage I could do if I really worked for it.

It finally happened a couple of nights later after yet another day filled with sexual tension so thick that you could probably cut it with a knife.

Mat helped me clean up after dinner, music playing to help speed things up. I was in charge of taking care of the leftovers while he cleaned up everything else. Obviously I was done before him and since he refused to let me help him I hopped on top of the kitchen counter, making casual conversation while watching him put stuff in the dishwasher.

“This is my jam!”, he exclaimed, quickly wiping his hands clean before motioning for me to come dance with him. I shook my head while laughing, which only led to him grabbing me and lifting me off the counter so I would join him.

His moves were ridiculous, arms kind of just flapping around. I knew that he could dance if he wanted to, we’d been to our fair share of clubs together but right now he definitely wasn’t trying. He held his hand out for me and with a laugh I accepted, letting him spin me around as he wished. The third time while he was spinning me back towards him he pulled a little to hard though and whether it was on accident or not I ended up almost smacking into him, only stopping myself by placing my other hand on his chest.

Both of us were a little out of breath by now and any laughter died down as he wrapped both of his arms around me, pulling me even closer. I looked up at him, gripping onto his shoulder with the other hand. Mat looked down at me with an unreadable expression. We both stared at each other for a couple of seconds, trying to figure out what the other one was thinking at the moment. How had things gone from him twerking to Lizzo to this?

He gulped heavily before bringing one of his hands up to cup my face, ripping me out of my trance. His gaze was flickering between my lips and my eyes and he leaned in a little closer, yet still waiting for me to take the final step. Deciding to throw all caution to the wind I moved my hand to his neck, finally pulling him down to where I wanted him.

When our lips met it was as if everything was falling into place. The kiss started out slow, both of us still kind of figuring out what the hell was going on without scaring the other off. As soon as he realized that I wasn’t going to push him off of me he kissed me back with the determination that he showed in every other aspect of his life. His hands started wandering, first sliding down lower on my back before he moved them to my side, tightly gipping my hips.

I let out a light moan and he used the chance to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue inside my mouth. He tasted like home and I willingly let him walk me backwards until I could feel the kitchen counter behind me, grateful for the leverage it would give me. He surprised me by lifting me back up on it and then pushing himself between my legs, gripping my thighs.

Eventually I did have to come up for air but Mat apparently didn’t concur to the basic laws of biology because he moved straight to my neck, sucking and biting gently until I was sure that goosebumps covered every square inch of my body. I knew I should stop and think about what was going on right now but I really didn’t want to, so instead I just dove right back into another toe curling kiss. Kissing him had quickly become one of my favorite things and I wanted, no I needed more.

“Mat, wait…”, I murmured against his mouth and he immediately took a step back, looking up at me with an expectant look. I could tell that he thought he’d done something wrong, when in reality it was the exact opposite.

“I want you but I don’t know if the kitchen counter is the right place for that.”

As soon as my words registered with him he groaned, burying his face in my neck.

“Then let’s get you somewhere comfortable… for now”, he teased and the wink he gave me told me that we’d definitely continue this in here another time. I let him lift me down, following behind him as he pulled me towards his bedroom with an urgency that I had only seen in games so far. He was pretty laid-back usually but I could tell that I’d riled him up over the past few days or weeks really.

It seemed like Mat couldn’t hold out until he got me onto his bed though, instead pushing me against the door and leaning down to kiss me again, pushing one of his thighs in between my legs. He fumbled around for a while before finally hitting the right light switch, making the room glow in soft yellow lighting.

His lips were addicting and even when he moved back I didn’t let him, chasing after him for another kiss. Using one of his hands to brace himself the other was slowly pushing up the fabric of my shirt. That wasn’t enough for me so I quickly moved to pull it off. I wasn’t wearing a bra and he cursed as soon as he saw my exposed chest, taking his time to look me up and down.

“So beautiful”, he murmured in awe before moving in again, one of his hands cupping my breast. I let out a moan when he started playing with my nipple which only seemed to spur him on further. I was so turned on already and he hadn’t even done much yet.

Determined to change up the power dynamics I pushed at his chest and he took a step back with a confused look, probably wondering if he’d done something wrong. Confusion turned into amazement as he watched me kiss down his chest before finally sinking down to my knees in front of him.

I took my time kissing his abs and mouthing along the ‘V’ that disappeared into his pants. I could see him straining against his shorts, impressed by what I could make out through the fabric. When I licked along his waistline he let out a beautiful groan and I decided I’d had teased him enough, finally hooking my fingers into his shorts and pulling them down along with his boxers. Him being shirtless already certainly made it easier to get him naked.

I watched his dick spring free, bouncing against his abs and looking absolutely delicious. He was impressively long but it was the girth that truly wowed me, finally making me understand all of the girls that came back time after time.

I gripped his thigh with one hand and reached for his dick with the other, making him curse. When I gave the head a little kitten lick he threaded his hands into my hair, practically pushing me down on him so I’d give him more. I didn’t object, wrapping my mouth around him and taking as much of him as I could, my hand taking care of the rest. The filthy sounds he was letting out above me only making me more enthusiastic and I was pretty sure that he’d have little crescent marks on his thighs for the next few days from how I was digging my nails into his thigh. He didn’t seem to mind though, only moaning my name.

“Fuck, you look so good like that”, Mat murmured and I looked up to him watching me intently. I kept my gaze locked on his as I moved back to let him go, my hand continuing to stroke him but my mouth dropping down to suck at his balls. The moan he let out would have made any porn star jealous.

It didn’t take long for him to pull me off of him in a way that told me that he didn’t actually want to, both of us panting as if we’d just ran a marathon.

“You need to stop or I’m going to cum”, he let out, his hoarse voice turning me on so much that I was pretty sure I’d be dripping down my legs if it weren’t for the fact that I was still wearing some clothes.

“Would that be such a bad thing?”, I teased, grinning up at him, not being able to resist licking up the entire length of his shaft once more. He practically pulled me up to my feet after that, moving in for another searing kiss.

“I’ve wanted you for so long and there’s no way I’m gonna finish before we even started.” He started to push me back towards his bed, changing his mind halfway there as he bent down to pick me up, wrapping my legs around his waist. For the first time I was able to feel him press against me, the thin fabric of my shorts not really doing much and holy shit did he feel good. He sat down on the edge of his bed, me now straddling his lap and I couldn’t help but roll my hips against him, desperate for any friction at this point.

The both of us let out a simultaneous moan at that and Mat buried his face in my neck, slowly sucking along my collarbone. He gripped my waist, his big hands nearly encircling it entirely.

“You’re wearing too many clothes still”, he said with his lips moving against my skin, making me shudder yet again. I’d long lost count a long time ago.

“Then do something about it”, I responded, not really willing to move at this point. He quickly stood up with me still perched on top of him before turning the both of us around, dropping me down onto the middle of the mattress. Him throwing me around like I weighed nothing really did something to me and I looked up at him through hooded eyes, waiting for him to make the next move.

He didn’t disappoint, leaning down to trail kisses from my neck, mouthing along my boobs before finally moving to pull my shorts and panties off. He took his time, making sure to appreciate every new inch of skin that he’d just exposed on the way back up and the closer he got to my core the more I was squirming underneath him. I had been waiting for this for so long that I wasn’t sure if I could make it through another minute without him inside me.

“Mat please, I really need you”, I whined and I could see him smirk up at me from where he’d situated himself between my legs.

“Don’t worry I’ll make you feel so good baby.” Hearing him call me ‘baby’ only made things worse but he finally put me out of my misery when he ran one of his large beautiful fingers through my folds.

“Holy shit you’re so wet for me already”, he cursed and I was about to respond when he literally took my breath away by licking up my slit. I couldn’t help but arch off the bed, already so keyed up and he quickly threw one arm across me stomach, forcing me to stay still. He started out slow and I knew that he was only trying to egg me on further but his resolve didn’t last long and he soon dove in with a determination that had sounds coming out of my mouth that I’d never made before in my entire life.

He moved my legs to rest on his shoulders so he could have better access and because I really needed something to hold on to for dear life, I gripped his hair. He’d said a couple of times that it had gotten too long during this quarantine but I certainly wasn’t complaining now, using it as leverage. I could see him grind against the comforter, desperate for any kind of friction himself and it was the hottest thing I’d ever seen in my life.

He moved back a little and I was about to complain when he slowly pushed a finger inside of me, any words dying in my throat at the feeling. He lowered his mouth again, sucking hard on my clit and I moaned so loud that I was glad that we were alone in the house.

“More, Mat please”, I whispered and I almost couldn’t believe that he already had me begging. He groaned and the vibrations in combination of him pushing a second finger inside of me were almost too much. I was close and I knew that he could tell from the way my thighs were starting to shake, curling his fingers inside me until he finally found the spot that made me cum so hard with a scream that I could see stars. He brought me through it, still pushing in and out slowly when I finally returned back to earth, grinning up at me proudly after wiping his mouth on the inside of my thigh.

“That was so fucking hot”, he said and I laughed, throwing my arm over my eyes in embarrassment. I’d had my fair share of hookups as well but nobody had managed to make me feel this good. I could feel him move up my body, reaching for my arm so he could look me in the eyes again before leaning down for a kiss. I could taste myself on his lips and while kissing him was still amazing, it wasn’t enough anymore. Mat seemed to catch my drift because he rolled off of me, only to reach for his nightstand, feeling around for a bit before triumphantly holding up a foil packet.

Taking advantage of him on his back I moved to straddle his thighs, taking his cock in my hands once again. He bucked his hips involuntarily and I could tell that he needed this as much as I did at this point. I took the foil package from him, ripping it open with my teeth before rolling the condom down his shaft. He gripped my hips, helping me scoot up until I was positioned above him, holding him so I could slip the tip inside.

Both of us let out simultaneous groans when I finally sunk down on him, the stretch painful in the most delicious way. He gave me a couple of seconds to adjust but I wasn’t really willing to wait any longer, rolling my hips against him.

“Your pussy feels so good around me”, he panted as he helped guide me along with his hands while looking me deep in the eyes. His pupils were so blown at this point, his cheeks were flushed and he’d never looked better. I was a moaning mess above him and I wanted to remember the way his cock was dragging against my walls for the rest of my life. One of his hands still rested on my hip while his other grabbed my boob, twisting the nipple and making me moan even louder.

At one point he moved to sit up, our chests now pressed together. The new angle had my clit rub against his pelvic bone and I knew that I’d come again like this with no extra help needed. Mat moved to kiss my neck, sucking and biting so harshly that I was sure that there’d be marks there the next day, not that anybody besides us would be able to see them.

His groans had become more erratic as well and I knew that he probably wasn’t far behind me, my name constantly on his lips. One last drag against him had me arch into him with yet another earth-shattering orgasm, Mat doing his best to fuck me through it before turning us around so he was on top of me, using his hands to hold himself above me so he wouldn’t crush me.

He grabbed one of my legs and pushed it up to rest on his hip, thrusting into me with a force that had the headboard slam into the wall repeatedly. He felt so good that with every thrust I let out a little moan, still sensitive from my orgasm, which only seemed to spur Mat on even more. I was digging my nails into his back to the point where I was sure that there would be red streaks after but he didn’t seem to care at all, too lost in the moment. It didn’t take long before he threw his head back and I could feel him pulse inside me as he came, the most beautiful groan coming from his lips as he finally stilled inside me.

He crashed down on top of me, burying his face in my neck, both of us out of breath by now and covered in sweat. He was silent for a while until he caught me off guard when he started laughing.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m just thinking.. we could’ve been doing that for weeks, I certainly wanted to.”

“I did too but I guess we’re both stupid.”

Now we were both laughing and Mat moved off of me so he could pull out, gripping the condom so it wouldn’t slip off. He threw it in the trash can in the corner before coming back, his hand outstretched for me to take.

“I guess we have some catching up to do then, starting right now with me and you in the shower”, he said with a wink and I couldn’t think of a time where I’d gotten out of bed faster.

#Mat Barzal #smut #nhl smut #hockey smut #Mat Barzal smut #mat barzal x reader #new york islanders #hockey writing #ice hockey #nhl #nhl imagine

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outrebanx · 4 years

Text

pretend (pt.2)

JJ Maybank x female reader

Masterlist

Part 1

Summary: You cant stop thinking about JJ after spending time with him at the kegger, so you decide to seek him out.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: swearing, slight smut (if you squint), i think thats it?

A/N: i am not happy with this at all but im super tired and just wanted to post it so sorry in advance for the shitty writing - it also took longer than i wanted cos i didnt know where to go with the story so that was fun. Anyway i hope you like it (and feedback is always appreciated 🥺)

Tagging: @rudysbay @danicarosaline thanks for expressing interest in a second part 💙

You never thought that your mind would be occupied with JJ Maybank’s face as much as it had in the last week since the kegger you spent with him. To be honest it made you feel a little pathetic - it was one kiss and you were almost certain he wasn’t thinking about you as he literally is known for hooking up with girls and then not speaking to them.

The more you thought about him the angrier you got with yourself and your changing moods were becoming more and more obvious to your best friend Lily.

“What’s wrong with you?” She asked from where she was lying on your bed.

“Nothing, why?”

“Oh I don’t know, maybe it’s that you look like you’re about to rip that top you’re holding in half, you keep sighing and let’s not forget I can tell when you’re lying.” She smirked at you, knowing you had to tell her now.

“Fine,” You sighed, sitting on the bed next to her, “Remember the kegger we were at last week and how I spent it with that JJ guy?”

“Yeah?”

“Well I kinda want to see him again and I’m not sure if I’m being stupid because it was the first guy I ever really spent time with after Rafe and he’s hot but I don’t know, I feel stupid because he’s probably not given me a second thought.”

Lily grabbed your hand, “Babes, I love you but you’re a mess - you don’t know if he’s thought about you if you don’t ask, so stop torturing yourself.”

You nodded your understanding, “And so I think after our lunch today you should go and find him to ask then you’ll know .”

“I might.”

“No, you will, I’m gonna make you.” Lily laughed, jabbing your side with her finger.

———

Even if it was the most kooky thing to do, you and Lily often spent your time at the country club, either to eat or play golf with your dads, especially on a nice warm day like today.

The two of you had been there for around an hour just chatting constantly when a busboy came to clear up the table. You looked up to thank him but froze when you saw the face of JJ Maybank.

“JJ! Hi.”

He didn’t even acknowledge you, instead just finished picking up your glasses and left.

You turned to Lily, “Wow he really doesn’t give a shit about our fun evening then.”

She scowled at the back of him as he walked into the building, “What a dick.”

“Should I go and talk to him? Or is that a bad idea?”

“Yes you should, otherwise I’m going to talk to him and then possibly murder him as he’s hurting my best friend.”

You smiled as you rolled your eyes at her, “Please don’t.”

She stuck her tongue out at you as you stood up and followed JJ back into the building, hoping it wasn’t too upfront and that he would at least talk to you this time.

You saw him coming out the kitchen and shouted him over, he had a slight bit of annoyance written on his face but other than that nothing you could decipher.

“What do you want Y/N?” He asked, putting his hands in his pockets.

“Oh so you do know who I am,” you scoffed, “Why are you giving me such a cold shoulder? I thought we had fun.”

You were already regretting coming to talk to him, you were never this upfront or seemingly over-involved after spending a small amount of time with a guy, so it made you very uncomfortable.

“Yeah we had fun, but you’re a kook and I’m a pogue and as you said on the night we were just pretending, so what more is there?”

He began to turn to walk away when you reached out for his arm, “We might have been pretending but this week I’ve been wanting to see you again because I thought there could be something. Maybe I was wrong though.”

This time it was his turn to grab your arm as you turned away, and before you had time to speak, his lips were on yours. The kiss was nothing like you’d ever experienced, you could feel yourself melting into his arms, losing yourself in the kiss - he tasted like the sea and it was something you wanted to taste forever.

You broke apart, both smiling like idiots as you looked at each other, “That was-“ you began to say.

“A reason I shouldn’t have been such an asshole, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, and I wouldn’t mind making this a more common thing by the way.” You smiled at him.

“Well I’m on my break now so…” he offered his hand to you.

You giggled as you took it and he dragged you towards a more secluded corridor, pushing you against the wall and put his lips on yours, his hands on your hips as he deepened the kiss. You never wanted it to end - but you didn’t always get what you wanted.

“Huh so you weren’t annoyed at him for long then?” Lily joked from where she stood at the end of the corridor, arms folded as she took in the two of you.

You gave her the finger, not noticing the look on JJ’s face as he quickly moved away from you, putting his hands back in his pockets.

You gave him a questioning look, confused as to why he seemed nervous all of a sudden.

“It’s nearing the end of my break, I should, um probably go.” He pointed in the other direction and moved to head off.

You quickly pecked his lips, muttering to him “When are you free?”

“For you, anytime.”

You laughed, “you can always come to my house later, it’s easy to find.”

He grinned at you, “Will do princess.”

He had already turned away, luckily as he wasn’t able to see the blush that had spread across your cheeks at him calling you princess.

You couldn’t stop smiling, Lily raising her eyebrows at you as you walked towards her, “Damn girl I haven’t seen you like this in forever.”

“I haven’t felt like this in forever.” You admitted, the butterflies in your stomach still going crazy.

———

Sat at home that evening, you kept looking towards the door, hoping JJ would come round. Your parents weren’t home and you were an only child so there was no need to worry about any one bothering you.

There was a knock at the door, you quickly stood up and before opening it you checked yourself out in the mirror in the hall, you nodded to yourself and moved the handle. You were met with the shy smile of the blond boy, hands in his pockets like normal as he took in the size of your house.

“I’m surprised I haven’t mowed your lawn with a house this big.” He joked but you could tell it kind of bothered him, not that you knew what to say.

“Um, come in,” you stepped back allowing him to walk through the door then headed to the kitchen with him following you, “do you want a drink or something?”

“Nah I’m good thanks,” raising his eyebrows at the large glass of wine your poured yourself.

You sat in a comfortable silence just looking at each other, unsure of what to say.

“So,” he started, “do you surf?”

He did taste of the sea so you weren’t surprised this was one of the first things he asked about.

“I used to when I was younger but then my parents decided I needed ‘other, better hobbies’, so not really, but I do miss it.”

“When you’re free I’ll happily teach you how to again.”

You smiled at him, “holy shit I’d love that! I’ll probably make a complete fool of myself but at least it’d provide you with some entertainment.”

“And I’ll get to see you in a bikini.” He smirked

“Oh I look really good you’ll definitely like it.” You flirted back.

You chatted back and forth for hours, and at some point you two had moved to the living room where you were now sitting on his lap, slowly kissing each other, enjoying every second of it.

You were interrupted by a knock at the door, “What the fuck?” You say as you remove yourself from JJ’s embrace and go to see who it is - you were met with the last face you wanted to see, Rafe Cameron.

You held out your hand before he had the chance to speak, “Nope, fuck off Rafe I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Please Y/N I want to apologise.” He pleaded.

“I couldn’t give two shits about an apology because I don’t. care. about. you. That’s why we broke up and why I don’t want to have this conversation.”

You went to shut the door, only to be stopped by his foot.

“I still love you Y/N and no matter what you say I know you love me.”

In the corner of your eye you could see JJ stand up to come and see if you needed help, you shook your head to indicate him to stop - it would only make things worse if Rafe knew JJ was there.

“No I loved you Rafe. Past tense. You made me miserable and I still loved you for so long, but not anymore, so please go.”

He stepped back, “I will get you back Y/N.”

Slamming the door on his face you muttered, “Sure you will.”

You leant against the door for a second, even talking to him for a few minutes completely drained you, how did you date him for so long?

“Hey, you good?” JJ asked from where he leant against the doorframe of the living room.

You walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist, “Yeah I am now.”

Removing yourself from the hug, you patted his chest, “Right that’s enough of the heavy stuff, what do you want to do?”

He smirked at you as he pressed his lips against yours, instantly wiping the thoughts about Rafe out of your mind. He lifted you up so your legs could wrap around him, your hands behind his head as he led you back towards the sofa.

You were sat on his lap and as he moved his lips over your neck you moaned, wanting him to do more.

You blushed, “thank you, you’re not too bad yourself.”

He chuckled and moved to take off your shirt - you raised your arms to make it easier before moving back in to kiss him.

It ended being one of the best nights of your life, you were so glad you pretended to be with him that night at the kegger.

#for someone who does nothing all day im shATTERED #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank #jj x reader #jj maybank imagine #rudy pankow #outerbanks #outerbanks fic #outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #john b routledge #kiara carrera #pope heyward #obx #obx fic #outrebanx #outer banks imagine

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petersspidey · 4 years

Text

Stress Relief

A/N: This one kind of just came to me. Takes place probably somewhere after Age of Ultron before Civil War

Captain America x Reader

Warnings: Smut

Masterlist // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 //

You were an Avenger. Tony had come across you years ago. You had been trained somewhat like Natasha, and could fight and your ability to read minds felt useful enough to Tony to make you part of the Avengers team. Along with everyone else, you lived in Stark Tower.

It was late one night, and you knew Cap and Tony had just gone out on mission. It was nothing so important that the two of them couldn't handle it together. The rest of you didn't need to tag along.

You were sitting in the lounge on one of the main floors, when Tony and Cap walked off the elevator together. Tony looked annoyed, and Cap looked pissed.

"I still can't believe you let that happen!" Steve exclaimed

Tony ignored him, and kept walking over to the bar at the side of the room. You stayed still, confused by what was going on.

"Tony! You can't just ignore this, you know we're going to have to go back out there." Cap continued.

Tony spun around, "Look old man, there's nothing we can do now. What's done is done. They are more than long gone. We did what we could, but we have no idea where they went and we're just going to have to wait and follow their tracks from here before we can do anything about it,"

"Or we could go out there! And try and Follow them that way and get this done now!" Steve exclaimed

"Or… they would already be in China or India, or Australia for all we know. So just let it go Cap. They'll show up on our radar again and we can get them then. And this time we'll know to bring back up." Tony said.

He poured himself a drink, and walked out of the room. Steve just stood there, you could tell he was frustrated by what had happened, and by what Tony was saying.

"Tough mission?" you said, breaking the silence.

Steve spun around, he hadn't realized you were sitting there listening the whole time.

"Yeah, that's an understatement," he said. You could still see the anger in his eyes, even though he was trying to calm down.

You had always thought Cap was handsome, but what girl didn't fantasize about Captain America. And you had definitely fantasized about him more than once. Although, you knew he didn't think about you that way. Or at least, he didn't think of you that way while you're around, knowing that you would be able to read his thoughts.

"What happened?" you questioned

Steve sighed, "we thought this would be a quick and easy mission. Little did we know, they had a ship on standby as well as several dozen mutant dogs. Before we could even realize the guy was flying away, we were still getting attacked by seventh round of the mutts,"

"Tough break," you said, sipping on your drink

Steve rolled his eyes at you. Not wanting to hear anymore things like what Tony had been saying.

"I'm so frustrated, I should have known that something like this would have happened." He said

"Actually, I'm really the only one who could have known something like this would have happened, which is why I told you guys to bring me in the first place, but oh well. Maybe the next time we run into them," you said, giving Steve a smirk, knowing you just made him more mad.

You could see Steve clenching his jaw and his fists, "Man I just really want to hit something,"

"Ok Bruce," you joked.

He rolled his eyes at you again, "I'm just going to go down to the gym," he said, turning to leave.

You stood from where you were sitting on the couch, "and do what? Hit one of your punching bags. Like that would help. Besides, you broke all the ones we had in the building. Tony had to order more, and they haven't shipped yet,"

"Fine, i'll just go to a local gym then…"

"And break their equipment too?"

"Well then what do you suggest, Y/N? Because I can't just take deep breaths, I need to vent," Cap said

"Well, I have an idea that does involve you breaking something," you said.

"Oh yeah, what's that?" Cap asked.

You could hear him racking his brain trying to figure out what it possibly could be. You saw images float through his head. Images of wood snapping under an axe, golf clubs and bats being swung into glass.

"I hear you thinking Cap, but none of that's right,"

"So tell me, Y/n,"

"Well, I know something that could relieve your frustration, and your stress and all you would have to do is break my headboard," you said,

Cap un-clenched his fists, you could hear him thinking about it; breaking your headboard. You could see images of his lips on yours, him pulling your hair, and slamming himself into you. You smirked, because you knew exactly what was about to happen.

Before you could say anything else, Cap moved across the room, grabbed you from under your thighs and lifted you up. You wrapped your legs around his back, and your arms around his neck. He threw his lips on yours and began giving you sloppy kisses and he moved toward the elevator to bring you upstairs.

When the elevator doors opened, he pushed you against the wall. He was squeezing your ass, and only kissing you harder. When the elevator opened on your floor, he let you down. You walked backward down the hall to your room as Cap left his arms around you and was placing wet kisses down your neck. You opened your door, and walked in. Cap slammed it shut behind you and pushed you down onto your bed.

He moved on top of you, he pinned your hands above your head, only holding them down with one of his hands while the other roamed your body.

"Do you like this shirt," He said

"I mean-"

"Good,"

Before you could even finish answering, Cap began tearing it with his free hand. The fabric was ripped from your body. He let go of your hand above your head to unbutton your jeans and slip them off along with your underwear. You sat up, and undid your bra, and watched him take off his shirt and pants. You could already see his toned body through his thin white shirt, but this was so much better. He undid his belt and pushed his jeans and underwear down his legs. He stepped out of the fabric and moved back toward you.

You could see his cock getting hard, growing in size, the closer he got. Steve grabbed your feet and pulled you to the end of the bed, so your legs were hanging off, and your ass was right on the edge. He took one of your legs in each hand and spread them apart. He slowly slid one of his large hands up your leg, toward your centre. He lightly used one finger to feel between your folds.

"So wet for me already, Y/N," he muttered softly

Cap took another step forward, and started rubbing his cock against your pussy. He had moved both hands so they were placed on your thighs, keeping your legs spread. You kept trying to move your hips, just to be able to feel Cap's cock move against your pussy; and to feel it throb against your clit.

"Don't do that, Darling. I'm in charge here," he ordered

"Fuck," you said, under your breath. Him saying that, only turned you on even more.

He kept his cock, pressed against your pussy as he slid one of his hands up to your breast. He kept eye contact with you and he spread your legs, teased you with his huge cock and flicked your nipple between his fingers.

"Please, Cap. I need you," you begged.

Stever just smirked, and pressed against you harder, twisting and flicking your nipple more vigorously. You just moaned, closed your eyes and leaned your head back. This was probably the biggest tease you have ever gotten. You could feel your wetness dripping out of you. Your thoughts were so hazy, you couldn't even focus on Steve's to see what he was going to do next.

"You really want me that bad?" He asked

"Yes," you moaned.

Cap let go of your breast, and moved your legs so they were over his shoulders. He positioned his dick at your entrance and slowly slid in. His cock was huge and it felt tight going in at first, despite how wet you are. But when you felt yourself open up to him, you couldn't help but gasp, and clench the bedsheets around you.

Steve smirked, and slowly pulled back out of you, before slowly pushing back in again. Cap slowly rocked into you, back and forth, lightly rubbing circles around your clit. He had teased you for so long that you were already getting so close.

He just watched you, mouth agape, eyes clenched shut, fists still digging into the sheets, and moaning so loud that the rest of the compound definitely heard you.

Suddenly, he took his hand off your clit, knowing you were about to come. He wanted to tease you more. He started thrusting into you harder. In and out. He pounded his cock deep into your pussy. You could feel his balls slapping against you.

The sound of your skin hitting each other echoed through your room. You continued to moan Steve's name, begging him to go harder. You needed to come so badly.

Cap quickly pulled out, "Turn over," he ordered.

It took you a second to process what he had said, and before you could complete the action yourself, Cap had grabbed you, and started turning you over on the bed. You sat up, so you were on your hands and knees. He placed a hand on your hip, and used the other to glide his huge cock back into your pussy.

He kept one hand on your hip, as he continued to slam into you. He used his free hand to smack your ass hard. You knew there would be a mark there tomorrow. You arched your head back, moaning loud. Cap reached forward and grabbed your hair. He tugged on it, arching your head back farther. He told you to keep moaning, or he'd have to pull harder.

Dominant Steve turned you on to no end. No man had ever made you moan so loud. You clenched the sheets in front of you, feeling Cap's huge cock pump in and out of you. He began thrusting harder, moaning your name.

"Fuck, Y/N,"

You moved one of your hands to start rubbing your clit. You knew the both of you were close to orgasm. You started shaking and moaning harder as you could feel your orgasm nearing. Steve sped up again, his grip on your waist getting stronger.

You couldn't even say his name, it all felt too good. You could feel your orgasm building, and suddenly you were pushed over the edge. You moaned hard, as your pussy began throbbing over Cap's cock. It was your orgasm that pushed Cap over the edge. You could feel him shuttering, his cock twitching inside you as he filled you with his come. You pushed back against him a few times as Cap continued to ride out his orgasm.

"Fuck," he muttered, panting.

He slowly loosened his grip on your hair and your waist and gently pulled out.

You continued to breath heavily, as you rolled on your back to look at Cap. He stood at the end of your bed, hands on his hips, breathing just as hard as you.

You giggled watching him.

He stayed there for a second, catching his breath.

"Good stress relief?" you asked

"Well, I do feel much better," he admitted

"Well, I'm here for you if you're ever stressed. And besides, we never did break my headboard, so we might have to try that again."

Cap just chuckled, and moved to lie down beside you.

#captain america #steve rogers #Smut #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #captain america fanfiction #captain america smut #captain america imagine #captain america imagines #mcu x reader #mcu fanfiction #MCU #petersspidey #fanfiction #peter parker #peter parker smut

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blackswaneuroparedux · 5 years

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The Irish Lion: The legend of Paddy Mayne and the SAS

The first crop of Special Air Service (SAS) soldiers were a motley crew of bar-room brawlers, public school hell-raisers, eccentrics and misfits but they all embodied the tenets of courage, honour and ingenuity.

Hatched in the desert and borne out of the necessity of World War Two, the SAS or known as ‘the regiment’ was started by the 6’5” ‘Phantom Major’ David Stirling nicknamed him The Giant Sloth for his chronic laziness and fondness for slipping out of camp for nights of carousing. He hated marching, military discipline and disdained authority. By all accounts a terrible soldier but he was brave and cunning.

The principle behind the SAS was simple: To use small bands of irregular elite soldiers who could operate by stealth behind enemy lines, destroying aircraft, supplies and hopefully also enemy morale as a by-product of causing vast mayhem. One perception of the unit at this stage is as a motley band of scruffy and rebellious commandoes striking out of the darkness at the Nazis. The latter part of that is true, the former needs qualifying – all the men were disciplined operators drawn from commando units. They sometimes grew out unkempt beards because they were in the desert and away from camp for long stretches. It, of course, helps glamourise things more that Stirling himself was captured and eventually transferred to the infamous Colditz Castle after multiple escape attempts.

In his absence, responsibility for the SAS passed to his second in command, the larger-than-life Irishman Robert Blair ‘Paddy’ Mayne.

Known to be a terrific soldier with tremendous battlefield intuition, Mayne was allegedly recommended to Stirling by his friend Eoin McGonigal. He was brave, unconventional and a force to be reckoned with – the perfect man for the nascent SAS. There was just one problem: He was languishing in prison for striking his superior officer Geoffrey Keyes (or perhaps it was for threatening him with a bayonet?). Curiosity sparked, Stirling went to meet Mayne in his jail cell.

An account of their initial meeting appears in Alan Hoe’s biography of the SAS founder. At first, Mayne was reluctant to join Stirling’s unit, known at that point as ‘L Detachment’: “’I can’t see any prospects of real fighting in this scheme of yours’. There was undisguised scepticism on his face. “’There isn’t any. Except against the enemy’. It was the right reply because Mayne began to laugh. “’All right. If you can get me out of here I’ll come along’. He extended his huge hand. “’There’s one more thing’, Stirling said, ignoring the hand. ‘This is one commanding officer you never hit and I want your promise on that’. He reached out for the hand.

It wasn’t just the partnership that became legendary. On the heels of his stunning military successes, a number of stories about Mayne sprang up that added to the legend.

The son of William Mayne and Margaret Boyle Vance. Robert Blair "Paddy" Mayne was born on 11th January 1915. He was born into a wealthy Presbyterian family and the sixth of seven children, four boys and three girls. He grew up on the 41-acre grounds of the Mount Pleasant estate overlooking the town of Newtownards, County Down in Northern Ireland. Educated at Regent House School, he played cricket, rugby and golf, excelling in each while also demonstrating an aptitude as a marksman in the rifle club.

While at Queen’s in Belfast studying law to eventually qualify as a solicitor (lawyer), he took up boxing and within a matter of months won the Irish Universities Heavyweight title in August 1936. He made his Ireland rugby debut against Wales at Ravenhill in 1937 and the last of six appearances two years later, coincidentally against the same opposition in Belfast. His talent was recognised in selection for 1938 Lions tour to South Africa, where he made quite an impression on and off the pitch. Mayne could tolerate any physical challenge but was unable to cope with boredom and when of a mind to do something expected full compliance from acolytes, willing or reluctant. Breaking hotel furniture during drunken stupors were not uncommon.

His drunken off-pitch exploits couldn’t camouflage his innate ability as a gifted rugby player. Mayne lined out in 17 of the 20 provincial games and all three tests against the Springboks; having lost the first two he was singularly influential in securing a victory for the Lions in the third test.

The late Sean Diffley, rugby correspondent and author, wrote of the talented rugby second-row: “Mayne was a Viking, a throwback to the ancient days of towering warriors, gentle and charming when in repose, but fierce and dangerous when aroused, and a ‘hyphenated’ nuisance when he had a couple of jars. His fierce dark physical outbursts may well have been the stuff of legend, but they were not always fun to those immediately concerned, and they were a great cause of worry to his friends. There was the case of the Irish player for instance, who in 1939, was thrown out of the window of the Swansea hotel by Mayne during the post-match celebrations. Witnesses were thankful that it was a ground floor window and that the player came to no harm, but it was not simply high jinx either that caused the incident, but the result of Mayne brooding darkly on something that is now long forgotten.”

At the outbreak of the Second World War, Mayne received a commission in the 5th Anti-Aircraft Battery, in April 1940 joined the Royal Ulster Rifles and following Dunkirk volunteered for the 11 (Scottish) Commando.

He was mentioned in dispatches for the impressive manner in which he commanded his troop in the Litani River Raid in Lebanon and recruited by David Stirling for his newly formed SAS unit.

There are tales of Mayne shooting the floor around the feet of a bar owner who overcharged and was rude to him, and the 2004 documentary ‘SAS Warrior: The Life of Paddy Mayne’ reports that an intoxicated Mayne once unloaded his pistol into a drinking companion.

The murder is said to have been covered up.

But many of these stories are untrue, or at the very least they require contextual explanation.

Take for instance the story that Mayne was in prison and awaiting a court-martial for striking his commanding officer, Geoffrey Keyes, later posthumously awarded a Victoria Cross, but whom the Irishman considered an upper-class twit. That Mayne had no time for the privileged caste is part of Mayne’s myth making.

Many historians now dispute the veracity of the story. There is no record of Mayne’s arrest and David Stirling, as author Gavin Mortimer and other writers of the SAS Regiment have written, was prone to exaggerate to mischievously feed the legend.

Indeed the story that Mayne was imprisoned for striking his superior officer, Geoffrey Keyes because he wasn’t selected for a raid to kidnap or kill Erwin Rommel makes no sense. The SAS were drawn from Nos 7, 8 and 11 Commandos, operating around the Mediterranean in 1941. (Commando were units containing around 500 well-trained troops). Keyes and Mayne were both in 11 Commando, which was decimated in a mission in Syria earlier that year. By the time it was reconstituted and the Rommel Raid conceived, Mayne had already left the unit. In any case, it’s just as well Mayne did not participate – the mission failed (because Rommel wasn’t there) and Keyes, along with many others, didn’t make it back.

Instead, Mayne, would meet Stirling in North Africa months before, and not in a prison cell either.

It was he who, in fact, recommended his friend Eoin McGonigal to Stirling, not the other way around.

Stirling was not looking for a modern-day incarnation of a Viking berserker. On the contrary, the founding philosophy of the SAS (then known as L-Detachment) indicates a need for extreme heroism but also extreme professionalism: “An undisciplined TOUGH is no good, however tough he may be. Most of ‘L’ Detachment’s work is night work and all of it demands courage, fitness and determination of the highest degree and also, and just as important, discipline, skill and intelligence and training.”

The odd thing is that life in the SAS during World War 2 was perfectly exciting enough. There simply wasn’t any need to make up tall tales. Mayne himself said as much in a letter: “(T)here is no use writing this stuff, people think you are shooting a line – the most fantastic things happen every time we go out.”

A perfect example of this occurred around the time Mayne wrote this. He and Stirling had decided to drive a truck with five comrades right up to an enemy encampment in the desert.

They had a German speaker with them and used him to bluff their way in. When the man was asked for the password, Mayne, who didn’t speak much German, related later what he understood the general direction of the conversation to have been:

“How the – do we know what the – password is, and don’t ask for our – identity cards either. They’re lost and we’ve been fighting for the past seventy hours against these – Tommies. Our car was destroyed and we were lucky to capture this British truck and get back at all. Some fool put us on the wrong road. We’ve been driving for the past two hours and then you so and sos, sitting here on your arses in Benghazi, in a nice safe job, stop us. So hurry up, get that – gate open.”

It wouldn’t be a nice safe job much longer. Mayne, who had a pistol resting on his lap, waited as one of the guards stepped closer to inspect them. Luckily the bluff worked because Mayne realised at the last minute he’d forgotten to cock it.

Once the gate was open, they proceeded to blast the hell out of the trucks and tents that they found within the camp, before also blowing up their own truck (by mistake) and hot-footing it out of there.

By this point, of course, they’d found their stride, but it had been a difficult learning curve. L-Detachment’s first mission called for dropping 60 men by parachute behind enemy lines. But wind conditions were awful and they were scattered hopelessly wide, isolated in the desert and miles from their targets. Most were either killed or captured (one of the dead was Mayne’s friend Eoin McGonigal). Fortunately, there was a solution right under David Stirling’s nose.

The Long Range Desert Group were themselves a kind of special operations unit conducting reconnaissance and the occasional raid of their own. A portion of their men and vehicles were next allocated to assist L-Detachment, and from that point forward Stirling’s force would be conveyed to their targets by their comrades in the LRDG. Gavin Mortimer’s book ‘Stirling’s Desert Triumph: The SAS Egyptian Airfield Raids 1942’ features an exchange between Mayne and one of his subordinates during a mission rehearsal in one of the 30cwt Chevrolet trucks they’d be using:

“’What direction are we driving in?’ (Mayne) suddenly said, turning to the front gunner. “The man stared at the stars, trying to figure out which star was which. At length he replied: “’North-east, I should say, sir’. “’Ha!’ exclaimed Mayne. ‘You wouldn’t get far if you had to walk back.’ “Changing gear, Mayne cast a sideways glance at his gunner and said quietly: ‘Mind you’re certain of your direction by tomorrow night’.”

At first, Stirling’s men were dropped off some distance from their targets and then approached on foot. The favoured method for destroying German planes in airfields – the main objective – was to attach and then detonate Lewes bombs. These had been created by one of their comrades, Lieutenant Jock Lewes.

But then a new method of operation was stumbled upon. During a raid on Bagoush airfield, in the Quattara Depression, Mayne had put bombs on 40 aircraft but only 22 of them went off. After examining some charges left over, he found that the primers had been inserted into their plastic sleeves too early – they’d been in there too long and had become damp.

From this problem came a series of solutions: They should just drive the LRDG vehicles right up to the target from now on to save time; they should, therefore, make sure the vehicles had machine guns mounted for protection; in fact, why not just drive the vehicles into the airfields and use the machine guns to destroy the planes instead?

This all came together in the raid on Sidi Haneish airfield on July 26/27, 1942. Two columns of nine jeeps each burst out of the night and whipped around the rows of Luftwaffe planes, riddling them with bullets before high tailing it back out into the darkness. 30 aircraft were left in ruins.

But the history of the SAS and Paddy Mayne wasn’t all spectacular desert raids.

Following the capture of Stirling and the migration of the war to Sicily and Italy, the nature of the fighting changed.

So too did Paddy.

L-Detachment had been re-designated as 1 SAS Regiment on September 28, 1942, and now Mayne, promoted to Major himself, was its standard bearer in Stirling’s absence. Contrary to his reputation as a stereotypical action hero, Ross says that Mayne’s side as solicitor now emerged as he came to be, in Ross’ view, probably a better administrator than Stirling. To be sure, an authoritarian side also emerged, but this too seems indicative of his care and commitment to professionalism, training and mission prep. He seems to have cared very deeply about men killed under this command and worked extraordinarily hard to prevent their deaths.

The SAS’ next incarnation as ‘the Special Raiding Squadron’ (SRS) was certainly very successful, as it worked its way over defensive positions in Sicily and then up the western side of the Italian peninsula. These actions are noteworthy for two things: Difficult objectives achieved and relatively low casualty rates, a testament to Mayne’s careful stewardship.

Augmented by the American landing in the east at Salerno on September 9, 1943, one of these actions took place at the Biferno river, behind which the Germans were making a stand. The SRS, along with Nos 3 and 40 Commandos were dispatched to Termoli to outflank them. No 3 Commando would establish a beachhead allowing No 40 Commando to capture the town and its harbour whilst the SRS continued on to take bridges. The subsequent fighting would be the stuff of Hollywood Second World War movies, featuring trucks set ablaze and Germans spilling out in alarm, along with encounters with hardened German paratroopers and skirmishes around farm buildings.

Despite the stiff and professional resistance, the Special Raiding Squadron lost only one killed, three wounded and 23 as MIAs. In return they inflicted casualties of 23 killed, 17 wounded and 39 captured, as well as taking ground north of the Biferno.

Next up was France. Here the SRS would be upgraded to 1 SAS proper, a battalion-sized force of about 1,000 men, as it served in the Special Air Service Brigade alongside 2 SAS (led by Bill Stirling, David’s brother) and two French parachute battalions and an independent Belgian parachute company (about 200 men). Just as Mediterranean operations had required the SAS to work under different circumstances and terrain, so too would a return to parachuting and work behind enemy lines in France test the unit. Gone (were the days) when teams of four men with water bottles and a handful of dates, lightly armed – a few grenades in their pouches and Lewes bombs in a haversack – set out to stalk an enemy airfield. They would need more equipment - not only more of what they’d had before, but more equipment than those used to logistical planning for the airborne troops seemed to realise.

Resupply by the RAF was thought about, as were jeeps – better for getting men around but harder to conceal. Men on foot might prove more stealthy in the new rubber-soled boots, but these left distinctive footprints that could be tracked and, in any case, problems had shown up in training (the uppers were known to separate from the soles). Training patterns also needed adjusting. Early on Mayne had fought to prevent the SAS from being turned back into a regular Commando unit.

Now he was fighting amalgamation with the PARAs. Maroon caps were issued and his men instructed to wear them instead of their sand-coloured berets– Mayne told his men to hid the SAS berets in their packs until they could don them later out of sight of officials. On a more practical level too the SAS was butting up against what, by that point, had become conventional methods of training paratroopers. The latter had to learn to land in large groups during the daytime in open country, ready and able to engage in battle immediately. SAS parachutists needed to land in small teams, quietly and at night.

Mayne himself was involved in some of the war’s latter action. Most memorably on 10th April 1945, the push towards Berlin was underway. Near the village of Borgerwald, an SAS unit was ambushed and their commanding officer killed. Mayne took over the Jeep, manning the guns and some say he single-handedly rescued every wounded man by lifting them one by one from a ditch and into his jeep before destroying the enemy gunners in a nearby farmhouse. For this daring feat, he was recommended for the Victoria Cross. The citation was signed off by Field Marshal Montgomery himself but the award would elude Colonel Paddy. He received a 3rd bar on his Distinguished Service Order (DSO) and his name would be remembered as the stuff of legends.

Paddy Mayne’s service with the SAS would end as it began, with his commander Major-General Bob Laycock – who had been the one to recommend him to David Stirling – writing to congratulate him on his DSO:

“My Dear Paddy, “I feel that I must drop you a line just to tell you how very deeply I appreciate the great honour of being able to address, as my friend, an officer who has succeeded in accomplishing the practically unprecedented task of collecting no less than four DSOs. (I am informed that there is another such superman in the Royal Air Force). You deserve all the more, and in my opinion, the appropriate authorities do not really know their job. If they did they would have given you a VC as well. Please do not dream of answering this letter, which brings with it my sincerest admiration a deep sense of honour in having, at one time, been associated with you. Yours ever, Bob Laycock.”

Looking back at his legacy, many have wondered why he didn’t get the Victoria Cross. George VI publicly expressed surprise that Mayne had not been awarded a Victoria Cross. Some say it was because hot-headed Mayne, who’d become Lieutenant Colonel by the end of the war, had punched the second in command in his battalion during one heated exchange. Others say it was down to a technicality - because the raid in question was multiple acts of bravery, not a single act. The official SAS historian Ben Macintyre suggests that Blair Mayne was denied the Victoria Cross either because of his brawling, his anti-Establishment streak or his alleged homosexuality (rumours rather than factually proven it must be stressed). Blair Mayne mistakenly thought Churchill had personally blocked him because of his history of brawling against military superiors and drunken behaviour that perhaps offended Churchill’s purist views of being an officer. The truth seems to be that Churchill was said to have been saddened and shocked by the omission.

In 2005, 50 years after Mayne’s death, an Early Day Motion in the House of Commons supported by 100 MPs, proposed that, “the Government mark these anniversaries by instructing the appropriate authorities to act without delay to reinstate the Victoria Cross given for exceptional personal courage and leadership of the highest order and to acknowledge that Mayne’s actions on that day saved the lives of many men and greatly helped the allied advance on Berlin.” It was defeated.

Perhaps there was no conspiracy though. Some historians of the SAS Regiment have laid out a common-sense case for precisely why one would expect Mayne not to have won the VC: Because doing so required independent witness testimonies of a recipient’s brave deeds from high-ranking officers. Special forces work, by its very nature, made reaching this bar highly unlikely. Heroism would have been commonplace, but, for the most part, it was clandestine and often independent of senior officers.

Mike Sadler, now close to 100 years old, is the last surviving member of the original SAS. His feats of bravery during the war read like a movie script. He was decorated with the French Légion d’honneur at 98 Years old in 2018 . Mike Sadler joined the Long Range Desert Group in 1941 and was based in the North African desert. Lieutenant David Stirling brought the SAS (Special Air Service) into service, and Mike Sadler was transferred to the new unit when they began launching raids in Libya. He became their top navigator as he had a unique talent for being able to navigate vast expanses of desert, without the aid of maps, to guide the raiding parties to their targets. He also served under Paddy Mayne from 1941 until the end of the war.

I have had the privilege to have met Mike on one or two occasions through both my older brother and father with whom they share a common friendship through military veteran circles (but belonging to different eras). Over a few lunches and dinners over the years, I was hooked on his anecdotes and was full admiration for his exploits.

Most memorably Mike recounted the time that while sitting in a restaurant in Paris surrounded by seven or eight soldiers Paddy Mayne took out a grenade, pulled the pin and placed it on the table. Several dived for cover but Sadler reckoned that Mayne wasn’t about to kill himself. He was right; Paddy had previously removed the detonator.

This atypical story added to the Olympian myth of Paddy Mayne. And yet the grenade incident in the busy café wasn’t the random act of recklessness it sounds like. There was method in the madness. Mayne was making an important point. Whilst responsible for French troops who were part of the Special Air Service Brigade in 1944, he’d been horrified by reports of improper handling of grenades. The French troops simply hadn’t been as familiar with infantry training as they should have been. So Mayne used the incident in the café to show it was possible to completely control a grenade if one knew what they were doing.

Sadler explained that like him all the men who served with Mayne had a huge respect and admiration, drawing from his comforting presence on missions. But for all that Paddy Mayne had no close friends, other than Eoin McGonigal, who helped persuade him to join the SAS and who was killed in the Benghazi raid, the very first SAS operation in 1941.

The sad truth is that Paddy Mayne cut a solitary figure, often to be found reading the darker poetry of AE Housman. Mayne was socially awkward with no idea how to talk to women even though they were attracted to this very big, athletic Irishman. He revered his mother and put women on a pedestal, refusing to tolerate swearing in their presence. He was shy until drink initially loosened his inhibitions but then transported him to far darker places. But for all that he wasn’t reckless with the lives of his men. He weighed up situations, was intuitively brilliant in terms of the guerrilla tactics he employed when orchestrating his night-time raids in customised jeeps deep behind enemy lines initially in Egypt and Libya.

Lieutenant-Colonel Robert Blair ‘Paddy’ Mayne was a fighting legend, and a pitiless killer in war. Even his comrades thought him cold-blooded and overly ruthless. Stirling thought Mayne had gone too far on occasions in killing the enemy. And yet Mayne typified the SAS recruitment policy, whose finds were the “sweepings of prisons and public schools”. In countless missions behind enemy lines, Major Paddy Mayne destroyed more aircraft than any fighter pilot on either side during the course of the war between Britain and Germany. He was to go on and become one of the most decorated British soldiers during the war.

Ben Macintyre, author of ‘Rogue Heroes: an authorised history of the SAS’ wrote: “It is not a story of unalloyed British bulldog heroism. These people were tough as tungsten but they were also human and frail and huge mistakes were made.”

Such men of war are not made for peace time.

Mayne sought further adventure in an Antarctic expedition but had to return home prematurely with a debilitating back condition, the origins of which came from his war service.

He took up a position as secretary to the Law Society of Northern Ireland until, returning from a night’s socialising on December 14th, 1955, he clipped an unlit parked lorry, and crashed into a telegraph pole on the Scrabo road, a few hundred metres from his house. Paddy Mayne died at 40 years old. He is buried in Movilla Abbey graveyard.

Hundreds attended Mayne’s funeral. His life was and continues to be commemorated in books, film. A statue in his native Newtownards stands in his honour. The town’s western bypass is also named after him.

A remarkable and complex character, he crammed a great deal into a life largely spent in the service of others, some of whom would have regarded him as a hero, although he, himself, would not.

King George VI asked Paddy Mayne how it was that he had not received the Victoria Cross, and he answered in a manner that sums up this courageous and remarkable man:

“I served to my best my Lord, my King and my Queen, and none can take that honour away from me.”

#paddy mayne #SAS #britain #military #special forces #army #world war two history #david stirling #mayne #special air service #history

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callmeelle22 · 3 years

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Blue Dream III

Pairing: Iris West x Barry Alen

Rating: E

Chapter Word Count: 4, 559

Summary: A series of sporadic dates between Iris and Barry turn into something more, a story in its own making.

Chapter I: Primetime

Chapter II: It's Cool

Chapter III: Anything; It would make sense, she supposes, if looking at her also feels like this for him, like her heart beats in time with every breath he takes and like time slows or stalls or...like every minute here is infinitely longer and in these moments… in these moments, she thinks that the world must somehow tilt on its axis because she feels...i feel you comin' down like honey, do do you even know i'm alive?, do do you even know i, i... she feels… (Read below or on the AO3 link on the chapter title.)

Chapter IV: Comfortable

Chapter V: The Way

Chapter VI: Can't Take My Eyes Off of You

Chapter VII: I'm in Love with You

Chapter VIII: Blue Dream

Anything

Maybe I should kill my inhibition

Maybe I'll be perfect in a new dimension

On the Saturday the week after Barry’s impromptu visit, Iris finds herself down on Main Street about half an hour after 10 in the morning. Nearly the entire 8 blocks of the street are sectioned off, with a plethora of white tents set up on both sides of the street. She glances on as she makes her way down the sidewalk, as people set up books and jewelry and clothes; beer and wine and harder liquor; food and sweets and other treats.

It’s the setup for Central City’s Fall Fest, one of a multitude of fests in the city that Iris calls home. It’ll be open to the public in a few hours and, like usual, Iris will make her way up and down the blocks a few times, holding a beer in one hand and something fried on a stick in the other, a couple of bags filled with things she doesn’t need in the crook of her elbow.

Now, though, she steps into the alley that leads to the side door of Golden’s, an Asian and American fusion restaurant and bar owned by the parents of her best friend, Linda Park. She gives a heavy-handed couple of knocks and only moments later, Linda opens the door to let her in.

Iris first met the other women when they were in the 7th grade. Iris’s parents had divorced several months prior to a new school year and for reasons not then known to Iris, her dad had gotten full custody of her and six-year-old Wally. They’d moved into a new house on the other side of town and that had meant a new school for her. Linda had sat beside her in their homeroom/advisory class and the girl with beige skin and long dark brown hair was constantly scribbling something in a notebook. Iris had discovered that they’d been stories, usually with families as the starring characters. By then, Iris had begun to write in her own notebook—musings and wonderings about the neighbors she’d just met, about what it meant to be the oldest child of divorced parents. They’d bonded over their writing; well, that and being two of only a handful of girls at the school with skin darker than the pale and spray-tanned skin of their classmates.

For over a decade, it’s been Iris and Linda. Through the messy stages of puberty and their even messier interactions with high school boys; through late-night study binges and even worse interactions with college boys. Through the drug addiction that took Iris’s mom and the car crash that had put Linda’s older brother on life support until he’d succumbed to his own injuries, they’ve navigated it all together.

Now, life gets in the way. Linda, almost immediately after undergrad graduation, had begun shopping around a number of short stories and personal essays she had written until, finally, a publisher had bit and opted to publish them as an anthology. A few years and too many nights spent locked in a room later and Linda’s book is a New York Times bestseller. Iris’s own success story is pending. In addition to completing her graduate degree (which, at 26, she’d started late, after taking some time off and working at a local newspaper), she runs a blog, one she’d started by accident. Her middle school musings had become pointed interviews and, with the classes she’d taken in college, had gotten the necessary skills to begin writing up her own human interest stories. It’s amazing, she’s learned, what people will tell you when they can hide behind the face of someone else. What a Life You’ve Lived is growing in popularity, making some money too, and it’s starting to become more than just a hobby for Iris.

Neither Iris nor Linda is ever truly free; but in a concentrated effort to make time, they brunch at least twice a month. This morning, it’s at Golden’s (where Linda is working as a bartender while she writes her next book) because her parents want them to try out new menu items. When the door shuts behind them, Linda turns and gives Iris a hug, wrapping her arms around her neck. Iris returns it, smiling into her hair, her familiar lavender scent a warm comfort she didn’t know she needed.

“I’ve missed your beautiful face,” Linda says, squeezing her hard once before letting her go.

“Yeah?” Iris asks, mouth lifting in a smirk. “Is it because you’re tired of looking at Daniel’s beautiful face?”

Linda rolls her eyes. “Never, though I’d rather put my eye out before I tell him that.”

Linda has been dating her boyfriend Daniel Ngyuen, nerdy engineer and man ridiculously head over heels for her, for a few months, after they met at a book signing hosted by Linda’s parents.

“You’re ridiculous,” Iris tells her, and Linda preens in response.

Something in Iris tightens, a faint film of green clouding her view for all of a millisecond. She’s ashamed she even had the thought, that she feels anything but happiness at the light in her friend’s chocolate brown eyes or the glow in her cheeks. She’s not jealous of Linda, of course she’s not. But Iris can’t help but find some envy at the feeling of contentment that so obviously surrounds her friend and the juxtaposition of her own drifting existence.

It’s almost tangible, these differences, at least to her. Iris can see the confidence practically emanating from Linda’s dress-clad form, the long-sleeved maxi dress and tall sandals, her wavy shoulder-length hair, making her look a little like a goddess. But Iris imagines that’s what it must look like, to be at the start of a career you’ve always wanted, to have the love of a man you’re secure in, to just...know your place, your purpose.

And maybe Iris is being dramatic. She supposes she looks as put together as she’s always thought she needed to be in her light denim jeans, pale pink cropped sweater, and tan block-heeled sandals. She’s been wearing her natural hair out this week and the wavy curls are piled up in an artfully messy bun. Still, even if Iris can’t touch on why she feels so scattered, like all of the pieces that make up the whole of her are floating aimlessly around her body, she cannot deny that the feeling is there, taking up space in her head like the songs she latches on to keep focused, maybe I should pray a little harder, or work a little smarter.

They walk through the restaurant, bustling with the waitstaff preparing for the 11 am opening. Golden’s isn’t an overly large place, only able to fit about 50 people at a time, but Iris thinks it’s a part of the charm. It’s decorated in dark brown wood and bright white and gold light fixtures; the tables and booths are spread out in a way that allows for privacy, making customers feel as if they’re in their own little worlds.

Linda leads them to their usual table, one actually tucked into a little alcove where only the Parks and their guests are allowed to sit. At the table, there’s already a carafe of juice too close to red-pink to be orange juice, along with a bottle of champagne. Outside of the wine and marijuana Friday nights and the occasional party or club, Iris only really indulges in alcohol when she and Linda have these brunches. They slide into the booth and Linda immediately reaches for the champagne.

Over the next couple of hours, Iris is reminded of why, regardless of her own issues, she loves his woman. They laugh, sharing stories of Iris’s students and the customers who come into Golden’s. They get on each other’s nerves, making jokes and ribbing the other any chance they get. At one point, Linda’s parents come out, her honey-skinned Chinese mother Xuan and her dad Theo, Chinese and white with skin like baked sugar cookies, and Iris blinks adoringly up at the both of them, always lost in their beauty—both tall and elegant with ridiculous cheekbones.

“It’s sickening,” Linda mutters as she watches Iris watch them walk away, “how you look at them.”

“I’ve had a crush on your parents for as long as I’ve known them,” Iris replies. “If they ever want a thre-”

“Don’t you finish that fucking statement,” Linda gripes and Iris howls in laughter until Linda points out the attractiveness of Iris’s own father. “You know I’d always hop on the chance to be your stepmom.”

“And I’d happily sabotage your wedding day.”

“But it’d be worth it when I got to climb on top of Daddy West during the honeymoon.”

Iris throws a strawberry at her.

She hears him before she sees him. She’s been at Fall Fest for only about twenty minutes after leaving Golden’s, full and tipsy, walking through the steadily filling streets. Of all of the festivals in Central City, of which there are several (seasonal fests like the Fall and Spring fests; food fests like the Food Truck and Italian Food fests; cultural fests like the Juneteenth and Hispanic Heritage fests), the Fall Fest is one of her favorites. It’s during the best time of the year, when the sun is still blazing but the wind cuts through the heat. When the leaves have begun to drift off trees and dance onto the ground, changing into the shades of yellow and orange and red that only nature can paint. When the booths run the gamut in what they sell, from cooked and packaged foodstuffs, to clothes and jewelry, to dance or golf lessons. It’s the one festival, besides the Pan-African Celebration, that their entire family would attend, even for a few years after the divorce. Her parents would take off work and put aside their differences to spend time together--until Wally had felt too old and her dad had needed too many more work hours and her mom had gotten too lost; and then Iris had started coming with Linda and then, this year, alone.

But she doesn’t dwell—she tries not to dwell these days—and besides, she’s just heard him.

He doesn’t sound any different in the light of the day. In her head, she keeps hearing him as he is in the throes of passion, when his voice is more of a throaty curse, when it’s a rumble against her heated flesh. Here, out here with children screaming from their blocked-off sections and ladies laughing as they smell through candle selections and men arguing from the faux sports bars set up at random tents, he should sound like anyone else. He shouldn’t even be heard over the music coming from the speakers they can’t see—down for the ride, down for the ride; you could take me anywhere; do do do down for the ride, down for the ride; you could take me anywhere; i hope you will, I hope you will, I hope you will—or the sheer noise that’s true for events like this. But he is.

She looks up, ignoring the woman still trying to convince her to buy a bottle or three of perfume, and she sees him, right at the booth beside hers. He’s with two other men, one shorter with light brown skin and dark brown eyes and black hair pulled back in a ponytail; the other only a bit taller than the friend, with skin darker than Iris’s, glasses, and a short afro. Iris vaguely thinks that the three of them together are some sort of setup for a bar joke. They’re dressed similarly, in pants and t-shirts, though Iris’s eyes catch onto Barry’s hunter green chinos and white shirt, the beige pocket square matching his desert boots. All three of them have relatively full beers in their hands and Iris is looking at the cup in Barry’s hand (or rather, his fingers wrapped around the cup) for about three seconds before it jerks, beer spilling out. She looks up to find he’s looking back at her too, muttering “Iris,” in surprise.

She watches her hand and smiles back at him, a bit awkwardly, stepping away from the booth where the woman has already moved on to a new customer.

“Hi Barry,” she responds, walking over to them. She spares a glance at the other two, the Black man looking at her curiously, the Latino man a bit more humorously. “Fancy seeing you here.”

It’s not her smoothest line, but Iris thinks she might be in shock. When he’d left her, again, before she woke up on Saturday morning, she’d found his number written in tiny handwriting on the notepad on her desk, the unimaginative “call me” scribbled beneath it. She hadn’t. She’d thought about; oh had she.

On Monday, she’d debated calling him up to grab a coffee during her break. On Wednesday, she’d gotten an email about a new story and she’d wondered, for a moment, what he might think about it. But then she’d thought of his sweet mouth telling her “I wanted to know if it was as good as my memory,” and she had decided that he likely wouldn’t care about her days.

Now, he gives her a thorough once-over, probably remembering, and Iris feels a flush of heat run through her that she knows has very little to do with the warm late September sun.

“Iris,” he says again, his voice a touch higher than normal. His companions look at each other, eyebrows raised.

“Iris,” the long-haired one repeats, laughter coloring his tone. “I’m Cisco.”

“And I’m Chester,” says the one with dark skin, and they both stand there looking at her, grinning like loons until Barry cuts in.

“Alright, stop being weird.”

They don’t. Barry rolls his eyes and pushes past them to stand in front of her. Even with the heels she’s wearing, she has to stretch her neck a little to look up at him.

“Hey,” he says, this time lower, a soft breeze on her skin.

“Hi,” she repeats, just as softly.

The sounds of the carnival don’t disappear so much as they become muted, such as if she were submerged in water or if there was a rushing in her ears, because everything becomes background noise save for the concentrated sound of his voice.

“You didn’t call,” he says to her.

“I—” she starts, but she’s got nothing to say, not anything that won’t make her sound needy or desperate.

“Hey Barry,” Cisco calls.

“Yeah?” Barry answers, but he doesn’t turn away from her. No, he’s looking at her still, assessing her almost. He’s trying to figure something out, she decides, or at least that’s how it seems, what with the way he stares so intently, blue-green eyes pouring into her, bringing up images of them staring up at her from between her thighs, bringing out impressions that feel like more than lust, like more than just two people who’ve only ever bared their bodies to each other.

“We’re gonna go to another tent,” Chester says. “Catch up with you later.”

“Alright,” is the reply, those eyes glittering like the sea in the afternoon sun, still fixed on her. There’s a slight frown to his mouth, and when he speaks again, she can’t tell if he’s reached his conclusion or not.

“Walk with me?”

She nods before she even thinks about it. “Sure.”

They start back down the path. The booths are in abundance this year; it’s a bigger festival than she’s seen before. For a while, they don’t talk. They walk side by side, arms brushing every so often, stopping at booths that catch their attention. For him is a booth with a variety of multi-piece puzzles, some featuring landscapes and gardens, others of the solar system or space. For her, it’s one selling notebooks, beautiful leather-bound journals. She stops, enthralled, picking up one in coral-colored leather with rose-gold edging.

“We can also engrave the name,” the sun-tanned woman with pale blonde hair behind the tent says. “Or you can order custom colors.”

Iris nods, murmurs, “these are really nice,” and continues flipping through the heavy cream paper in the coral notebook. These days, much of her writing gets done on her overused Macbook; it’s just easier that way. But when she writes, for herself—little anecdotes about her day, her feelings spelled out in poetry—she does so in notebooks like these.

“You’re a writer,” Barry wonders and it’s a statement as much as it’s a question.

“Yeah.” She looks up at him and nods. “I’m actually getting my master’s in journalism.”

She puts the journal down once she notes the $40 price tag and thanks the woman as they walk off, Iris looking back at the notebook with longing.

“I also run a blog,” she tells him, and the words tumbling out of her mouth are a shock.

“Really?” he looks at her in surprise. “What’s the site? Is it popular?”

It’s not like she’s embarrassed of her blog or anything, but it feels different, to tell people she knows about her work. Because it’s one thing for strangers to read what she types out in earnest, and in tears and in vulnerability, but it’s something altogether different for people she knows to do the same. They aren’t her stories, not actually, but they are always her words, always her emotions she puts into them, and it feels too, too telling somehow.

“It’s growing in popularity,” she tells him, because she’s the one who opened this can of worms. “It’s called What a Life You’ve Lived.”

He hums, like that means something to him, but before she can ask what, two kids come barreling through the aisle. Iris tries to step out of the way and she slips, her heel catching in a small crack in the asphalt. Her knees buckle, but before she can hit the ground, Barry’s arms are around her. One of his large hands holds onto her, pressed against the bare skin of her belly, and then she’s pressed fully against him.

It’s absurd how much she likes the feel of him—the slim but corded muscles in his arms, the apparent strength in his fingers; and she likes the smell of him too, the faint hint of his laundry detergent mixed with the heat of the sun mixed with the citrus of his cologne. It’s another moment (™), which doesn’t make sense because he’s only just caught her from falling. But he’s looking at her like there is more in her gaze besides the brown of her irises, the flutter of her lashes. It would make sense, she supposes, if looking at her also feels like this for him, like her heart beats in time with every breath he takes and like time slows or stalls or...like every minute here is infinitely longer and in these moments… in these moments, she thinks that the world must somehow tilt on its axis because she feels...i feel you comin' down like honey, do do you even know i'm alive?, do do you even know i, i...she feels…

“Are you alright?”

Barry’s voice is quiet, too quiet for the energy they’re surrounded by. And maybe she doesn’t even hear it as she does read the movement of his pink mouth.

“Yeah, I am.”

He straightens, then, and gives her a half-smile. “You know, Iris, if you wanted to fall all over me, you could have just called.”

He likely had been trying for levity, but it’s pointed, right there at the end. She steps away from him and he lets her, his fingers sliding along the small of her back until they’re no longer on her skin. It leaves her cold

(only that can’t be true, because it’s far too warm out)

and she watches as he stuffs his hands into his pockets.

“I was waiting on your call, Iris.”

They've moved into a corner where the direction of the festival booths turn right. Straight ahead of them is a 21+ section; it features a stage where performances will begin around 5 as well as a number of makeshift bar stations. There’s a similar set-up with kid-friendly activities on the other side of the festival. Barry’s friends are standing at one of the bar stations talking to two women, both with chestnut-brown skin and long kinky hair. Iris’s eyes shift to take in the rest of her surroundings, to the sound of people laughing and the couples holding hands and the families who seem elated to be together on a day like today.

When she turns back, Barry is patiently watching her, head tilted to the side, expression thoughtful, like it always tends to be.

“Have dinner with me tonight,” Barry suggests “We can walk around some more. And once we get sun-tired, I can take you to this spot that I like nearby and we can talk. Maybe about why you didn’t call.”

She licks her lips, pulls the bottom one between her teeth. She hedges, long enough to tell herself that this would be a foolish endeavor, that she should just say no, that he’s nice and cute and what harm would it do. But, really, when he asks, those cyan eyes gleaming and his cheeks faintly pink and his face so goddamn hopeful it almost makes her look away, she really has no other choice.

“Okay, sure.”

She doesn’t tell him why she doesn’t call.

What she does is tell him about her dad and how she’s always been in awe of him, of his grace and his strength and the lessons he’d taught her. She tells him about Wally, who’s brilliant and searching, trying to figure out his way (not unlike her, though this she doesn’t say). She tells him about Linda, her sister in all of the ways that count, who’s always with her, even when she isn’t. And when he asks, because of course he does, she tells him about her mother who was beautiful and kind, all the way until sickness took her away.

She tells him this because he tells her first, about a larger-than-life father whose proximity to wrong-doing bureaucrats had landed him in prison, and an easy-going mother whose life had ended because someone else had been desperate for the money in her purse.

They do indeed walk around ‘til they’re tired, until around 6. Then Barry takes her to a little American bistro where they pride themselves on grass-fed meats and homegrown vegetables. They devour burgers the size of their heads and a mountain of fries that deserve their own table. He stuffs her with food and a piece of pie after, and he asks her some questions. He wants to know her favorite color and the television show she’s currently watching and if she’s always wanted to be a writer: yellow and Bridgerton and only since her parents’ divorce, when she’d needed to know that hers was only a unique story—or maybe she had needed confirmation that it wasn’t. She wonders about his dream job, his favorite hobby, the one thing he wishes he could do: forensic scientist, which he is, amateur theater, and getting his dad out of prison. That opens up a space for more convolution than should be allowed on a first date, and so she asks him more about amateur theater.

After, he walks her back to where her car is parked past Golden’s. When they get there, he listens for the sound of her car alarm, and then he turns her around, pressing her back against her car door. He walks closer, a hand at her waist, the other reaching up to cup the back of her neck, thumb circling lightly around her throat.

“Thank you for dinner,” she whispers. “I had a really nice time.”

“Yeah?” His mouth ticks up, that half-smile that is somehow both charming and a little bit maddening. “Enough that I might get a kiss?”

She tilts her head as if in thought, even as she gives in to her desire to touch him too, reaching up to finger at the faint moles dotting her cheeks. She only barely nods her acquiescence when he closes whatever distance is left and kisses her. Iris is always surprised by how warm his mouth is, by how sweet he tastes. He tastes like the apple pie they had earlier, but also like early sunset coffee on cool fall mornings and like how slow sex in the middle of the night feels.

He’s gentle in some ways, his mouth moving slow against hers, his tongue licking into her mouth like he’s trying to find life inside of her. But he’s a little rough too, squeezing at her waist so he won’t fondle her in the middle of the street, tightening his hold on her throat, only a little, but enough that Iris begins to feel the action in the throb of her sex. They kiss, eyes closed, her own fingers scratching at the nape of his neck, her hips thrusting against his in time to the flick of his tongue across her bottom lip, until she feels the swell of his dick against her belly and her loud moan tears him away from her.

“Fuck Iris,” he all but growls, licking his lips as he looks her over, a little wrecked. She hadn’t even realized she was doing it, playing with the soft strands of his hair, until she notices it’s all messy, matching the state of his swollen mouth, his wrinkled skirt, the heavy dent in the center of his pants. She wonders what she looks like.

“Get in the car, baby.”

Wide-eyed at the endearment outside of sex, Iris does as he tells her to, sliding in and buckling up before he closes the door. When the purr of her engine starts, he motions for her to roll her window down. She does, waiting as he plants his elbow on top of the car, bending his lean frame down so that his face is level with her.

He smiles softly at her. “Go out with me next Sunday.”

She bites at her lip, if only to give herself another moment to breathe. Because this date would be moving beyond a two-night stand, beyond an impromptu date, far beyond kissing on the side of the street.

“What time on Sunday?”

“Early afternoon,” he says and leans in even closer. “I’ll pick you up.”

She nods before she can talk herself out of it, even if she knows that she should. Barry motions for her with a crook of one of his long fingers, and it makes her think of what’s been playing in her head, of down for the ride, down for the ride; you can take me anywhere, and when she comes to, he places a sweet kiss on her mouth.

“I’ll see you next week,” he says, pulling away slowly.

And then Iris watches him—his strong and assured walk, his compelling and commanding aura—until she can’t see him anymore.

Do do do down for the ride, down for the ride

You could take me anywhere

I hope you will, I hope you will, I hope you will

#westallen fanfiction #strangers to lovers #iris west #barry allen

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wincestisasincest · 4 years

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2000 Man (A beatle!reader story) - Part 5: Fore!

A quick one, inspired by this picture. Beautiful.

As always, credit to @casafrass for inventing the concept of Beatle!reader, that mf idea that sister snatched my heart.

Description: It’s the year 2000, and y/n, the fifth member of the Beatles, is advertising her new book, Madam Beatle, in her first interview of the year. We see snapshots of her life, from when she joined the band, to the trials and tribulations, to the death of the band, and everything in between. Loosely inspired by Slumdog Millionaire.

Part: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

Head canons: None, I think, besides the general concept, this is just me spitballing.

Words: 1465

Pairings: None? I mean, it’s the same as always, depending on how you view it, it can either be a pairing or a friendship.

Warnings: Alcohol, smoking, golf

“There is this recurring, oh, let’s call it a motif, in the book, of the Rolling Stones.”

“Yeah, this is one of the few cases in which popular opinion was actually correct. We really did see the Stones a lot.”

“Now, you were friends?”

“I’d say so, yes. Initially, we had something of a rivalry, I guess you’d call it, but even in those days, we still had a very deep reverence for each other. And, then, at one point, our managers decided that we should meet.”

“An interesting decision, yes?”

“Well, you see, in our industry, competition isn’t unusual, but having enemies really can’t be an option. I think they wanted to actually have us meet face to face so our competitive energy couldn’t turn into blind hatred. Because that only leads to worse things.”

“Hasn’t competition produced some great records?”

“Yes, but it’s not really a prerequisite. All due respect, I really am against the idea that you need some sort of negative presence to properly be a musician, or make beautiful things. People just like focusing on that because it’s interesting, but really, as much songs have been motivated by joy as they have grief. I wish more people, especially aspiring artists, knew that.”

*************

“They’re late.” Brian checked his watch impatiently.

“What’d you expect?” John was lighting his cigarette.

“Their public personas are one thing, but there’s no need to be rude in private.” Brian huffed.

“Maybe, and this is crazy, but hear me out, their on-stage personas evolved from their own personalities.” You retorted as John courteously lit your own cigarette for you.

“(Y/n), I’m really not in the mood for any of your back-talk. If you could kindly keep the sass to yourself, I think it would benefit all of us.” Brian retorted and John snickered.

“You got in trouble.”

“Shut up, John, I’m gonna go check out the bar.” You shifted your eyes up to Brian, expecting some sort of reprimand, though he just looked at you tiredly.

“Just don’t get drunk.” And with that, he paid you no more mind. It’s not nearly as fun when he doesn’t get offended, you thought.

You turned on your heel and wandered off in the opposite direction, leaving John to flit over to Paul, George, and Ringo, who were pretending to know how to swing a club. You laughed to yourself. The benefit of being the only girl in the group is that when they did dumb guy business meeting things, you were not expected to participate. Another day of your life where you would not have to play golf. Thank god.

You swung open the door to the bar and the air conditioner hit you in the face. The bar had an old-timey feel, all the way down to the bar tender cleaning a glass at the counter and a few mysterious strangers lined up on the stools. Might as well join ‘em.

You plopped yourself on the stool the closest to the door and called the bartender over.

“What can I do ya for, sweetheart?”

“Vodka sour.” He nodded and whisked off behind the counter to fetch your order. You took a drag of your cigarette.

“Vodka sour?” A thick British accent floated from one of the stools. You spun around your seat, face to face with none other than Keith Richards, the guitarist for the Rolling Stones, and also one of the people that you were waiting on.

“It’s 5 o’clock somewhere.” You shrugged. If he wanted to play it coy, and act like you two don’t know each other, then he’s on.

He slid out of his seat and moved to the one directly next to you. The both of you were smoking and sizing each other up. Of course, if you wanted to ruin the fun, you could’ve asked why he was late. But you didn’t.

“Vodka sour, Miss.” The bartender dropped your drink on the counter. You briefly turned back to him.

“Thanks, what do I owe you?” As you struggled to pull out your wallet, Keith took some money from the front pocket of his shirt and handed it to the bartender. He returned your startled look with a charming smile.

“On me.”

“Well now, I must be something special if I’m getting you to buy drinks for me.” You doused your cigarette in the ashtray and took a long sip.

“Nah, it’s just, I feel like I know you from somewhere.” He grinned.

“Feeling’s mutual. Perhaps I can buy the next one?”

“Oi, Keith, stop flirtin’ we got some bugs ta’ meet!” Another British accent, though this one a lot more harsh, cut through the room.

Coming in from the alternate entrance was none other than the flamboyant, the one and only, the Romeon to your Juliet, Mick Jagger. Trailing behind him like ducklings was the Stones’ manager, Andrew Loog-Oldham, the bassist, Bill Wyman, the other guitarist, Brian Jones, and the dummer, Charlie Watts.

“While you were sittin’ on your ass, Mick, I already got started!” He leaned back in his seat, revealing you sitting next to him. You flashed your million dollar smiled at the confused crowd.

“It’s a pleasure.” You toasted to them across the room with your vodka sour, before finishing the drink off and leaving it on the counter.

Mick’s eyes slanted at you, and you could’ve sworn that you heard him purr.

“A pleasure indeed.” He stalked across the room towards you, before gently taking your hand in his own and kissing your knuckles. You turned to Keith from the side.

“See? He knows how to greet a lady.” Keith chuckled at your joke.

“I apologize if our Keith has been forward at all, he can’t handle himself around birds, ‘specially those he fancies.” From what you already knew about Mick, you would never really know whether or not he was actually interested in you because he flirted with anything that moved.

“The picture of a gentleman.” You smiled wryly.

“Damnit, Keith. That’s against our image.” Brian teased, his blonde locks bouncing as his head moved. You giggled.

“Well, I suppose we shouldn’t keep the others waiting? They’re out there pretending they know how to play golf.” The crowd laughed, yet again. You were on a roll. You got up from your stool, getting your footing on the floor, not forgetting to leave a tip in the jar, as you exited the building flanked by your biggest pop competitor.

The image of their (y/n) coming up the hill with a group of men known for being disrespectful towards everything did set the lads on edge a bit. John was almost angry, Paul was concerned, George was curious, and Ringo was still focusing on his swing. Brian was just glad that these people had showed up on time.

As the manager’s greeting each other with aggressive levels of formality, the group took to intermingling.

“Not gonna lie, I thought you had just found some fans (y/n).” Paul started.

“You’d be correct. We are fans.” Mick put an arm around your shoulder.

“Speak for yourself. I thought you were kidnapped.” John did that thing where he would say a joke, but you knew that there was real anger underneath. You silently prayed that John wouldn’t mess this up.

“Oh, please. If anything I kidnapped them.” You psshed.

“Does anyone actually know why we’re here?” Brian interluded, somewhat impatient with the formalities of the managers.

“I think the football mums over there wanted us to play golf together? Because that’s what business people do?” John shrugged sarcastically, and the group chuckled.

“Is now a bad time to tell them that I don’t think any of us know how to play?” George quipped quietly, though making sure that he was still included in the conversation.

“Speak for yourself, I think my swings improved.” Ringo demonstrated, narrowly missing the back of Brian’s head, though thankfully, Brian didn’t actually notice.

“Yeah, if you’re tryna take someone out.” You smiled at Ringo, knowing full well that someone would die of a golf mishap before the day was over.

“Speakin’ of takin’ out...” Mick looked back down at you flirtatiously. John had finally boiled over.

“Absolutely not. No.” He pulled you over to their side. Everyone giggled like a bunch of pre-teen boys, except for John, surprisingly.

“As a rule, (y/n) is off limits. Just business, lads.” He placed you behind him and Paul like a wall.

“Imma big girl, Johnny. Just like you.” Talk shit, get roasted John. Though everyone was laughing, with several oohs interspersed between them, you could swear that Paul laughed unusually hard.

“Alright you ten,” Brian returned to the group, “shall we get started?”

“I just have one question, Brian,” Paul turned to face him, “how do you play golf?”

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harlot-of-oblivion · 4 years

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The Devil’s In The Details

All work and no play makes Dante a dull devil. But he soon finds a cure for his boredom when a smokin' hot detective comes a-knockin' on his door.

The title and overall feel of this chapter is inspired by the song "A Girl Like You" by Edwyn Collins.

Chapter 3: Never Met A Girl Like You

You look up Dante’s profile as soon as you get back to your desk. The Lieutenant was not exaggerating that this man’s file is incredibly long; it almost reads like a fictional novel filled with colorful characters and bloody descriptions. Unfortunately, all these reports are real and if any of what you read is remotely true, then you really have your work cut out for you this time.

It all starts with the infamous demon attack on Sparda Manor, which is common knowledge to most locals nowadays. The only body found in the rubble of their burnt down home was Eva Sparda, the matriarch of the family, and the rest of the family was pronounced dead soon after the incident. You narrow your eyes at that little detail…it’s rather strange that they just jumped to that conclusion even though there isn’t enough sufficient evidence to back up the claim.

The next notable part of the profile is all about the escapades of Tony Redgrave. You resist the urge to facepalm yourself while reading about all the events that occurred under his on the nose alias. It all seems to be standard fare on par with mercenary work, so you skip ahead a little until hitting another infamous incident involving some crazy ass tower…a lot of information about what happened has been redacted except that the Son of Sparda was definitely involved as well as an associate only known as Lady.

You read ahead again and raise an eyebrow at the strange report about a beautiful woman smashing through his shop while riding a motorcycle. This mysterious woman is later confirmed to be another associate known as Trish. Then it seems he left to do some outside work, so there isn’t much details except for a few witness statements here and there. The most noteworthy detail is the sudden appearance of a young man bearing a striking resemblance to the white-haired mercenary known as Nero.

A memory flashes before your mind at the name. You’ve seen this young man before; it was during the Red Grave incident involving the demon tree. You did not get the chance to speak with him…all you can remember is nodding to a young man with short white while leading a group of citizens caught in the demonic fray to safety. And speaking of that debacle, you skim through the reports about Dante’s role in that devastating event, which again seems to be scarce except that he was definitely hired to take care of whatever or whoever planted that freaky ass tree.

From what you can glean from the extensive damage reports, complaints about disturbing the peace, and the high rate of death and destruction…it paints Dante as a womanizing playboy who shows no concern for the wellbeing of others, which makes him a highly dangerous individual. Your fingers tap on your desk as you carefully sift through the information you have just gathered, noting that some of the reports have a healthy dose of prejudice attached to them. A good detective knows that preconceptions should never be taken at face value when searching for the truth. So, perhaps he’s more of a flirty troublemaker with a pension for hunting demons, which has earned him quite the reputation among mercenaries and police alike. You lean back in your chair and mentally weigh the risks of seeking out this infamous devil hunter in hopes of ridding the city of another demonic threat.

The soft chiming of your phone breaks you away from your deep contemplation. You pull it out your pocket and shuffle through a series of texts from Carmen. A couple of them are pictures of the victim’s garage, specifically a set of golf clubs found in the corner. She goes on to explain that this could be the murder weapon, but she will have to run some tests to confirm her suspicions. You take out your sketchbook and update the depiction of the crime scene with a drawing of a golf club with a question mark beside it. The other texts inform you about the safe key and missing dog. Carmen didn’t find any kind of safe or lock box that goes with the key, so she’s just adding it with the rest of evidence for further investigation. And there is still no sign of the family dog either.

No surprise there, you thought while texting her back about your heated argument with the Lieutenant and your plan of seeking outside assistance from a demon hunter. You also let her know that Graves is fine, just shaken up from the missing body that could very well be the zombie bride she gushed about earlier. While waiting for her response, you check your email for the record of medical examiners that Graves sent, and you file a report about the missing body from the morgue.

After completing those tasks, you decide to grab a quick breakfast and do some more investigating before setting out to find the Legendary Devil Hunter. You collect your sketchbook and grab another cup of coffee on the way out, gulping it all down in a few long sips while you walk through the station. Your phone chimes multiple times as you approach the exit, but you withhold from checking it as you slip past a slew of reporters standing outside the station. All of them are none the wiser as you gear up for a long ride before hopping on your motorcycle.

You rev the engine a couple of times before zooming out of the parking lot with a loud roar, hoping that you can make it to Devil May Cry before closing time.

(A few hours later…)

Another day spent doing absolutely nothing, Dante thought drolly as he rereads yet another dirty magazine while rock music blares from the jukebox.

It’s late afternoon and there is still no sign of Morrison. The phone rang a few times, but none of the callers gave a password. Dante knew that business has been slow recently, but he’s going to die of sheer boredom at this rate! He leans back in his chair and props his feet up on his desk, not really ogling the half-naked ladies in the magazine as his mind wanders through less vulgar musings.

Dante’s life has taken one hell of a U-turn for the better ever since getting back from hell with his brother in tow and having a very awkward but needed conversation with Nero. Just the fact that he even has a nephew still makes him shake his head in wonder, and having Vergil back to being his old cranky self…it all seems too good to be true. But a few pinches every now and then, as well as some stabs from his dear brother, knocks some sense back into him and erases all doubt from his mind.

Dante has never felt more alive now that he has finally found his family. And it would truly be a shame if this tedious dry spell takes him out before he gets the chance to really enjoy it. Morrison better bring the cure to my boredom before I find it myself, he thought, absentmindedly turning a page while letting out a huge yawn.

A loud knocking echoes throughout the shop. Dante glances up from his magazine towards the entrance. Huh…that’s not Morrison, he surmises as more knocking bangs on the door. “It’s open!” he announces, not one to turn down a potential client coming to him directly. He tosses aside the dirty magazine as the door swings open to reveal an attractive woman entering the shop.

Dante’s brow quirks in curiosity as you look around with mild interest. “Well, well…what’s a pretty lady like you doing here?” he asks nonchalantly while his keen eyes roam up and down your form, already spotting the concealed gun holstered inside your riding jacket.

“I’m looking for the owner of this shop,” you inform in a calm and even voice while slowly approaching the landing area of his office. “Is that you?”

Dante smirks mischievously. “That depends on who’s asking, babe.”

“Don’t call me babe.”

Your stern voice startles him for a moment as you step up to the landing and pause by the edge of the carpet under his desk. You’re close enough now for him to get a better look at you; confident stance, sharp eyes, and a stoic face that could rival his brother’s stony expression. And yet it still captures his full attention despite your cold reception of his playful retort.

“The name’s Dante,” he introduces himself as your head swivels around, taking in every detail of his office as you walk around his desk. “And if you’re looking for the bathroom…it’s in the back.” Dante motions with his head as you get closer to the couch, which gives him an opportunity to check you out from behind. His eyes linger up your slender legs and the curve of your ass…but then he does a bit of a double take when he notices a knife hidden in one of your boots.

“Legendary Devil Hunter, Son of Sparda…and the embodiment of sloth apparently,” you muse aloud, stoic shell cracking a little as your lips curl into a grimace while examining the copious piles of trash strewn all over the floor.

Dante crosses his arms with a shrug. “I see my reputation still precedes me,” he quips back cheekily as your gaze turns towards the small bar in the corner.

“Please tell me that hasn’t just been hanging there rotting since the Red Grave incident,” you mutter in disbelief while pointing at the Empusa nailed to the wall with numerous swords and one small dart.

“What does a babe like you know about Red Grave?” he inquires casually while his eyes narrow suspiciously.

A subtle spark of anger lights up your eyes. “Stop calling me babe.”

Dante slides his feet to the floor before leaning over on his desk. “How about you give me the pleasure of your name and maybe I’ll call ya by something more your style,” he offers with a wink, hoping to rekindle that spark of yours with his flirty banter.

Your smoldering eyes squint hard at him for a moment, the fierce spark now glittering as you reach inside your riding jacket. “Detective Y/N of the Red Grave City P.D.” You take out your badge and flip it open to show him your photo I.D. as you move close to his desk. “And if you call me anything but Detective…I’ll show you why some of the boys down at the station call me Ice Bitch,” you warn with a low growl filled with simmering anger.

“Ice Bitch, huh?” Dante repeats while giving the badge a quick glance so that he doesn’t miss the show when the sparks start flying. “I dunno…you sound pretty fiery to me.”

Dante watches with fascination as your eyes burst with searing heat, but your entire face remains completely composed. It’s not exactly the kind of show he was hoping for, but there is still time to figure out what really lights your fire so long as you are here. There’s just something about you that begs him to stoke the flames flickering in your eyes…maybe it’s the way you carry yourself with utmost confidence around the shop despite the infamy around his name and reputation. Or it could be that fiery spirit hidden beneath your frosty exterior…all he knows for certain is this:

He’s gotta have more.

“So, what does the fuzz down at Red Grave want with a guy like me?” he asks, relaxing back into his chair with an amused grin, detecting another knife hidden up your sleeve as you put away your badge. “Wait, wait…lemme guess: you’re here to arrest me for being too damn good lookin’,” he jests, arching his brow while stroking his chin in a dashing manner.

“Last time I checked, it wasn’t illegal to have a scruffy beard and unkempt hair,” you retort smoothly while straightening out your jacket. “I’m here to request any insights you have about demons.”

“Well, you definitely came to the right place,” he boasts, dramatically waving his hands around the shop before tilting his head inquisitively. “Is this for a case?”

You raise a well-trimmed brow in surprise. “You catch on quickly…yes, it’s for a case,” you confirm, resting one hand on your hip while the other hangs down by yet another knife in your pants pocket. “We need to determine if demons are involved in a series of disappearances and murders.” You pause for a moment, blinking your eyes once as you tilt your head in thought. “There’s also the possibility of a Devil Arm being involved as well. And if either of those are true…” You trail off with a weary sigh before finishing your explanation. “Maybe we can team up and work on this case together.”

Dante kicks one foot up to rest atop his knee. “It sounds like you already know a lot more than your average cop,” he notes while his brow twitches with interest at your proposal.

“When you live in a place like Red Grave, you learn to pick up on a few things…” The spark in your eyes dims down while a haunted look flashes across your impassive face. “Never know when it might save your life,” you quickly explain, crossing your arms as your expression hardens, but the dull ember of your eyes glimmer softly.

Now that’s a look I know very well, Dante admits silently, having seen the very definition of anguish staring back at him in the mirror for years. “Alright, you wanna know more about demons…why come to me? I know for a fact that there are plenty of mercenaries in your area,” he points out with an exaggerated twirl of his finger.

“Because you’re the best of the best, Mr. Dante.”

This isn’t the first time that Dante has heard those exact same words. His usual response is to just laugh it off and comment about hearing it all before…but this time it’s different. The absolute certainty evident in your voice sends a chill down his spine. And the spark in your eyes is roaring with the flame of total conviction as you seemingly stare straight into his devilish soul.

“Hmm…you sure are painting a pretty interesting picture,” he imparts, fidgeting a little under your intense gaze, which makes him wonder if you’ve noticed just how tight his pants have gotten while talking with you. Not that he minds…but it seems you are more interested in business than pleasure right now. So, he brushes that notion aside and scoots his chair closer so that his arms can rest on the desk. “Look…I’m really flattered and all, but you’ve overlooked one minor detail: mercenaries and cops aren’t really known for working together.”

Dante flashes you with a toothy grin, hoping the reluctant act he’s putting on will illicit another feisty show. “Oh, I didn’t overlook it,” you reveal, quickly snuffing out his attempt at lighting the fuse with a shake of your head. “I just don’t give a damn.”

“Really?” He leans in closer over his desk as he pokes that wild temper of yours from another angle. “Didn’t know it was okay for you to break the law whenever you want and openly carry that gun just because of some fancy badge,” he provokes with a challenging smile.

Your stoic face contorts into furious scowl as the spark in your eyes ignites in searing rage. You quickly close the distance between both of you and slam your hands down on his desk, proving that he skipped lighting the fuse and just kicked the entire damn barrel into the fire! But it doesn’t bother Dante one bit as you lean in real close to his face over the desk, inflamed gaze boring into him while you launch into an explosive tirade.

“Now you listen here! I took an oath to protect and serve, and that’s exactly why I’m here now! I did not work my ass off for this badge just to waltz around with this gun! And I have no intentions of abusing that sacred trust the citizens of Red Grave have put in me!”

You pause to take a couple of deep breaths before continuing in a calmer but still irate tone. “Your expertise and experience with demons may lead to the break in case we need…and it’s what I need to uphold that oath.” The harsh scowl on your face softens as the rage in your eyes dies down to a flickering flame of hope. “I need your help, Mr. Dante…I can’t crack this case wide open and finally bring this insidious killer to justice for the families and friends of their victims without you.”

Dante stares at you in awe as your impassioned speech buzzes around him like a temperamental honeybee. He couldn’t help but to watch your lips as you unleash your fury upon him…wondering if your kiss would be just as passionate as your volatile rage. And you are so close now, waiting for his response as you loom over his desk like an unmoving statue. But your intoxicating scent ensnares his senses while an all too familiar presence awakens inside him. His heart beats faster as blood rushes straight down his groin, forcing him to subtly readjust himself under the desk while the devil within purrs beneath his skin.

The door behind you suddenly swings open before he can come up with some clever one liner about enjoying the show. Morrison strolls on in and effectively pulls both of you out of the intense moment as he starts talking. “Hey Dante! Word on the street is that a detective from Red Grave City has been snooping around and…Oh!” He stops in his tracks when he finally notices you. “Looks like you’ve arrived before the rumors, Detective,” he notes smoothly while lighting up a cigar.

“I’m a firm believer of getting the whole picture before putting my pencil to paper, Mr. Morrison,” you divulge coolly without tearing your fierce gaze away from Dante’s stunned face. The corners of your mouth twitch into a fleeting smirk as you straighten up your posture while backing up from his desk. “I’ll be in the city for a couple more hours. You can find me at the Simmer Down Diner if you change your mind…and if you don’t come around, I’ll just assume that your answer is no.”

You turn and step down the landing before walking past Morrison towards the entryway. Dante’s eyes follow your every move, hypnotized by your swaying hips and confident stride as you reach for the door. “But make no mistake, Mr. Dante,” you murmur, grasping the handle as you turn to look over your shoulder. “There’s a serial killer on the loose and I intend to catch them with or without your help.” Your eyes sparkle with determination with those final words as you open the door and exit the shop.

“Did I hear her right?” Morrison questions, puffing on his cigar as he walks across the shop towards the couch. “She wants your help catching a serial killer?”

Dante keeps his eyes on the door as he nods. “Yep. Seems so.”

“Huh…that’s something you don’t see every day.” Morrison takes a seat on the couch and flicks his cigar over a nearby ashtray. “What’d she offer you in return?”

“We didn’t get that far when you busted on through the front doors.”

Morrison puffs on his cigar in quiet contemplation for a moment before cracking a knowing smile. “You’re thinkin’ about following after her, aren’t ya?”

Dante finally turns away from the door towards his dear friend. “What makes you say that?” he inquires, casually leaning back in his chair while Morrison shakes his head with a soft chuckle.

“You never could resist a beautiful lady asking for help. Even when all they brought was trouble…you still hear them out and almost always take whatever bait they dangle in front of ya.”

Dante shrugs at his friend’s logic while pondering about possibilities of working with a detective. On one hand, he’d have to play nice with the police and not break too many laws if he agrees to help you. But on the other hand, he gets to hang out with a smokin’ hot detective with one helluva temper. And if he takes up your offer…his heart throbs while the devil in him purrs at the thought of reigniting the flame in your eyes and seeing more of this sizzling chemistry between the two of you.

“You know me too well, Morrison,” he discloses with a puckish grin. “I’ll let ya know if I take the bait this time.”

Morrison waves his cigar in the air as if to say told ya so as he gets out of his chair with a small flourish. He recalls the restaurant you mentioned as he steps out the shop, knowing it to be one of many greasy spoons in this area of the city. His hands are practically shaking with anticipation as he summons Cavaliere while a blur of different emotions swirl around in his head. If you can get this kind of reaction out of him already, then he’s gotta see where this may lead because honestly…he’s never met a girl like you before.

And now that he’s had a taste…he wants so much more.

Read Chapter 4

My Ao3

My Masterlist if you want more 💖

Tagging: @bettybattaglia @drusoona and @exsultry

#dante x reader #dante #devil may cry #detective reader #murder mystery #crime drama #eventual romance #the devil's in the details #FINALLY!!!#the moment we've all been waiting for...👀👀👀#hope you got your popcorn ready #the fireworks are about to begin 😏#harlot writes

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twdmusicboxmystery · 4 years

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The Divine Comedy Theory, Part 2

So, let's switch gears and talk about Still. I literally spent several hours on Monday watching the 10-minute scene with Bethyl in the golf club. I had my nose about 6 inches from the TV and was trying to look at stuff in the background to make sure I was catching everything.

I’m making that sound like a complaint, but I actually enjoyed myself. I haven’t done this sort of thing in a while. 😉

Basically, I went in with the hypothesis that Beth and Daryl might have gone through nine doorways, which would represent nine circles of hell (since S4 was one big foreshadow and Nicotero said the golf club represented the 9 circles of hell; I wanted to identify them.) That's why I was paying attention to the background. I needed to count how many doorways they walked through, and also keep track of where they both were, since they split up several times.

Well, guess what?

Long story short, they do go through nine (technically 11 if you count the first and last) doorways. And I even found something I never noticed before. It's really not that big a deal and doesn't change what happens in show. Just something new I learned. When they first walk into the golf club (where Beth finds the spoon and Daryl picks up the jewels) that is the antechamber or anti-inferno.

They haven’t actually gone into hell yet. The story talks about people who were fence-sitters. Not super good or evil, but who wouldn't make a decision either way. That’s what the hanging walkers in this scene symbolize.

When walkers start pounding on the door and Bethyl go through the double doors, that's them entering hell. Another evidence of this is that on the flipside, we hear water dripping (it’s pointed out in the sub-titles). I think that's to represent crossing of the river into hell from the Divine Comedy.

Oh, side-note: they also both find flashlights inside that first room of the golf club. I’m thinking the flashlights represent Virgil in the story. The flashlights will sort of “guide” them through hell, and were found in the same place Dante connected with Virgil in the story.

Okay, this is where it gets complicated. What we first see is Daryl walking in with Beth right behind him. Then we see her go through a second doorway. This is where she pulls out her knife.

This is the new thing I learned. I'd always assumed that he was ahead of her because we see him walk in first. At this point, however, he isn’t. He actually stays in the first room for a while and that's where he finds the cinnamon. Again, just a tiny thing, but I assumed he was out ahead of her and found the cinnamon in the second or third room. But I had to watch carefully to realize that when we see Beth take her knife out, Daryl is still behind her in the previous room.

What's important here is that they enter the first room (first Circle of Hell) and Daryl stays there for a bit. He rummages for supplies and finds the cinnamon. Beth meanwhile goes into the second room (second Circle of Hell) and takes out her knife.

I tried to figure out if the belongings we see each of these rooms perhaps indicate the circle of hell the room represents. They might, but I didn't look at them too closely. She's literally in each of these for only a few seconds, so it's hard to pick out details.

But quickly she goes through a third doorway which has plastic slats hanging down from it, which usually signals that you're entering a refrigerated area. Through the doorway, there’s a long hallway (this will be the third circle of hell). On the right is the freezer she goes into to get the bottle and at the end of the hall is the dog trot room.

She goes through the doorway to the freezer on the right word to get the bottle so that would be the fourth doorway and the fourth circle of hell. Remember that the Fourth circle of hell is for gluttony. I believe the walker lying on the floor who somehow died trying to get food, probably represents gluttony.

Now, before we move on, there's something important here that I want to point out. When she grabs the bottle, she makes a glass/clattering noise.

We see Daryl stop what he's doing and look over/point his flashlight toward her.

She doesn't cry out or anything. He assumes she's not in trouble and goes back to rummaging.

I think that's very intentional and very important. It represents something very specific. I'll come back to it. Then Beth goes back through the doorway into the hallway. (P.S. I don't think them going backwards through the doorways has any special significance here. At least, not that I noticed. The point is, they go through one doorway and later go through another. They backtrack several times and I haven't found any significant way that would fit into the Divine Comedy allegory.)

At this point, after she emerges from the freezer, a walker attacks Beth and she breaks the bottle on it, trying to fight it off before eventually taking out her knife and stabbing it in forehead. That's when Daryl walks up and she says “thanks for the help,” etc.

At this point, she ends up walking through what I would call the fifth doorway, which is into the dog trot room. She didn't stay there long either, just glancing around before following Daryl again. But it's probably important that he didn’t actually enter the dogtrot room.

I'll explain what all my theories are about these things in just a minute.

Next, we see them descend into the cellar. I don't think the descent actually represents one of the nine circles. They don't go through doorway but rather down a flight of stairs. I think going down represents descending deeper into hell in general. They crawl under the shelf and Daryl rights the clock.

The next doorway to go into is the gift shop. And we all know what happens here. She finds clothes, he grabs some supplies, Rich Bitch Walker, etc. That’s the Sixth circle.

After that they leave the gift shop, the clock strikes, startling them both. Then we see them go through a new doorway.

They both go through it, but then see walkers ahead and so jump backwards and turn and going to yet another doorway.

Let me recap. The doorway into the gift shop was the sixth doorway and sixth circle of hell. The next door they go through is the seventh doorway and seven circle of hell and they go through it and then quickly back out. Then they go through yet another doorway (this is what I had to watch closely and make sure was counting right because it happens very quickly) which is the eighth doorway, or eighth circle of hell.

And finally, they go through ninth door which leads to the place where Daryl hits the walker with the club, spattering Beth with the blood. This is the ninth doorway and ninth circle of hell.

After that, of course they go through one more doorway which represents them, leaving hell and, in front of the blue Heron picture, Beth says, "we made it."

So, there are actually nine doorways they go through and tptb told us the golf club represented the nine circles of hell. This is making a lot of sense right now. Here's the thing.

Let me return to the fact that they split up after the first circle and didn't come back together until the dogtrot room. I think that shows what part of the story we’re in now, while they are apart.

While tptb confirmed this represents the 9 circles, it may be that I’m trying to make them too chronological, or that only the 9 doorways are important and not necessarily what happens in each room. There’s really no way to know. But given the track record for tptb, I can’t help but read into it as a sequence.

Plus, there's the whole dogtrot thing. It would be one heck of a coincidence if the writers put a Sirius symbol right when Daryl walked up to Beth again after they’d been in separate places for a time, don’t you think? So, I'm sure you can tell how I feel about this. 😉

So, I think them splitting up in the first room/circle represents Beth and Daryl’s separation in S4/S5. After all, the room outside of that, the antechamber, was S4. Then as soon as we get to S5, as it were, the two of them go their separate ways.

I can't help but think how interesting it is that just as Beth heads into the second room/circle it by herself, we see her take out a new knife. That represents not only her having to defend herself because she's not with Daryl and TF anymore, but she would literally need a new knife because Daryl still has hers.

Then there's that cinnamon Daryl finds. There are lots of things cinnamon can represent symbolically. The major ones I’ve found are healing, but also romantic love. (It’s sometimes called the wedding spice.) So I think we can interpret it two ways. Daryl found romance in the first circle with Beth. (It’s cute that he puts it in his pocket.) As far as healing goes, she leaves and goes ahead (up the road) without him. But I think he has to stay there until he’s healed from the pain of losing her, and the cinnamon represents that as well.

Notice how he doesn’t “reunite” with her at the dogtrot room until after he’s found the cinnamon and put it in his pocket. And we’ve talked a lot about how we’ve seen a lot of healing for him the past season or two.

Then we have the part where she makes the noise, and he looks toward and shines his flashlight toward her.

This is the thing that I was talking about in my ask last week. (Check it out here.) We have a representation here of Daryl hearing her, but not seeing her. And interestingly, he waits, and it catches his attention, but he doesn't go to her immediately.

I think that's very intentional and specifically telling us what's going to happen. He's going to hear something of her, but he's busy doing something and can’t go check it out right away. Then, when she's being attacked, he does go to get her. But by the time he gets there, she’s already taken care of the problem. I think something like that will happen as well. She'll, "save herself."

So, the dialogue here, as TD has always known it is, is very interesting. "Thanks for the help." "You said you could take care of yourself. You did.” So, obviously them being at the dogtrot room probably represents their reunion. But here's where it gets interesting.

Remember I said that I wasn't sure I was interpreting it right because if the six circle of hell represents the Whisperers, then we still have several more circles before the story is done? Now, to be fair, it still doesn't line up exactly. The dogtrot is the fifth circle of hell (fifth doorway). So obviously the Whisperers can't be the six circle. Unless of course they're not going chronologically. There's no way for us to know that for sure.

But this actually makes me really happy because it shows that even after Beth and Daryl reunite, we still have a lot of story to tell. They have three circles of hell to go through and they go through them together. I think that's what this shows.

After they come back together, they descend deeper into hell and complete the second half of the journey together. And that's why when Beth comes out the other side, she says, "we made it."

The other thing that isn't entirely chronological is that Dante doesn't come out of hell until Easter morning. If Easter represents Beth's return, at the very least this isn’t entirely chronological.

I'm not sure how it all works together. The writers might also be bouncing around between different circles and using them to fit the story rather than fitting the story to them. That would make a little more sense, anyway. You get the idea.

This is the basic gist of the Divine Comedy. And, like most of the theories we have, suggests we’re very close to Beth appearing and having a Bethyl reunion.

Overall, I still think they won’t actually reunite until the spin off, but we still might see or hear about her before then. Once I got going on this, I had a whole head canon about some mysterious voice on the radio, calling Alexandria and looking for Daryl. Because I think he’d recognize her voice if he heard it, but he’d also think he was crazy because it couldn't possibly be her.

Maybe she tells him that Rick is alive and where to go, but not where she is or something like that. And after the Daryl and Carol tie up whatever they're working on in S10 and S11, they jump on his bike and leave.

Okay, this is getting long, so I need to end it here. I didn’t talk about the “Abandon All Hope” sign by Rick in S8. But me and my fellow theorists have been discussing the Chess Theory which a Nonny brought up in an Ask the other day. (X) And I think I can wait to talk about Rick until I discuss that next week.

For now, I’ll just say that “hell” in this allegory also represents Beth and Daryl’s separation from one another, and hers from TF in general. I think it’s much more complicated than this, but to put it simply, seeing Rick descend into a Divine-Comedy-like, metaphorical hell also represents his separation from Michonne and TF. So the allegory holds up.

But again, I’ll talk more about that next week. Thoughts about Bethyl’s Divine Comedy theory?

#beth greene #beth greene lives #beth is alive #beth is coming #td theory #td theories #team delusional #team defiance #beth is almost here #bethyl

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vsquadgoals · 4 years

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Golf Club (G.D) Part 2

Part 1

Over the course of that week Y/n saw Grayson almost every single day if he wasn’t picking her up from work to bring her home he was sitting with her on her lunch break and talking until he boss was glaring at her across the room. Nothing else had happened between them since that night, they would have dinner together at her apartment, talk or watch a movie, make out for what felt like an hour and then Grayson would go home. She honestly loved every second over it. It was Saturday again, and the boys were back at the Club with their stuff as promised. Y/n smiled wide when she saw Grayson following Ethan out of the club door and over to her cart, her stomach full of butterflies. Ethan smiled at her and pulled her into a hug. “Hey Y/n/n.” She hugged him back and smirked at Grayson over his shoulder. “Hi E. I’m glad you boys keep your word.” Ethan chuckled once they separated. “Oh, we’re not here for you, we’re here just to golf.” He teases making her roll her eyes. Grayson pulled her into a hug and smirked at his brother. “Speak for yourself.” Grayson teased making Ethan roll his eyes, Y/n looked up at Grayson confused and he waved her off. As far as she knew no one knew about her and Grayson except for Lisa, but she just had a small hunch there was no confirmation, they actually had talked about telling his family tonight that they had officially started dating. Y/n was leaning against the golf cart zoned out remembering when he had officially asked her.

Y/n is sitting on her couch her legs tucked under her body while Grayson handed her a glass of wine before sitting next to her, she cuddled into his side pulling a blanket over her legs, he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “What do you wanna watch?” He asks grabbing the remote from the coffee table before settling into the couch. Y/n sipped her wine and closed her eyes snuggling into him more. “Whatever you want.” She mumbles, Grayson looked down at her and chuckled, “Tired?” Y/n frowned and shook her head. “No, I just like listening to your heartbeat.” She whispers before blushing realizing what she said, she sipped her wine again trying to hide the pink tint on her face. Grayson smirked and tickled her sides enough to make her squirm but not enough to make her spill her glass. “Is that so?” He teases, she squirms away from him and sat on the other side of the couch her feet against his leg. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, you must be hearing things.” Grayson sat his drink on the coffee table and propped himself between her legs putting his chin on her belly looking at her. “You’re a dirty liar.” Y/n bites her lip and looks down at Grayson who is smirking wide at her. Y/n ran her fingers through his long hair and shrugged. “Maybe I am, what's it to ya?” She teased back, Grayson leaned into her touch and closed his eyes sighing happily. “I just am happy when I’m with you.” She whispers watching him closely while running her fingers through his hair. Grayson looks at her and smiles moving up her body and kissing her lips softly. “Me too, I don’t wanna think about where I would be if I didn’t have you during all of these last few months.” He admits nuzzling his face into her chest. “Me too.” She whispers chewing her lip nervously.” Grayson looked at her and kissed her a few more times. “I need you to be mine.” He tells her making her blush. “Please let me call you mine.” Y/n smiles wide and grabs Grayson’s face kissing him. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Penny for your thoughts?” Grayson whispered to her as he nudged her with his elbow. Y/n was pulled out of her thoughts and smiled at him. “Just a special night is all.” She says blushing a little. “Y/n! You’re coming again tonight?” Ethan asks walking over to them. Y/n smirks at him. “Your mother would kill me if I didn’t come. She made me promise to come every week.” She told him giggling. Ethan chuckled and shook his head. “I should’ve known.” Y/n hands Grayson his club so he could take his turn while she handed Ethan his water. “You know you don’t have to do stuff like this with us right?” Ethan asks and she shrugs. “I am working E.” He rolls his eyes. “Not with us, my dad would kill us.” Y/n nudges him and nods. “Okay, okay. Only for him though.” She teases making him shake his head and smile. Once they were finishing up y/n was driving the cart back to the club, “Are you guys gonna stay for lunch?” Ethan frowned. “I can’t I have some work to do.” He tells her. “I’m gonna stay.” Grayson says making her smile to herself. “Okay. How's the company doing by the way?” She asks parking the cart with the rest of them to get cleaned out and charged. Grayson and Ethan both smiled happily. “It’s going great, everything is going nice and smooth.” Ethan tells her making her smile. “Good I’m really glad.” Once they said goodbye to Ethan, Grayson made his way to the dining room like he usually did when he came to have lunch with her and ordered her favorite. Grayson watched her talk to her coworker, her back turned to him, he couldn’t help himself, his eyes scanning up and down her legs landing on her ass, the way it looked in that tiny skirt they made her wear at work drove him crazy. Y/n parted from her coworker and made her way over to Grayson smiling at him before sitting in her seat. Grayson grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it. “I need you to stop wearing these damn things.” He says his voice low as his fingertips brush lightly over the bottom hem of her skirt. A small gasp leaves her lips at the unexpected contact and she looks at Grayson. “It’s kinda my uniform Gray.” he rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “You just look so damn good; I can only imagine what the guys around here think cause I know what I’m thinking.” He winks at her before sitting back in his chair as the waiter comes over bringing them their food. “Thank you, Dylan.” Y/n says as the waiter places her plate and drink in front of her.

“So, are we telling them tonight?” she asks as she takes a bite of her salad. Grayson nods sipping his water. “I thought so, it’s getting really hard trying to hide where I am all the time.” Y/n smiles and nods. “Do you have a plan?” She asks getting nervous. Grayson looked at her and chuckled. “It’s not a big deal Y/n, they love you so much they’re gonna be over the moon for us.” She frowns and nods. “I guess you’re right. I just wanna get it over with so I’m not nervous about it all night.” he nods and chews his mouth full of food before answering her. “Okay, so we’ll talk to my mom while she finishes dinner and then E and Cameron separately. We’ll just bang it out before dinner.” She smiles wide and nods in agreement. “I think your mom already knows.” “Why do you think that?” He asks his eyebrows knitting together. “She made a comment about the way you look at me last weekend.” Grayson smirked and shook his head. “Well isn’t she just a know it all.”

Y/n’s uber pulled up in front of the Dolan house the same time it did last weekend this time it was different, she was at her boyfriend’s house to tell his family that they’re dating. This time Y/n wore a pair of leggings and a nice oversized thin sweater that was off the shoulder, the sweater was long enough to cover her butt. She ran her fingers through her hair before taking a deep breath and knocking on the front door, she was grateful that it was Grayson to answer, he smiled wide at her before pulling her into a tight hug and kissing her head. “Ready?” He whispers and she just nods before following him into the house and then the kitchen where Lisa was. “Hi Lisa, it smells great in here.” Y/n says once they enter the room where Lisa is almost finished with dinner. “Hi honey.” She pulls her into a hug and smiles looking over her outfit. “You always look so beautiful when you come over here. Doesn’t she Grayson?” Lisa says turning to Grayson when she addresses him, Y/n’s face turns pink as she blushes. Grayson smiles and nods. “Of course, she does Ma.” Lisa nods happy with his answer before she turns back to the meal. “Hey ma... we wanted to talk to you about something.” Grayson says leaning against the kitchen counter next to his mom. “What’s up baby?” Y/n chews her lip nervously and nods at Grayson who is looking at her for approval before he continues. “Y/n and I are dating. She’s my girlfriends.” Lisa smiles to herself and shakes her head before looking at Grayson a playful smirk on her lips. “Grayson Bailey, you really think I don’t know my children, don’t you? I knew this already.” Y/n giggles and shakes her head. “I told you.” Lisa pulls Y/n into another hug and kisses her head. “Your dad even knew you two would end up together.” Lisa tells Grayson making him smile and kiss his mom's cheek. “I love you mom” She waves him off smiling. “I love you more, not go tell Cam and Ethan that dinner is almost ready.” Y/n nudges Grayson with her hip and giggles once they leave the kitchen going down the basement to talk to Ethan. “I told you she knew.” Grayson rolled his eyes. “Whateverrr.”

Grayson knocked on his twin's bedroom door. “Hey E?” than calls for him to come in. Y/n smiles and hugs Ethan once they’re in the room. “Hey what’s up guys?” Ethan says when Grayson sits on the bed next to Y/n. Grayson looks at his brother and smirks a little. “Y/n and I are dating.” He says making Ethan throw his hands in the air dramatically. “Finally! Holy shit I thought this would never happen.” Grayson chuckles and shakes his head. “What do you mean?” Y/n asks confused. Ethan rolls his eyes and looks at her. “Seriously? All you guys do is flirt with each other, since you guys met.” it’s her turn to roll her eyes as she stands from his bed. “Whatever. Your mom says dinner is almost ready to come up.” She teases pushing him playfully. Grayson pats Ethan's back and they go upstairs. Once they’re in the dining room Ethan looks at Cameron and smirks. “Did you hear the lovebirds are finally together?” Ethan asks her and Y/n groans. “Ethan! We didn’t get to tell her yet.” Ethan chuckles and rolls his eyes. “Whatever she already knew I'm sure, we all did. We’re just happy you guys finally figured it out, it was getting exhausting.” Cameron smirked at her and nodded. “He’s not wrong.” Grayson put his hand on her thigh under the table and smirked at her shrugging.

The rest of dinner was great, Lisa continued to tell them how happy she is that they’re together and happy. It’s been hard for Lisa since Sean passed away, not only losing her husband but her children losing their father, the boys struggled a little more than Cameron did, but they were so close with their father and were together almost constantly it wasn’t a surprise. So, seeing Grayson so happy whenever Y/n was around and knowing that she helped him when he needed someone the most really made her happy and gave her some relief, Ethan and Cameron were also so happy when Y/n was around, her smile and bubbly personality always brought the family’s mood up. Lisa loved watching them interact, the way Grayson could say the silliest thing and she was dying laughing almost in tears, or the way Grayson wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled his face into her neck the biggest smile on his face. Once they were finished with dinner Y/n went into the bathroom to freshen up and Grayson helped his mom clean up the dishes and bring them to the kitchen, Cameron had plans with friends so she had left and Ethan went to pick up sundaes for them all. Lisa wrapped her arms around Grayson and hugged him tight tears prickling in her eyes. “It’s nice to see you smiling again.” She mumbles into his chest, at this point Grayson and Ethan tower over her small frame. Grayson hugged his mom tight and chuckled. “Thanks mom.” He didn’t know she was teary eyed until she pulled away and cupped his face making him frown. “What’s wrong ma?” He asks wiping tears off of her cheeks. “It’s just been really hard watching you kids struggle and not being able to help. But when you all are around Y/n everyone's so happy and it really just warms my heart, especially you. When she’s around you don’t stop smiling Grayson.” Y/n is standing on the other side of the wall of the kitchen tears streaming down her face listening to Lisa. Grayson pulled his mom into another tight hug after wiping tears from her cheeks. “I love you.” He mumbles holding his mom close. Y/n wipes the tears from her cheeks trying to compose herself before she walked back into the kitchen, she wishes that they could all know how much their family means to her, even without her and Grayson dating, they mean the world to her and have helped her get through so many things in her life and have been so supportive of her no matter what she does.

Y/n walked into the kitchen and Lisa and Grayson pulled apart and before they could explain themselves Y/n pulled Lisa into a tight hug before a small sob leaves her lips. “I wasn’t eaves dropping I promise.” She mumbles against Lisa’s shoulder. Lisa chuckles a little and rubs y/n’s back. “It’s okay, its all stuff you should know.” Y/n pulls away and frowns looking at Lisa. “I just need you to know how much you guys mean to me, Grayson and I’s relationship aside. I wouldn’t be where I was if it wasn’t for you guys, you’ve been the most supportive family I could ever ask for.” Lisa hugs Y/n again and kissed her head. “We love you so much don’t ever forget that.” Y/n nods and chuckles wiping her face. “Sorry for the tears.” She says clearing her throat, Grayson wraps his around her waist pulling her into his side and kissing her head. “Ma, can we watch some home videos tonight instead of a movie? I think it’ll be nice.” Lisa frowns and nods. “I’ll go dig them out, Ethan should be back soon.” Once Lisa left the room Grayson pulled Y/n into a tight hug and peppered kisses on her face. “You’re so amazing.” He mumbled against her cheeks. Y/n smiled and turned her head pecking his lips. “No, you.” Ethan came into the kitchen bags in hands. “Oh no, so it begins.” he teases making Y/n giggle.

They all sat on the couch in the living room cuddled under blankets, Y/n was cuddled into Grayson’s side while she ate her ice cream. Once Lisa set up the video, she sits back on the couch next to Ethan getting under the blanket and getting her sundae off of the table. They watched the videos for hours, laughing and crying, Y/n loved seeing the twins when they were babies, so cute and chunky. Y/n soon removed herself from Grayson and moved closer to Lisa leaning against her and snuggling into her, watching the videos was really hard for Lisa, she wasn’t able to watch them yet but knowing Grayson wanted to watch them pushed her to watch them finally. However hearing his voice for the first time since he passed way really hard for all of them, especially Lisa hearing him address her when he was filming her and the boys made sobs slip past her lips, Y/n wrapped her arms around Lisa and held her close trying to comfort her. Lisa appreciated the comfort from Y/n it helped more than she probably knew. Soon Lisa was standing from the couch and hugging the boys before letting them know she was gonna head to bed. Ethan left shortly after that, Y/n and Grayson turned off the videos putting them away neatly.

Grayson wrapped his arms around her waist and slowly began trailing kisses down her neck to her collar bone. “Stay?” He mumbles sucking softly on her sweet spot making her bite her lip. “I don’t have any clothes.” She whispers and he rolls his eyes. “Good, I can’t wait to see you wearing my clothes.... Or nothing at all.” He says before picking her up and bringing her downstairs as she giggles. Grayson tosses her onto the bed making her giggle more and look up him as he pulled his shirt off over his head after closing his bedroom door and locking it, she was grateful Ethan’s bedroom was on the other side of the basement. Instead of climbing on top of her like she thought he was going to he went into his drawer and pulled out a t shirt before putting it on the bed next to her feet, she leaned up on her elbows and watched him while biting her lip as he stripped his clothes leaving him just in his boxers. He raised his eyebrow looking at her while her eyes traced up and down his body while biting her lip, it was the first time she was properly seeing his body and she was already obsessed, he’s so beautiful she couldn’t handle it, it was making her squirm now under his gaze. “What’s the matter Angel?” He asks smirking at her. “How is it possible for you to look so fucking good?” She asks her tongue running over her bottom lip. Grayson chuckled and shook his head. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?” He climbed on top of her finally and attached their lips. Y/n wrapped her arms around his neck pulling him deeper into the kiss and running her tongue over his bottom lip which he gladly parted his lips for tangling their tongues together immediately. His hands slowly slipped under her sweater breaking the kiss only to pull it over her head and tossing it behind him onto the floor, he reached around and unhooked her bra tossing it in the same direction as her sweater. Grayson sat back on his heals and looked down at her admiring her body while running his fingertips down her sides slowly making her squirm underneath him.

He just stared at her like that for what felt like forever, finally she whimpered underneath him. “Please Gray.” She groaned arching her back trying to get him to touch her more. Grayson smirked and hooked his fingers into the waist band of her leggings and panties pulling them both down at the same time and she was finally naked under him. Grayson leaned back against admiring the beautiful girl underneath him, “You’re so beautiful Y/n.” he said while his fingers ran down her torso lightly making her whimper and blush. He leaned down attaching their lips again before pulling away and kissing down her neck slowly while nibbling and sucking until he got to her nipples, he took one into his mouth sucking the sensitive nub while his hand worked the other. Y/n threw her head back moaning softly her hands going to his hair tangling her fingers in it. Once he was satisfied with his work on one, he moved to the other, Y/n was a moaning mess, she was sure that she could cum from this alone if he continued at the rate he was going. “Grayson.” She whimpered making Grayson smirk and pull away looking at her. “What baby?” He says as innocently as possible making her bite her lip. “I need you to fuck me.” She moans pulling at the waistband of his boxers, he bites his lip and nods before stripping his boxers revealing his hard, throbbing cock, Y/n looks at it and bites her lip clearly intimidated by the size. The look on her face makes him smirk and almost chuckle, he leans down attaching their lips aggressively while his fingers slowly slip between her folds making him groan against her lips once he feels how wet she is. “So wet for me aren’t you baby?” He mumbles against her lips and she simply nods trying to hold back her moans, his fingers circle her clit a few times before he takes away his fingers and pumps himself in his hands a few times before lining himself up with her soaking entrance. “Ready Angel?” He asks peppering kisses on her neck, she bit her lip and nodded. “Yes.” before she knew it, he was thrusting into her, she slapped her hand over her own mouth trying to muffle her moans, the last thing she wanted was for anyone to hear them. Grayson smirked and grabbed her wrists pinning them to the bed over her head. “No, no Angel. I wanna hear you.” He teased holding her wrists tight with one hand while the other was on her hip helping to keep him balanced as he thrusted into her harder and faster. Y/n was a moaning mess under him, her back arched as she grew closer to her release tightening around his cock only making him go faster. Grayson moaned and let go of her wrists moving his hand in between them and rubbing her clit making her moan his name louder. “You’re gonna cum aren’t you Y/n? I can feel you’re close.” Y/n looked up at Grayson and nodded her head moaning. “Yes, Grayson. I’m so close.” He smirked and leaned down sucking lightly on her collar bone. “Me too baby, cum for me!” he moaned against her skin his thrusts getting sloppy. Soon they were both cumming together moaning loudly, Y/n ran her nails down Grayson’s back will she did.

Once they boy were able to catch their breath and cleaned up Grayson laid down next to Y/n and wrapped his arms around her pulling her close, they stayed up for a little while just talking about how glad they were that today went so well with his family. Soon the two of them were fast asleep in each other's arms and it was probably the best sleep either of them as gotten in weeks. The next morning Y/n rolled over nuzzling her face into Grayson’s chest stretching her legs as she did. Grayson smirked holding her close and kissing her head. “Good morning Angel.” he mumbled his voice deep from sleep, Y/n smiled against his skin. “Good morning.” She whispered still trying to wake up. They laid there for a minute or two trying to wake up. “Wanna go upstairs for breakfast?” he asked kissing her head. Y/n bit her lip and buried her face into his neck. “Nooo.” She groaned making him chuckle. “Why not baby?” Her cheeks flushed remember the night before. “Cause I can’t face them every again after last night, they all heard us.” Grayson was laughing now and looking down at his girlfriend. “Baby, we’re both very much adults, it’ll be fine, come on.” He got out of bed and gave her a pair of his basketball shorts and another t shirt for her to wear to breakfast. She frowned and changed before following him upstairs. This was going to be an interesting breakfast.

Tag list:

@dolan-bliss @dominatedolans

#dolan twins #dolan twins imagine #dolan twins fanfic #grayson dolan #grayson dolan imagine #grayson dolan fanfic #grayson dolan x reader #grayson dolan smut #grayson and ethan dolan #ethan dolan #golf club

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fangirl-1523 · 4 years

Text

My Sworn Brothers [Luffy x Crossover!Sister!Reader x Ace x Sabo]

A/N: Hey, so I want to write a High School AU of the many, many anime I have watched/ read. Bleach, Blue Exorcist, Devil is a Part-Timer, Durarara, Fairy Tail, Fullmetal Alchemist, High School of the Dead, InuYasha, Kill La Kill, Magi, My Hero Academia, Noragami, One Piece, Ouran High School Host Club, Pokemon, Saiki K, Sailor Moon, Seven Deadly Sins, Soul Eater, Sword Art Online, Vampire Knight, Your Lie in April, and Yu Gi-Oh. And I was wondering who would you like to be apart of your friend? And would you like to have a relation to any of the characters of the world.

Summary: [Y/N] is the oldest sworn sister to Luffy, Ace, and Sabo. And after finding Ace and Sabo aboard Luffy’s ship, the Thousand Sunny, she explains to them who she is, her other sworn brothers and sisters, embarrasses the three of them (a regular Tuesday for her), and threatens them with a chalkboard for interrupting her. Multiple times. In this story, most of the anime I am into is in the same world (Bleach, Blue Exorcist, Fairy Tail, Fullmetal Alchemist, InuYasha, Magi, My Hero Academia, Naruto, Noragami, Seven Deadly Sins, and Sword Art Online. I might do a part 2.

Warnings: spoilers for the above mangas and animes, also, even though this is along the timeline of after the time skip (at some point), I took the creative liberty to have Ace alive during this meeting for a quad family reunion, might be language

Word Count: 1, 668

“How the hell am I suppose to believe that my three idiotic brothers would be in the same place at the exact same time I’m trying to find them?” the girl with [H/C] hair, old enough to be Luffy’s age, maybe a year younger or a year older than him.

“[Y/N]!!” the rubber boy flung himself at her in a hug.

She fell down on her butt from the impact of the hug. She groaned before pushing the boy off of her and standing up, dusting herself off. “Geez, Lu. I was on a job, just finished, and I heard something about a Straw Hat, a Fire Fist, and a blonde with a top hat that put the mad hatter to shame. I just came to see if the rumors are true.”

“What job did you have, sis?” Sabo said as he sipped a smoothie created from Vinsmoke Sanji.

“Well, you see. In the ten years I’ve been gone, I’ve been busy. Both with being lazy and being diligent.” the girl explained. “I am a member of Fairy Tail. Dragon Slayer Magic, particularly fire, water, earth, air, and plant. Requip the Knight. Some space jumping there and vortex opening here.”

“You got the two mixed up, kid.” Ace said from his spot next to Sabo.

The girl grinned an evil grin. “Oh, did I, Ace of Clubs?”

The raven haired pirate groaned at the nickname while Luffy’s crew members wondered after the nickname. Ace kept giving her the don’t-tell-them-anything look with a cut-it-out motion. She, like most people she knew, did not listen to reason.

“Well, when we were younger, I attempted to teach the pour unfortunate souls that you call Luffy, Sabo, and Ace golf. And we played mini-gold. First hole we went to, the club flew out of Ace’s hand and crashed into the window where the pour lady working the club stand was clonked on the head and fell unconscious. Another fun fact: I’m overly competitive and therefore master of mini gold. Luffy on the other hand... beat my bowling high score of just a little over four hundred points.” [Y/N] explained.

“THAT’S NOT HOW YOU PLAY GOLF, YOU IDIOT!” Usopp shouted at his captain.

“Ace was a lot worse. However, on the eighteenth hole, got a hole in one. Although with team sports, I always sided with Luffy ‘cuz he was the baby of the family.” she explained.

“Never play Volleyball with her unless you’re Luffy.” Sabo warned the Straw Hat Pirates.

“Could you... possibly.... explain who you are?” asked Nami.

“That’s an easy and excellent question, m’lady. I am [Y/N] [L/N], the daughter of the Demon King from the Demon Clan, Niece of Solomon, adoptive daughter of the great dragon, The Curse of Depravity, a mage of S-Class ranking, the best older sister anyone can have, a Shinigami, and the Pirate Fairy.” [Y/N] said with her hands on her hips like wonder woman.

“You’re not wonder woman, dumbass.” Ace muttered.

She scowled at the boy (who was now physically older than her). “I know that, asshole.” Ace shrugged his shoulders at that. “Anyways, I should get going. I’m here with my teammates. And Salamander will have a cow if he finds out I’m on a Pirate Ship. Which may or may not include Natsu asking you all to fight him at once for his sister.” [Y/N] shrugged.

“SISTER?!” Luffy screeched.

“YOU ALREADY REPLACED US?!” Ace and Sabo said in unison.

“This is why I never took you to Amusement parks or sat next to you on a ride.” she clenched at her swollen ears. “No, I was merely saying that I have something called [Y/N]’s Council of Brothers. They’re basically a band of boys I feel need my protection, wisdom, and power to embarrass them until they’re six feet under and rotting.”

“She’s dark.” Nami said. “But can you explain this whole Council of Brothers thing. Because I’m not sure they,” the ginger pointed to the three brothers, “understand.”

“Alright! I will go over a lesson here!” and suddenly a white board appeared by her side with writing already on it.

“Where did you get the white board?” asked Luffy.

“That’s not important right now.” she scowled. “Yes, Sabo.”

“Was that Whiteboard always there and we just never noticed it?” the blonde asked.

“No. Ace if this is a question about the white board, I will smack you with the same gold club that flew through that window. All questions about the stupid whiteboard will be answered after I explained everything. Got it?”

The three brothers grumbled out a, “Yes.”

“Good. Anyways, to start it off I have two half-brothers. Meliodas and Zeldris.” she slapped a pointer stick against the whiteboard.

“Did she always have that?” Ace asked, whispering it to his two brothers.

“I don’t know. I’m just glad someone noticed it besides me.” Sabo murmured back.

“SILENCE, YOU INSOLENCE FOOLS!” and she threw a frying pan which hit Ace in the head.

Why does she have a frying pan in her requips? Sabo wondered in his head, not wanting to get hit in the head with anything else she might have to throw at them.

“Anyways, Meliodas and Zeldris are my half-brothers. Zeldris is the captain of the Demon Clan’s ten Commandments while Meliodas is the captain of Liones’s Seven Deadly Sins of which I am co-captain and the Phoenix Sin of Darkness. To be fair, I look more like my mother and I think the only thing me, Meliodas, and Zeldris share is our dumbassery we inherited from our father. Second off, my cousin is Magi Aladdin since my mother is his father, Solomon,’s sister. Now, that’s enough of my actual biological family. Now, I won’t go into detail about those three. Because you already seem well-acquainted with one another. Anyways, onto the next one. The next one on my list of brothers is a half-demon named Rin who is the son of Satan along with his younger brother, Yukio, but he doesn’t really need protection. next is Kazuto Kirigaya also known as Kirito. I prefer to call him that. He got stuck in a game where if you die there, you die in real life, but he defeated them. next, we have Satan himself, a king of demons, Sadou Maou. He works as a part-timer for a fast food chain which is sad to be honest. Next, we have Alibaba Saluja, a prince and a king’s candidate, also my cousin’s best friend. He wields the fire djinn, Amon. Also, he’s trying to be a gladiator while figuring out his feelings for Fanalis and former slave Morgiana. Next, we have actual God Yato who is a former god of calamity and a current god of war. I think. I’m not quite sure. But he and his two regalia, Yukine and a Nora named Kazuma, but also Kazune under Yato, must be protected by me at all cost. Then, we have Edward Elric, a alchemist missing both a leg and an arm because he wanted to see his mom’s smile again which kicks me in the heartstrings whenever I hear it. His brother, Alphonse, is an honorary member of the Council of Brothers. And he used to be entirely a soul attached to a suit of armor. No joke.”

“Does no one else notice that they are mostly raven haired or blonde?” Nico Robin commented.

The Straw Hat Pirates turned to the three sworn brothers who just shrugged their shoulders at that. “I admit I am guilty for that. But my actual brothers are raven headed and blonde, so that may be the reason. Anyways, off to the next people. Now, this person could make Luffy look like a genius. Sometimes. Natsu Dragneel, a salmon haired fire dragon slayer, is the brother of Zeref Dragneel, the black wizard, and also simultaneously END, the most powerful demon of the book of zeref which makes him one of the top fifteen most powerful demons. Next, we have strawberry boi, Ichigo Kurosaki, a shinigami who I’ve been helping train. He could see the dead and then he discovered his spiritual power, stole the shinigami powers of Rukia Kuchiki, and started to exorcist hollows and send souls to the soul society. Then, we have my favorite band of brothers since they could literally be in a band. Broccoli Boi, Izuku Midoriya, kinda has a power augmentation quirk, best way to describe it without giving too much away, Porcupine Katsuki Bakugo who can blow things up with help from his sweat. Zuko Wannabe Shoto Todoroki who can wield fire and ice. Also, his brother Touya may or may not be Dabi. Then, Pikachu Kaminari Denki who can utilize elctricity, but too much and he makes Luffy look like a genius. No joke. Well… maybe… I don’t really know. Anyways, then we have speedster Tenya Iida. Oh, there’s sharkboy Eijiro Kirishima. He can make himself go as hard as rock, but he has limitations. Then, we have spidertape Hanta Sero that can shoot tape out of his elbows. Then, half-demon InuYAsha who is the son of a dog demon and a mortal woman. There’s also Shippo who is an adorable little kitsune. And I think I got everyone.” the girl looked at her board before smacking it again as she noticed Luffy had begun to doze off while Ace had totally fallen asleep.

The action alerted the two boys to wake up at once and glare at their older sister. And then, a silver haired undead man with a flying blue cat landed on the floor of the ship. “Thank goodness we found you. C’mon. We got a mission and you and your ‘Team Natsu’ have a job request from the old man and a princess.”

“So Hisui and Bartra both agree to have us do something, but what is this so-called mission?” asked [Y/N].

Ban smirked. “We’re fighting slave-trading pirates.”

“I want in!” Luffy cheered.

#one piece #sabo #portgas_d_ace #portgas d. ace #luffy #monkey d luffy #fairy tail #seven deadly sins #anime #crossover #one piece x reader #asl #asl x sister reader

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mnetruinedmylife · 4 years

Text

Untitled Gang AU

This is just my need to write an AKB Gang AU combined with shameless Yuunaa. It’s written in mostly stream of consciousness writing, so the topic jumps to whatever connection my brain jumps to, it can get a little disorientating at times. It’s also kind of unfinished, but I didn’t want it sitting in a file collecting dust, so here it is.

Warnings: this piece includes: mentions of violence, though nothing too graphic; traumatic flashbacks; mildly sexually charged scenes, though nothing truly nsfw.

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The town of Akihabara is a place of conflict and contradictions.

Located in the central ward of Tokyo, it has the highest rate of organised crime activity in all of Japan. The police will claim that there are no gangs in Akihabara – after all, the businesses are flourishing and the tourists come in droves, there is no safer place. Yet, every denizen knows that the infamous 48 Gangs originated in there, and it’s even a point of pride for a few.

If the press interviews a resident, they’ll swear up and down that they’ve never felt safer anywhere else. But more than once has a tourist revealed that they’ve been told by locals scuttling about to either stay on the nearby streets north and west of Akihabara train station after dark, or else not go wandering about at all.

The Akihabara sect of the 48 Gangs themselves are full of conflicting information too.

Sometimes, when the residents manage to acknowledge that they exist, one may hear them whisper in hushed tones about how they’re vigilantes, heroes who do the right thing when the police can’t or won’t. But in the same breath they’d tell you to stay away from one particular café in the Hanaokacho district, and the theatre near Taito station. The members of the AKB sect themselves would laugh themselves sick at the term, all the while shooting a defenceless man in the head without batting an eye, because they’re not heroes. They have their own goals, their own plans, most of which revolve around protecting their own, their members, their family, and if some things extend towards heroism, than that’s just a coincidence, and if some things stretch closer to the other side, well, that’s fine too.

Word on the street says it starts during the days when multiple factions ran rampant all over Tokyo. When kids were recruited right out of high school (and some still in it) into the Project gangs and prostitution rings. Some say a man rose up to create a force that could clean up the streets and keep the gang violence where it belongs – between gangs and not involving civilians.

Aki-P they called him, the man who swept up the capitol’s underbelly.

People say also he’s the same man who created the Sakamichi Syndicate and started the bloodiest turf war Tokyo has ever seen. Some say he did it because he gave up on the AKB sect, when they started losing their way and becoming more dangerous than the gangs they rose up against. Others say he did it after losing control of the 48 Gangs, that he was ousted from the inner circle and so created a rival faction as vengeance.

No matter how different the stories get, they all have one similarity. The 48 Gangs are dangerous, the sect in Akihabara doubly so, and anyone who gets in their way, or harms anyone in their sphere, or dares to challenge their grip over Tokyo, take heed and be on the lookout.

They’ll come for you.

__________________________________________________________)

Okada Nana is fifteen when she boards a train from Kanagawa to Tokyo and doesn’t look back.

Kojima Mako and Nishino Miki are similar ages, and in similar situations when they run into each other, having decided to pickpocket the same mark, and the three of them decide to run together. The streets are a little less intimidating with two sets of eyes to watch your back, and two bodies to keep you warm at night.

Mako’s the devious one, with her heart-melting gummy smiles and disarming laugh, she’s able to charm any passer-by and con them out of their hard earned money.

“Sorry sir, I’ve lost my parents, can I please borrow three hundred yen for the train fare?”

It works more often than not, there’s never a shortage of businessmen willing to play hero and help out a stranded school girl. And if she steals the rest of their wallet when they’re not looking, well they usually don’t notice until it’s too late.

Miki is bolder. She takes items right off of shelves when she walks by, and isn’t afraid to go after other street kids who wander into the space they’ve claimed as their own.

Sometimes she’s a little too bold, “Let’s get lunch from there.”

And that’s where Nana comes in. She’s the cautious one, the voice of reason, the brains behind the operations as small and simple as it is.

“We can’t go in there,” Nana hisses, grabbing the other two by the backs of their collars before they do something stupid.

“Why not? The foods cheaper in there than anywhere else in the city,” Miki points out, not unreasonably.

But Nana is adamant, “Yeah for good reason. That café belongs to AKB.”

The innocuous street side café about a minute’s walk from Akihabara station is something of a local legend in the area. Anyone above thirty avoids it like the plague because of the rumours of it being owned by the 48 Gangs, or perhaps it simply just serves the members of AKB. The little number 48 carved into the brickwork above the café doors is a symbol of that.

However, it is popular amongst the youth of the city for that very reason. With many hanging out there to bask in the rebellious feeling of danger, or on adventurous dares from friends. Whispers fly about AKB recruiting from the youth who flock there. A few yankees even claim to be initiates recruited from there. They’re all bald faced liars. No prospective recruit would be stupid enough to loiter in a known gang-owned establishment.

A few have, however, been known to have been recruited around the station. Our little trio of street rats like to linger around the area, pickpocketing the stupid school kids, the otakus heading to the Gundam café across the street, and the rich folk visiting the golf club on the other side of the block.

They do that for months before they’re approached by a member of AKB.

Okada Nana is sixteen when Minegishi Minami approaches her and her friends with an offer they can’t refuse.

Her first job is with Mako and two other recruits. They’re tasked with the simple job of delivering a package and Nana has to wonder what’s so important that there needs to be four of them for this. Or maybe it’s not so important, considering there are four barely trained, fresh faced initiates on the job.

They scuttle about the train line, Mako skipping along merrily, Hikari following behind quietly, with Nana and Ayana bickering the whole way. They deliver the package without any issues worth mentioning to one Itano Tomomi at an upscale bar in the heart of the city. It turns out to be cold hard cash, and Nana goes white at the thought of possibly losing that much money. Or rather, what the gang would do to them if they lost that much money.

The next few jobs follow in a similar manner. Nana gets to know the names and quirks of her fellow runners. Innocent, seemingly useless things like:

Iwatate Saho is stronger than she looks.

“Oh god he’s unconscious…are you planning on joining Team K?”

“No, too dangerous. I’m thinking Team B. You know, manning the cafes and the casinos and stuff.”

Mogi Shinobu doesn’t do so well under pressure.

“What the-!? Mogi-san why didn’t you just shoot him?”

“I panicked!”

“I can’t believe you want to join Team A, you’ll die in a week.”

Murayama Yuiri is stupidly pretty.

“Yuiri-chan…We’re half an hour in the wrong direction. You had the map upside down.”

“Sorry! I’m sorry, usually Naa-chan corrects me when I do this, I mean, I’m not blaming Naa-chan! It’s just she…Naa-chan what are you looking at?”

“Err nothing. Nothing, I got distracted.”

Takashima Yurina has somewhat of a crush on her.

“Naa-chan I bought drinks.”

“Where’s one for the rest of us?”

Uchiyama Natsuki knows a ridiculous amount about the law.

“Article 13: every individual has the liberty of protecting his or her own personal information from being disclosed to a third party or made public without good reason.”

“Somehow I doubt beating him up would fly as ‘taking the liberty to protect our property’.”

Apparently they do a somewhat of a good job, because Nana finds herself selected as part of a joint project between all the 48 Gangs. She, Mako and Miki are the representatives of the Akihabara sect and Nana wonders how the hell the upper echelons decided on that.

“So, what are your specialties?” somehow it falls to Nana to lead this ragtag group.

The Namba sect representative Shibuya Nagisa is actually the oldest (by a few months) but she’s no more experienced than they are – Nana finds out later, the reason why all of the sects sent their freshest recruits. It’s all internal politics, and a mission too important to turn down, but not important enough to ensure successful. In short, they’re expendable and they weren’t even expected to make it home.

The job is in Tokyo, so Nana takes the reigns by default.

She finds that leadership suits her.

It feels like a natural extension of what she was already doing when they were just three idiots on the street, planning operations meticulously so that they come back in one piece, and utilising the skills of her teammates in the most efficient way possible. There are three more idiots to account for now, but she is familiarised with them soon enough.

Nagisa is the strongest in hand-to-hand combat amongst the seven of them, Sakae’s Ryoha the most accurate shot, Hakata’s Meru joins Miki in being the loud charismatic distraction, while Mako and Hakata’s Mio are swift and sneaky with their hands. It’s the perfect team for covert operations. Which makes sense, considering they’re being sent south of the Kanda river, into Sakamichi territory to gather intel on the new gang that’s popped up by the Roppongi hills.

It seems like a simple mission.

Get in, look around for suspicious activity, get out. There isn’t supposed to be confrontation or combat involved.

But no plan survives contact with the enemy, and no one cares about supposed to be’s when there are guns pointed at their heads.

When she’s desperately wrestling with a knife that wants nothing more than to dig into her flesh, when she’s slammed against the wall, breath knocked out of her, when a pair of hands wrap around her throat and squeeze, and her lungs scream as her legs thrash uselessly underneath, her vision blurs, and the terrifying realisation that she won’t actually get out of this situation alive sets in – oh god is that Miki screaming she hears in the background? – the air is rushing out her lungs and –

“Naa-chan. Naa-chan! Snap out of it, you’re not there anymore.”

Nana eyes fly open, as she dashes up, heart still thudding in her chest. She has to make sure everyone’s okay, what happened to Miki, and oh god Mio was stabbed, and where the hell is Mako, and they lost contact with Ryoha half an hour in, and Nagisa is unconscious, and no matter how deep a breath she takes, it doesn’t seem to be enough. Her chest burns, she can’t breathe and – a hand lands on her shoulder, the accompanying scent of hinoki pine only just barely manages to stamp down the instinct to lash out.

Yuiri’s concerned face drags her back to reality, “It’s okay. You’re home. You’re not there, you’re safe now,” to the little hole in the wall apartment she has (firmly on the AKB side of the Kanda river), to the bed she’s sharing with the pretty distraction on her team. Though, perhaps that would be unkind to say, even if she refuses to think of what they’re doing as anything more than just stress relief, blowing off steam.

Belatedly Nana realises that she has a death grip on Yuiri’s upper arm, she loosens her grip but doesn’t let go, “S-sorry,” her hands are shaking, she’s trembling and she can’t get it to stop, and Yuiri’s murmuring nonsense things in her ear.

“Why are you sorry? I’m sorry, I’m such an idiot,” Yuiri apologises with a grimace. They’ve established early on that Nana does not like hands anywhere near her neck, that one horrendous mission spoiled that forever, but sometimes Yuiri forgets, and the resulting post-traumatic flashbacks are the most mood-killing thing possible in the bedroom, or sometimes out of it too.

The first time it happens is in a street by the AKB theatre of all places. It’s after a job with just the two of them, when they’re both high on adrenaline, breaths heavy, eyes glazed, still in the heat of violence, fresh from a near-death scuffle. Nana’s not sure who jumps whom first, but suddenly they’re in each other’s space, hands tangled in hair, and tongue against teeth. Yuiri tastes like citrus that night, some kind of lemon mixed, and the deeper she kisses her the more she can taste the metallic tang of blood and the salt of sweat mixed in.

Nana closes her eyes tightly, a low, throaty moan of approval rumbles deep in her throat as her back hits the wall with a light thud, the moan turning markedly louder as the elder girl’s fingers slip inside the waistband of her shorts and shoves them down over her hips. Strong, forceful fingers dig into her and pull her in even tighter as her mouth is once again claimed in a desperate, hungry kiss.

“Yuu-chan,” she moans, gasping at the feel of the other girl’s tongue against her throat.

“Yes?” Yuiri’s lips curls into a smile against Nana’s, she groans low and deep as Yuiri’s hips grinds into her own.

“Don’t stop.”

It’s easier with Yuiri, they understand each other in ways her other teammates simply don’t. Maybe it’s because the most of the others are like what Nana was at first, just street kids and lowly thieves dragged in way over their heads. When Nana and Mako come back from that FUBAR recon mission with their hands soaked in blood, the others look at them different. With wariness in their eyes, with guarded stances, with hints of fear in their faces.

Mako’s stupid grin thaws their hesitance soon enough. But Nana has never been that kind of charismatic. Not in the way that makes other at ease. She’s always been harder, more serious, and that only makes her look much more intimidating now.

“You’re still here?” Nana raises an eyebrow when she realises that Yuiri is still lingering about. These days, most of her team disappear faster than a blink of an eye the moment the job is done, not wanting to be around for longer than necessary.

But Yuiri only looks at Nana like she’s the one being unreasonable, “Don’t we usually go for kakigori after a job?”

“You want to have desserts with me? What, not afraid I’ll snap and kill you?” Nana asks, sadly only half sarcastically, because with the way the rest of the team treat her, it seems that’s exactly what they’re thinking.

The other girl snorts and actually has the audacity to chuckle, “You’re going to have do a lot more than be traumatised to scare me. I’m sure I’ve killed more people than you.”

Yuiri wasn’t some street kid when she got recruited. She was born into this world, her family neck-deep in the underbelly of Japan, and she’s no stranger to violence. There’s only one other like that on their team, Nana would’ve overlooked Mion entirely if Yuiri hadn’t pointed her out.

“You can always tell when someone’s killed before,” Yuiri says, “It’s in the eyes.”

The months blur into years, and before Nana knows it most of her team have the same eyes, the ones who are still alive anyway. The ones who are left split off into the different teams of AKB eventually. Mako, Ayana, Mogi and Komiharu are sent to Team K, with their dangerous combat orientated jobs and Nana just hopes they keep coming home. Saho and Saki are off in the relatively safer B, the front jobs, manning the café and the casinos and the above-board stations. Yukari and Mion end up in A, and Nana hopes beyond hope that they don’t lose themselves in there.

Nana and Yuri themselves never leave 4. They’re the ones chosen to train up the newbies, and she has no idea who thought that is a good idea. She never actually does anything too important in the gang – up until the moment she accidentally founds an entirely new sect.

She’d been in Fukuoka visiting Mio and Meru, and it’s in Hiroshima, on her way back to Tokyo that Nana manages to get herself recognised and chased. She hated cults with a passion. Why did they have a problem with her anyway? It’s not like the 48 Gangs had territory claimed in Hiroshima –

Ow.

She falls off the fence the she’s attempting to climb over and lands on her back with a dull thud. The grass is soft at least. She spends a few moments just staring up at the night sky, it’s actually quite breathtaking when you’re far away enough from the city lights to appr—

“Are you okay?”

Oh, there’s a kid in pink and purple. A teenager really. Nana can’t tell ages anymore.

“…m’fine. Sorry didn’t mean to land in your backyard,” she says. An apartment complex’s backyard anyway, she realises when she sits up. It’s a rundown building that’s clearly not in official use. It appears there are kids squatting in it.

It’s difficult to tell in the dark, but when Nana squints she can make out maybe two more teens peeking out from behind a window.

“Wanna come inside?” the girl asks, and Nana really really shouldn’t.

A gunshot sounds in the air though, and Nana quickly scrambles to follow the kid inside. Being noble is all well and good, but it definitely doesn’t beat being alive.

When Nana awakens the next morning, she hears furious whisperings back and forth between the teens – and there’s clearly more of them this morning than there was last night.

“—it’s dangerous, she’s clearly a member of the 48 Gangs! You saw that tattoo!” an unknown voice hisses, and Nana wonders when and how they saw the little 48 tattoo on the back of her neck. That’s not usually visible and she’s usually a light enough sleeper to wake up if they touch her.

“Yeah, that means she can help us!” that’s Chiho, one of the girls she remembers half-heartedly greeting the night before. The one with the bruises on her face.

“We can’t trust a gang member!”

“So what else are we going to do? They took Yumirin, we’ll never get her back ourselves!”

Nana’s always had a soft spot for stupid kids. It’s probably why they never took her off Team 4, and how she finds herself hopping all over the setouchi region, rescuing girls from a fox worshipping cult.

Girls who somehow end up forming the Setouchi sect of the 48 Gangs – Sashihara-san comes down from Fukuoka to make it official and everything.

Mogi never lets her forget it.

“Hey Naa-chan, remember the time you went to visit Mio and Meru and ended up playing prince charming and rescuing ten damsels in distress?”

_____________________________________________________________)

Might finish it later, might not. Who knows...

#akb48 #gang au #fanfic #yuunaa

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writethehousedown · 4 years

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Trust Fund, Gold Tongue 4/7 (Crygi) - Peridot

A/N: Chapter four is here! I’m so so grateful for the continuous support. This is my first multi-chapter fic, and the longest thing I’ve ever written, so your support means a lot to me! Hope you enjoy this chapter, and feel free to leave any feedback here or on ao3 or at my sideblog @artificialperidot. Enjoy!

They hadn’t kissed immediately.

No one kisses immediately after they declare their love. At least not in Gigi’s experience. There’s usually too many emotions involved, and it would feel awkward to kiss so soon. She wanted to wait. Sure she had drunkenly kissed her friends or random strangers at house parties plenty of times without waiting, but this was different. This was Crystal, and Crystal was most certainly different from anyone than Gigi had known before.

Their tennis-court meet ups were the only thing that were keeping Gigi sane, if she were to be totally honest. Crystal was her refuge - she could forget about her family for just a little bit and get lost in her chocolate eyes and her freckled face and her dimples, and just talk. She had never had someone like that, who she could talk to about absolutely anything with no fear, no shame. She didn’t feel like she had a reputation to uphold when she was with Crystal - she felt normal for the first time in her life. She was sure that she could spend a lifetime talking with her, about everything and nothing at the same time.

And boy did she need someone to talk to when Matthew arrived at the country club.

He had showed up on a Thursday afternoon in a Gucci sweatshirt and a smirk. Gigi had wanted to slap the smirk off of his face from the moment they had first met.

He introduced himself as Matt, but Gigi stuck with Matthew, because she did not intend to get to know him on a nickname basis. He had a quiff of golden hair and green eyes and a blue-white smile, and was textbook-attractive.

Gigi was not interested in the slightest.

It wasn’t Matthew’s fault that Gigi hated him, really. It was more her parent’s fault. They were delusional if they thought Gigi wouldn’t notice their meddling, how they seemed to send him after her at every turn. He probably would’ve been nice enough if Gigi had ever allowed herself to talk to him. But she was adamant that she wasn’t going to - the last thing she needed was for her parents to get the wrong idea and assume that she had changed her mind about dating him, or dating men altogether. Oh no, instead she made a point of ignoring him - answering his questions with snappy, one-word lines, putting in her AirPods when he tried to speak, and talking over him at any given opportunity.

It was a bitchy move, but she didn’t know how else her parents would get the message to back off.

Every afternoon she would complain about him to Crystal, and every afternoon Crystal would wrap her arm around her shoulders and remind her that she was Gigi fucking Goode, and give her a pep talk to get through the rest of the day. Gigi became addicted to the feeling.

One day, though, things didn’t go to plan.

It was two minutes to three, and Gigi was just about to sneak off to the tennis courts, when out of nowhere, the last person she wanted to see was calling out to her.

“Gigi!”

Matthew. She was tempted to ignore him, walk away as if she hadn’t heard, but before she had the opportunity to make her escape, he was bounding up to her and she had no choice but to address him.

He was dressed in a pair of knee high khaki shorts and short-sleeved shirt, with a sweater vest over the top despite the heat. But more concerningly, he had a golf bag slung over his shoulder.

“Gigi, the whole family is down on the golf course,” he said, panting. Gigi cringed at the idea of all of her family being together in one place, planning on playing a very forced game of golf, but cringed even more at the fact this boy considered himself a part of ‘the family’. Delusional. “We’re about to start a game, are you coming?”

No, she was absolutely not coming, not if she was able to get out of it. She couldn’t think of anything worse than spending her whole afternoon trekking around a golf course in the sweltering mid-July heat, with her already-detestable parents watching her like a hawk as she did her best to ignore the stuck-up boy who never seemed to leave her alone.

That sounded like a terrible idea.

“Uh, I’m actually a little busy right now, sorry Matthew,” she said without looking at him, fully intending to start speed-walking away at 70 miles per hour.

“But everyone’s waiting on you!”

“Then tell them to start without me,” she replied, hoping her voice was stern enough to scare him away.

“We can’t start without you! We’ll be on hole five before you show up.” There was a hint of anger and his voice, and sure, it was probably justified, but Gigi didn’t like the sound of it, not one bit.

“Well maybe I don’t wanna spend my afternoon playing fucking golf,” she spat, her brows furrowed and a tightness rising in her chest. She hadn’t meant to sound so aggressive, to escalate the conversation like that, but she had already come too far to turn back.“Maybe I’ve got better things to do.”

Matthew was silent for a moment, his face stoic. Gigi could practically see the cogs turning in his brain before he spoke again. “What, Gigi? What better things do you have to do? Because as far as I can see, you’re wandering around alone doing nothing.”

Shit. She bit the inside of her cheek, staying silent.

“Come on, Gigi. It’s the least you can do,” he continued. “You don’t wanna upset your family, do you? Your dad was just saying how he wondered why you never spend any time with the family anymore, right before I came to find you.”

Gigi wanted to slap him around the face at that, because god damn it, he knew exactly what he was doing, the smug bastard. Gigi was trapped - she couldn’t risk telling him the truth about her and Crystal, especially since he seemed to be so buddy-buddy with her parents. And any lie she would’ve told wouldn’t have worked, either, because what could be so important in a country club that she’d have to give up spending time with her family?

And the cherry on the top of the cake was his mention of her dad’s suspicions. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Gigi knew that her parents would start to get suspicious of her whereabouts eventually, and the last thing she wanted was for her dad to find out about the waitress she had been spending quite a lot of time with, and destroy the only thing that was keeping her going.

She was well and truly screwed.

“Fine, I’ll come,” she sighed in defeat. Her heart was heavy as Matthew grinned, and as she followed him to the golf course, her limbs felt like lead.

The guilt felt hollow in her chest, but it weighed her down like an anchor as she trudged to the golf course, worries and thoughts of Crystal becoming all-consuming.

She knew Crystal would be waiting for her. And she could only imagine the disappointment she’d face when Gigi didn’t turn up.

***

Needless to say, Gigi did not enjoy the game of golf that afternoon.

She couldn’t remember who won - she hadn’t really been paying any attention. She couldn’t pay attention, not when worries were swimming in her brain like fucking Olympic athletes. She hadn’t remembered golf taking so long before. She was sure it had been the longest game of her life. Or, at least, it felt that way.

The second she had putted the ball in the ninth hole, she was off, frantically saying goodbye to her family, and heading straight for the tennis courts.

She knew she was delusional. She knew Crystal wouldn’t be there. Her break was only so long, and the game of golf had taken hours. But she had to check. Just to be sure she wasn’t still waiting.

She didn’t know what she had been expecting, but when she reached their court and found it completely deserted, her heart sank to her feet. She didn’t even want to begin thinking about how Crystal felt. How long she had waited before inevitably giving up. How she probably hated Gigi now. How she was angry and upset, and it was all Gigi’s fault.

Gigi found herself blinking back tears.

She had to apologise, and fast.

***

Nine o’ clock struck, and Gigi was waiting in the front lobby.

She had tried to find Crystal all evening, but she had no success. But she was not about to sleep on this and let the emotions fester. No, she needed to say sorry and explain, right now.

She knew Crystal’s shift finished at 9pm or 10pm, depending on the day. She showed up at 8:45, just to be safe. And she would’ve waited until midnight if she had to.

Luckily, she didn’t have to.

Crystal strode out from a ‘staff only’ door the second nine o clock hit, her red hair wild around her head and a backpack on her shoulder. And, thankfully for Gigi, she was alone. She was busily typing something on her phone, and didn’t even look up for long enough to notice Gigi lingering by the door. Or at least that’s what Gigi hoped. She hoped she wasn’t purposefully ignoring her.

Gigi scanned the area with her eyes, making sure no one was paying attention to them, before grabbing Crystal by the arm, stopping her in her tracks. Crystal looked up from her phone in shock, and upon locking eyes with Gigi, her face stilled, emotionless.

“I need to talk to you,” Gigi said.

Crystal was quiet for a moment, before she mumbled an “okay,” and without another word, she led Gigi out the door. They made their way to Crystal’s car, parked in the staff lot just outside the main entrance, for some privacy, Gigi supposed.

Gigi hadn’t seen that type of car before. It was small and old and a rusty red colour, sort of like her hair. It looked a little run down, and it was definitely not what Gigi was used to, but the seats had leopard-print coverings and it felt very Crystal. Crystal unlocked the door and clambered into the driver’s seat, Gigi hopping in on the other side and shutting the door.

It was already 9pm, but it hadn’t gotten dark yet, and the two of them were left staring at the evening sky through the windscreen, orange and pink and red. They were quiet for a few moments, both staring into space and not quite sure what to say, not exactly sure how to put their emotions to words. Gigi wanted to speak, wanted desperately to apologise, but now that she had the opportunity the words weren’t coming to her, and she was hitting a roadblock.

“If you’re here to tell me you don’t wanna talk to me anymore, I got your message loud and clear when you stood me up,” Crystal said, breaking the silence and staring straight ahead blankly.

“What?”

“I should’ve seen it coming sooner,” she continued, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “Our talks obviously meant more to me than to you. I should’ve known you wouldn’t care about a fucking waitress.”

“What? No, Crystal, that’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about?” she said, turning to Gigi sharply, and whilst her tone was cutting, Gigi could see the pain behind her eyes. “Why didn’t you show up?”

“I couldn’t,” Gigi said, and the tears were back in her eyes again. It took all of her willpower to keep them from brimming their banks. “Matthew came by and told me that we were playing golf and that the whole family was waiting on me and that my dad was getting suspicious and I couldn’t risk him finding out about us, because I can’t lose you,” she rambled, choking up.

She met Crystal’s gaze, and there was something new in the way she looked at her. It was almost like she pitied her.

Gigi was sure she had never been pitied in her life, at least not to her knowledge. How could she be? She was from a fucking multimillionaire family. She had all the best clothes, the best car, the best house, any material thing she could ever want and then some. She wasn’t oblivious to her privilege. She knew full well how lucky she was, and she hated the guilt that came with it. How could anyone pity someone who could have anything they wanted, when people would kill to have a fraction of the money she had?

Little did everyone know that the things Gigi wanted were the only things she couldn’t have. A normal life. A stable family. To be open and honest about who she truly was.

But more than anything, she wanted Crystal.

Crystal reached out a hand and grasped Gigi’s, tethering her back to reality.

“It’s okay, Gigi, I get it,” she said softly, but despite her sympathy Gigi could tell all was not fixed just yet. “You could’ve texted me or something, though.”

Shit. Holy shit. Gigi could’ve texted her. But she had been so caught up in her head, it didn’t occur to her.

“Fuck, Crystal, I didn’t even think of that,” she confessed, her body going rigid and her muscles tensing. “I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking dumb. I should’ve texted you, that would’ve been so obvious, god I’m such an idiot.” The tears had started to escape her eyes now though, rolling painfully slowly over her cheekbones. “I’m so sorry I let you down. I’m a fucking bitch. I never meant to hurt you. I totally understand if you hate me now, I should’ve told-“

Before she could finish her sentence, Crystal cupped her face with her hands.

And suddenly, her lips were on Gigi’s.

The kiss was soft. It was slow, and gentle, and Gigi found her stress disintegrating away slowly, leaving her body. Crystal’s lips moved on hers with patience, lazily, as if she had all day to linger on Gigi’s lips, and Gigi felt herself melt into the feeling, her brain empty. It was tender. It was sunsets and sugary candy floss and warmth.

And then, the warmth turned to heat. Gigi’s hands found their way into Crystal’s mane of red hair, and Crystal’s grip on her cheek became a little firmer, and they kissed each other a little harder, a little more passionately, as if they needed it to breathe - though really, Gigi’s breath had been taken away. Suddenly, Gigi’s empty brain was filled with thoughts of Crystal’s tongue and Crystal’s teeth and Crystal’s lips, and all of her senses were overwhelmed. Kissing Crystal was electric and explosive and addictive. It was bonfires and fireworks and passion.

And Gigi felt the puzzle pieces finally slot back into place.

She was sure she had never loved someone like this before.

They broke apart, and Gigi could feel her heart in her throat and a tightness in her chest, overwhelmed and emotional. Crystal smiled at her. A real, genuine smile.

“It’s okay, Gigi,” she whispered, stroking her cheek. “I forgive you.”

And with that, Gigi’s world was perfectly okay again.

“Thank you,” she said, her own smile returning to her face. Crystal beamed, and Gigi decided she never wanted to forget just how beautiful she looked when she grinned. “You’re a really good kisser,” she added when she had caught her breath, because, fuck it, it was true.

Crystal looked pleasantly surprised. “Wow, thanks,” she said, giggling a little. “I’ve, uh, I’ve never actually kissed someone before. Before just now,” she added nervously.

Gigi’s jaw dropped. “Seriously? You were great!” she exclaimed.

“Well, I guess I was just born with the gift, then,” she said, putting on a cocky act. “I can’t help it, I’m just so talented.” she said with a cheesy wink.

Gigi dissolved into laughter, and she couldn’t help but agree.

“Will you show me your talents again, kissing-expert?”

Crystal rolled her eyes dramatically, but couldn’t hide her bright smile. “If I must, miss Goode.”

They hadn’t kissed immediately, but rather they kissed when Gigi was least expecting it.

And they did not plan on stopping any time soon.

#rpdr fanfiction #crygi #crystal methyd #gigi goode #jan sport #trust fund gold tongue #peridot #lesbian au #fluff #angst #tw: homophobia but not in this chapter #summer lovin' 2020 #day 4: heat #submission

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