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atinywhore · 6 months

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stuffed

pairing: jongho x (fem) reader

word count: 2250

genre: spicy spice :)

warnings: soft dom jongho, biting, lots of praise, fingering, size kink, sorry not sorry, but yo can't convince me that jongho doesn't have a thick cock so, low-key breeding but he just likes to fuck her raw idk what kinda kink you call that (psa: use a fucking condom bitches), uber romantic to lol I feel like he's such a softy, gets off when you come, I think that's all.

an: this is the first fanfic I wrote since returning from my hiatus so it took me a little to get back into the writing and rediscover my own writing style! So I hope you enjoy and please interact and give this lots of love! Happy Turkey day whores ;)

taglist: @mingigoo @ravenjoongie @wickeddarkness-place @whatudowhennooneseesyou @teezers99 @mirror-juliet

The boys love to celebrate American holidays with you. Every year you have fireworks and hot dogs on July 4th, and you always host a thanksgiving day meal. This year is no different. It’s a three day prep event for you and you can’t forget the cooking still needed the day of! Just to say it, it's a stressful but very rewarding day to be able to have a nice meal with the people you love most in the world. They always try to schedule events and showcases around the actual day of thanksgiving so they can celebrate with you. Last year they couldn’t and it really made you upset. It was the first time in three years that you weren’t able to celebrate your favorite holiday with anyone. They saw how upset it made you and they were determined to make it up to you this year, especially your boyfriend Jongho. He took the days leading up to the holiday off of practice for their next comeback to help you prepare the food.

It was the day of thanksgiving now and despite the help from Jongho, you still were behind. You appreciated his help so much and you knew why he was doing it, but you had to go back and fix the stuff that you assigned him. Most of the time he just sat on the other side of the island and just watched as you moved around the kitchen.

“Baby can you help me with the turkey.” You asked without looking up from the stuffing you were preparing.

“Mmm” he replied standing up. You looked up to give him a smile to show your appreciation, but when you looked up you paused all your movements. This happens often. Ever since you two started dating. Jongho’s presence is so big. His shoulders are twice the size as your own and his biceps are almost as big as your head. From the moment you saw him you were attracted instantly. He loves to remind you how big he is and how small you are, especially in the bedroom. Sex with Jongho is very romantic and tender, with a hint of kink. He loves being on top, entrapping you beneath his thick, muscular body. He’ll lean down and speak hot things into my ear to make my orgasm that more intense. You can feel your face warm and your pussy grows slick with excitement. You try to look away before Jongho can see, but I know he knows what I'm thinking about. We haven’t had sex in over a week because his schedule has been keeping him in the studio all day and late into the night, and there was a huge project that you needed to get done before you could start the thanksgiving prep.

“What do you need me to do baby?” Jongho says as he steps behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and places a quick kiss on my neck. You can't help but giggle and instinctively push your ass into his groin. He lets out a little moan into your neck. Before you can get swept up into what's about to happen you kinda push him off of and turn to face him.

“Can you please turkey from the other counter. It’s too heavy for me to lift baby.” He nods and you give him a quick kiss on the lips as a thanks. Turning back to the counter you remember the potatoes that have been on the mixer and rush over to turn the machine off. Lifting the top of the mixer up and removing the mixing attachment you lick some of the potatoes off to make sure the seasonings are right. The butter and salt coats your tongue and you can’t help but moan a little at the taste. You feel a familiar presence behind you once more.

“Taste good?” Jongho whispers in your ear. His voice sends a shiver down your spine and jolts of electricity straight to your pussy. Your knees go wobbly but his grip on your waist keeps you grounded.

“Jongho..” You attempt to protest, but it’s weak.

“Yes, baby?” He says peppering kisses down your neck and onto your shoulder. His hands smooth up your torso and one stops at your breast to tease your nipple beneath the dress and apron you are wearing. His other hand moves up to your neck moving your head to rest on his shoulder so he can have better access to your weak spot.

“I need to f-finish.” You manage to get out as he sucks on the sensitive part of your neck

“Oh yeah baby? Finish what?”

“The m-meal. The turkey n-needs to be st-tuffed.”

“I think you need to be stuffed, not the turkey baby.”

You can’t help but give in to him. Your body continues to sink into his embrace and before you know it you feel your ass rubbing against his thick cock straining beneath his jeans. He continues to suck and leave marks all along your neck and when you reach back and caress his cock, he growls and bites your neck at the contact. You can’t help but let out a gasp.

“Fuck baby. I need you now.” He says, as he turns you around and throws you over his shoulder. He easily walks the two of you toward the bedroom. In this position the skirt of your dress is bunched up slightly toward your hips exposing your pussy to the cold air of the room, you shiver at the sensation. You start to squirm in anticipation. While keeping your locked on his shoulder Jongho flips your dress the rest of the way up and uses his thumb to tease your entrance.

“Someone is wet for me.” He says continuing to play around with your pussy. Jongho shifts his head to the closest part of your thigh and bites it hard. You squeal and moan at the pain. He kisses your new mark before tossing you onto your bed. “The things i’m going to do to you (y/n).” He stands at the end of the bed looking down on you and the only thought that is going through your mind is, big. His wide form casts a shadow over you and you can’t help but shiver at the form before you. He lets out a frustrated sigh before he grabs the collar of his hoodie and pulls it off in one smooth move. He pauses with the sleeves of the hoodie still on his forearms, the material gathered at his middle covering his bare stomach. His broad and muscular chest is now exposed revealing the deep heaving breaths, you realize your own breathing matches his. He is pointing daggers at you with his stare, it's so intense and pointed that you swear your heart skips a beat. His eyes shut slightly as his head tilts left and right, the movement accompanied with the popping of his neck joints. He lets out a moan and his usually big eyes, now half lidded, are pointed at me once more. He removes his arms from his hoodie sleeves and his full torso is now bare. He doesn’t have a full set of abs, but the area is muscular nonetheless. His hands now reach for the button of his jeans but he makes no move to unbutton himself.

“Why is my girl still dressed?” He asks with a shit eating grin lighting up his heated features. He extends his strong hands to help you to your knees. Your shaky hands make a move to undo the bow tying the apron to your figure, but you can’t seem to get the thin straps to budge. You look back up at him to see his arms crossed, making his shoulders look that much broader and stronger than he already does.

“Need some help baby?” You nod still not able to find your voice, lost in the fog of arousal. He pulls you to your feet, keeping one arm around your waist and the other makes quick work of ripping the fabric off your body, leaving you in your favorite black dress. He turns you around and slowly unzips you from the dress. As the fabric slides from your body you are hit with another rush of arousal. The dress hits the floor and Jongho makes quick work of your undergarments. His hands explore your body, your moans echoing you in the room. His thumbs tease your nipples the way you like as he leaves kisses and hickies on the untouched side of your neck. Once he has you melting in his hands he moves one down over your stomach stopping at your pussy.

“I bet you are going to be so wet for me baby.” He slides two fingers between your folds, groaning at the state of your pussy. He sinks his teeth into your neck again as he rubs circles around your clit. Your breath hitches and your moans get louder.

“That’s it baby. Sing for me.” He coos as he continues his motions. Kissing and moaning into your neck as he rubs your clit. The build up is coming at you fast, your breathing becomes more erratic and you find yourself swearing Jongho’s name.

“Fuck- Jongho! I’m-m gonna cu-m.” His thumb takes over for his two fingers so they can slide into your pussy. You gasp and the new sensation sends you over the edge. Your eyes shut and your entire body goes fuzzy with your orgasm.

You don’t really feel it, but somewhere in your comedown Jongho moves on to the bed. He positions himself between your legs and resumes pumping his fingers in and out of your dripping pussy. His back is bent showing off the strong muscles to your hazed eyes as he takes your nipple into his mouth. Pleasure erupts from you again. He moves to your other breast and he hooks his fingers inside, skimming his fingertips over your g-spot. He releases your nipple with a ‘pop’ and removes his fingers from your pussy. You start to whine but stop when you see Jongho take his fingers and suck them clean of your juices.

“You taste so good, baby.” He smiles and leans in to kiss you. Your lips move against each other like a dance. He takes off his pants and underwear and repositions himself at your entrance.

“You ready for me baby?” You nod and he doesn’t move.

“I need to hear you baby.” He gives you a longing look, and places a kiss on your forehead.

“Yes baby. Please.” He smiles and pushes himself into you. You hiss at his size as he stretches you. He moans as he slides his full eight inches inside you. He slowly pulls himself back out, repeating the movement. The pain slowly turns to pleasure and you begin to feel the slow build of another orgasm rise inside you.

“Fuck (y/n), your pussy is so good.” He pants. He flexes his hips harder and harder slamming his cock deep inside you.

“Oh baby, I can never get enough of you.” The mix of your moans and curses fill the room and create a beautiful symphony. He continues to moan sickly sweet confessions into your ear, making your building orgasm hurdle faster toward release.

“Baby, I’m so close.” You whimper into his general direction, unable to focus your eyes due to the overload of pleasure fogging your vision. You run your hands up his arms dragging your nails along his smooth tanned skin until you reach his shoulders where you sink your nails. He growls and pounds harder into you hitting that special spot causing your moans to grow louder and more intense.

“Fuck, come for me baby. Come for me (y/n).” He leans down to kiss you, claiming your mouth as he fucks you. The pressure continues to build until you come again. He follows after you shortly, filling your pussy with his load. After a few moments he slowly pulls his dick out of you and watches as his cum spills from your entrance.

“So much better than that turkey.” You can't help but burst out laughing. He looks at me confused, but after a minute he understands the joke.

“It sounded like you fucked the turkey then me.” You say sitting up on your elbows, your smiling face looking at his now rosy one. He grabs both of your cheeks and plants a big kiss on your lips.

“Seriously, I have to finish the turkey. The boys will be here in 6 hours!” You jump up from the bed, forgetting your boyfriend's cum spilling out of your pussy and running down your legs. He laughs as you run from the room and into the bathroom to go get yourself re-ready for the party tonight.

—------

Hours Later:

Everyone is gathered at your dining room table and starting to dig into the meal you have spent days preparing. Yunho and Hongjoon are talking about the latest comeback and how the dance routine is going to go with the new title song, Wooyoung is basically flirting with San and the former is pretending not to love it.

“This turkey is delicious (y/n)!” Yeosang praised.

“Thanks Yeo!” I raise my drink toward him.

“The secret is in the stuffing.” Jongho added. You kicked him under the table and gave him a dirty look, He just smiled and leaned over to kiss your cheek.

#ateez jongho #choi jongho #jongho smut #ateez #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #jongho x reader #smut #atinywhore #jongho

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thiswaytwoinfinity · 1 month

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it’s a bad idea, right? - part 1: can’t two people reconnect

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x reader • inspired by sleeping with other people

Warnings: no use of y/n or physical description of reader except they have hair that can be tucked behind their ears, implied smut, this chapter is fine but future installments will be 18+

It’s finally here! Thank you to everyone for being so supportive and patient about this fic; I was dealing with some rough personal stuff and lost all my inspiration but it’s back now and I’m happy to be writing about everyone’s favorite cocky flyboy.

There’s something about a sticky summer night when you’re 22 that makes you feel more alive than you’ve ever been.

It’s the third bar that your new roommates have dragged you to tonight, there’s a cocktail sweating in your hand and the bass from the stereo thudding through your head. You’re not sure if the grin on your face is from the watching all of the wannabe cowboys go flying off the mechanical bull in mere milliseconds or from the possibilities of newfound adulthood laid out in front of you. In this moment, it’s hard to imagine that you were ever scared about moving halfway across the country — away from your family, your hometown and your high school sweetheart who always thought you’d move home after college — to Austin.

In this moment, you feel free. You feel invincible. You feel like this is a night you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

“Okay, the bar is a madhouse but I managed to get another round!” Anna shouts as she makes her way back to the table, tossing her long dark hair behind her before plopping the tray of shots down in front of you and your new friends. “And there’s a new rule!”

Everyone groans in unison; Anna loves to make up drinking games, handing out shots and beers with a new rule or bet that is guaranteed to leave someone embarrassed before the night’s over.

“Oh, stop. Shit like this is how we become lifelong best friends, trust me, I read about it online,” she fires back, rolling her eyes and handing shots to you and the three other girls at the table before taking one in hand. “It’s simple. Last one to finish their shot has to ride the mechanical bull.”

“Bitch, are you trying to kill us?” Erin asks, shooting a sideways glance at Katie, who’s eyeing up her shot glass like she’s trying to strategize the best way to drink it. The two of them are sisters — “Irish twins, it’s a whole thing,” Erin explained when you first moved in — are hyper-competitive and curse like sailors. You loved them instantly.

Your tiny hope of not being the one to end up on the bull dies when you look over at Taylor, who managed to throw back her tequila when nobody was watching. “What?!” she asks, curls bobbing in the bun on top of her head as she takes in everyone’s looks of confusion and frustration. “Anna never said we had to start at the same time.”

It’s like a starting pistol went off at the end of her sentence because before you know it, Erin and Katie are both biting into limes while Anna is swallowing down the liquor with a grimace. Shit.

You do your best to catch up but it’s too late. You, the girl who grew up nowhere near Texas and have never actually seen a bull in real life, are going to have to ride one in front of this entire bar.

Years later you won’t remember the details of the bet, how your friends whooped and hollered as you made your way over to the bull with shaky knees or how the operator took pity on you when you immediately slid off and offered you a second try. The song that was playing is lost to time, as is the actual feeling of riding the bull for a whole half second.

What you will remember, though, is sliding across the tarp to rest right by a group of athletic looking guys and the strong, tan hand that reached down to help you stand up.

You’ll remember the backwards Longhorns cap on his head, the way his green eyes flashed with amusement and the blinding white of his smile as he helped you to your feet, hand lingering just a moment too long in yours. You’ll remember the way it felt like someone had set off fireworks inside of you, fingers tingling where they touched his skin and your stomach swooping like you were on a roller coaster.

You’ll remember exactly what he said to you: “Well, that was definitely the most entertaining attempt of the night.”

You giggled, a little dazed by his chiseled features, by the way he seemed to only see you in that moment, by the force of his charisma.

“I’m Jake. What’s your name, beautiful?”

For a Thursday night, the Hard Deck was surprisingly packed.

The Daggers had managed to claim their usual spot by the pool table, but despite their cramped quarters they practically had to shout over the sounds of drunken sailors and the oldies blasting out of the jukebox to be heard. The table next to Bob was crowded with beer bottles, the bespectacled WSO having waved off Penny when she stopped by to clear them, promising the group would clean up after themselves. Natasha and Bradley were in the middle of some kind of dumb darts competition, being heckled by Bob and a tipsy Rueben, who had his arm slung around the former’s shoulders for balance.

Jake took in the scenery, smug grin on his face, before sinking his final pool ball with a flourish.

“And that’s game, gentlemen,” he said, turning to Javy and Mickey, who were shaking their heads with frustration.

“Can’t believe I let you talk me into betting against him,” Mickey sighed, shuffling through his wallet for a $20 bill. Javy just shrugged and threw a playful punch against his friend’s shoulder, before asking for a rematch.

“Let that be a lesson, Fanboy,” Jake chuckled, making a big show of examining the bill before pocketing it. “Never bet against Jake Seresin. They call me a golden boy for a reason.”

“Who’s ‘they?’ Everyone we know just calls you a dick,” Nat called out, making her way back to the table for her drink. Taking a look at the chaos on the table, she rolled her eyes before starting to gather up a handful of empty bottles. “C’mon, Fanboy. Help me clear some of these and I’ll buy you a beer to drown your sorrows in.”

He ran over to help, allowing Javy to slide over to Jake and elbow his buddy in the side.

“10 o’clock, there’s a whole table of pretty ladies. The blonde’s had her eye on you all night and her friend with the locs is crazy hot,” he murmured, as Jake took a subtle look over at the table in question. 5 or 6 women were crammed into a booth, and judging by the tiara on one of their heads, they were out celebrating a birthday. “Wingman?” the younger aviator asked, holding out his fist for Jake to bump it.

For a half second, he contemplated turning his best friend down.

It wasn’t like Jake wasn’t attracted to the blonde, who was, indeed making eyes at him from across the room. She was exactly his type, all bright smiles and smokey bedroom eyes, her curves and long legs poured into tight jeans. She had an air of confidence that made it clear she knew just how hot she was.

He knew that if he strolled over and gave her his best All-American smile and some of that Southern charm, he could probably win her over. They’d flirt and dance a bit and then he’d drive them back to one of their places, have some decent-to-excellent sex and he’d be asleep shortly after midnight.

It seemed fun. It seemed obvious. It seemed, quite honestly, a little boring to him.

Maybe it was because he turned 35 a few months ago and the idea of going home to his own bed after a night out was starting to seem more and more appealing to him. Maybe it was because he spent so much time trying to convince his fellow Daggers that he wasn’t a complete asshole that he didn’t want to risk them changing their minds again.

Or maybe he was just a little jealous.

Jake would see the way Rueben’s face lit up when he talked about his wife, how he would brag about every milestone his 3-year-old daughter was reaching. He felt awkward about his lack of wedding knowledge when a pink-eared Bob would ask the squad for their opinion on something for his upcoming nuptials. He’d try to ignore the weird sinking feeling in his stomach when he’d overhead Nat and Mickey picking out a restaurant for their weekly brunch double date with their respective girlfriends.

And despite the fact that he had spent most of his adult life doing whatever he could to avoid those kinds of situations, now he was starting to wonder if maybe … maybe he’d be a little happier if he had been able to settle down with someone of his own.

Oof. That thought made Jake’s chest tighten uncomfortably. So he pushed it down, smiled as wide as he could and first bumped Javy. “Wingmen for life, Coyote. Lead the way.”

If you had to spend one more minute squeezed up against this bar, wedged between a couple aggressively making out and a trio of rowdy Navy men who were trying to sing along to Queen, you were going to scream.

“Just come for a drink or two. This place is super chill for a Navy bar, I promise,” you muttered darkly under your breath, repeating the words your friend and new coworker had used to convince you to come out tonight.

Between a frantic weekend spent unpacking all of your belongings into your new studio apartment and a very long first week at your new job, all you had wanted to do was bury yourself under a blanket and watch Real Housewives until your brain melted out of your ears.

But you were trying to be more social. You wanted to focus more on your friendships. Do things that were good for you. That was the whole point of this move.

So instead, you were leaning so far over the bar top that you could feel the edge digging into your ribs, shouting a drink order at the (admittedly, very sweet and slightly overwhelmed) bartender. She had just placed the two beers and margarita you had asked for down in front of you when another hand appeared and tried to snatch them up.

“Hey!” you yelled, tossing the bills in your hand onto the bar as you reached up to catch the offender by the wrist before they made off with your hard-won drinks. “Asshole! Drop them, those are my beers! What the fuck?”

You swiped up the cocktail with your free hand, lest it meet the same fate and turned around to see what kind of absolute monster thought they had the right to steal drinks.

Annoyingly, he was beautiful.

Tall and broad, with sun-kissed skin and a blindingly-white smile, which held a hint of sheepishness as he realized that he had been caught red handed. There was something familiar about the way he ducked his head a little, before peering at you from beneath his eyelashes.

“Sorry about that, ma’am. I thought those were mine. Didn’t mean to steal from you,” his low, twangy drawl went right through you, settling warm and comfortingly in your stomach. “I’d offer to buy you a drink to make it up to you, but, well …”

Texas. That’s where that accent is from, you thought, instantly being transported back to your nursing school program in Austin. How many wannabe cowboys had spoken with that same drawl, trying to charm you and your friends during a night out? Not too many of them had succeeded with you, especially not after —

“Jake? Jake Seresin!?”

It had to be him. You’d know that smile anywhere, had seen those green eyes in your dreams for far too long after you both had moved on. He was bigger now, muscles more pronounced and jaw more defined, more of those cheeky smile lines creasing around his eyes. His voice was deeper too, some of his accent smoothed out after years in the military, but it had to be.

He swore under his breath, eyes widening as he made the connection as well. He practically whispered your name, as if it felt a bit rusty on his tongue, but the second you nodded, he repeated it louder, warmer, like he was slipping back into his favorite jacket.

“Shit, how long’s it been?” Jake wondered aloud, looking you up and down as if to make a note of every infinitesimal change that had occurred since you last saw each other. “You look amazing, darling. Beautiful as ever.”

You rolled your eyes but felt your cheeks heating up at his compliment. Jake always had a way of making you feel like the most special person in the room — but then again, he made everyone feel that way, as you later found out. “You look good too, Seresin. Like a proper, respectable Navy man,” you concede, though the words don’t sound nearly as begrudging as you hoped.

You’re rewarded with one of those thousand-watt grins and for a second, you’re back in a Texas dive bar, flirting with the most handsome man you’ve ever seen to the tune of some cheesy country-rap remix.

“I am good,” Jake promises, eyes locked on yours, and you think he might be back there with you, leaning up against the jukebox, the floors sticky under your feet. “I don’t know how respectable I am, but I am definitely good.”

His voice drags out that sentence, low and flirtatious, and butterflies fill your stomach the same way they did all those years ago. You can practically feel the ghost of his big hands on your hips, your lower back, caressing your cheek as the world disappeared around you that night, just the two of you creating your own little world in the corner of that dingy bar. Your lips part — to say what, exactly, you’re not sure — and you see his eyes drop to them for just a moment before —

The woman behind the bar calls out “Hangman!” with a tone of voice that makes it clear that it’s not the first time she’s said it and you both startle and turn to see her holding four bottles of beer out towards Jake, a look of exhaustion on her face. He jumps forward to take them, apologies pouring from his lips and he pointedly shoves several bills into the tip jar in order to earn an eye roll and a small smile from her. Two sweating bottles in each hand, he turns back to you and almost seems a bit relieved that you’re still standing there. (As if you’ve ever been able to walk away from him.)

“I have to drop these off with my friends,” Jake says, nodding to a table somewhere behind you, “And you should probably get those drinks to the people who sent you over here. But do — do you wanna catch up? There’s a deck out back with some tables, it’s usually pretty quiet this time of night.” He waits for you to nod, before pressing a quick kiss to your cheekbone. “I’ll meet you in five minutes.”

With one more charming smile, he’s off into the crowd and — not for the first time in your life — you’re left speechless and a little stunned, staring after Jake Seresin.

You’re not sure if the goosebumps on your arms are from the chill of the California evening or the way that Jake hasn’t stopped staring at you since he joined you outside on the deck. You shift slightly against the wooden bench of the picnic table, overwhelmed by the intensity of having all of the blonde’s attention on you again for the first time in a decade.

“So …” you begin, and your voice seems to startle Jake out of his thoughts slightly. “You’re a California boy now? I never thought you’d ever leave Texas.”

He grins and shakes his head slightly. “Well, when Top Gun calls and offers you a permanent station, you’d be a fool not to accept. And not to brag, but they do only offer that to the best of the best.”

“Please, Seresin. You love to brag,” you fire back, watching those green eyes sparkle with mischief.

“Well, it’s not bragging if it’s the truth. And the truth is, darling, that I am one hell of a pilot.” Jake takes a swig from his beer, before leaning a bit closer into you, like he wants to study your reactions. “What about you? What brings you out to sunny San Diego?”

“New job,” you say shortly, shrugging your shoulders as nonchalantly as possible. “Moved from the ICU to the ED, so I figured a change of location would go well with a change of pace.”

Your smile doesn’t quite meet your eyes and you hope he can’t tell. There’s no reason to tell your ex — boyfriend? Fling? — whatever that you followed a guy out here, especially since that whole — relationship? Affair? Complete and utter heartbreaking disaster? — situation crashed and burned almost immediately.

“Mmhmm,” Jake says, as if he can tell that’s not the whole story, and he takes another sip before seemingly deciding to let you off the hook. “And what did you boyfriend have to say about moving halfway across the country? Or did someone manage to finally lock you down after all these years?”

There’s a small, sinking feeling in your stomach as you think about the real reason you moved here for a brief, heartbreaking second.

“No boyfriend. No husband, either,” you say, wiggling your left hand at him in order to illustrate your point, and clock the way his eyes almost look relieved by the sight of your empty finger. “What about you, Seresin? Where’s your sweet, Southern wife?”

He laughs, a little cocky but a little hollow at the same time. “You know I don’t really do commitment, darlin’,” he jokes and, boy, do you, nights of watching him flirt with other girls while you pouted in the corner of the bar flashing in your brain. You take a long swallow of your beer — just like you used to swallow down your pride back then — and roll your eyes at him.

“I swear, you look exactly the same when you roll your eyes like that,” Jake says, his smile softening around the edges. “Nobody ever managed to make it quite as cutting as you.”

“Nobody’s ever been quite as annoying as you,” you fire back, but there’s no real heat behind it. Jake’s eye light up like you just gave him a compliment rather than pointing out that he knew exactly how to press your buttons when you were younger.

“I seem to remember you used to like it when I was able to make your eyes roll. Or, at least, when I could make them roll back into your head …”

You sigh, doing your best not to let on how much that comment made your face heat with decade-old memories of you two tangled up in your sheets. “There it is …” you begin, but he just leans into you a little more, those green eyes traveling all over your face as he speaks.

“I’m just reminiscing, that’s all. Can ya blame me? You’re still so beautiful …” Jake responds, one hand reaching out to gently tuck some of your hair behind your ear. His fingers brush against your cheek as he pulls away and you hope you can explain away the goosebumps that erupt on your skin as a product of the ocean breeze. “And I spent a lot of time trying to get you all worked up back then. Force of habit.”

You could give into it.

Allow the sheer force of Jake’s charisma and good looks to carry you away on a wave of old memories. The chemistry that always fizzled between you is clearly still there, the butterflies that have laid dormant in your stomach all this time just waiting for an excuse to be let free once again. It would be easy.

And it would be good — you two had always been good at the physical stuff. He was so gorgeous in so many ways and surprisingly generous when you were in bed. (Jake always took pride in being the best of the best, after all).

But once you woke up tomorrow morning, after all of the awkward goodbyes and the promises to call, then what? Jake Seresin doesn’t commit; he made that clear.

And you were still bruised from your last mess of a relationship, your heart feeling tender and aching in your chest most days. There’s no way that this doesn’t end the same way it did a decade ago, with you sobbing uncontrollably and Jake moving on to the next beautiful girl who manages to hold his attention.

So, with a self-control you didn’t even know you possessed, you pull yourself out of Jake’s undertow.

“Seresin, I … that’s probably a bad idea,” you say softly, eyes dropping down to the tabletop in between you. “I just got out of a relationship and I’m not in a place —”

He cuts you off by tilting your chin up to look at him and then making a point to pull his hands back and keep them to himself.

“Hey, hey, I get it. No worries. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything, darlin’” Jake explains in a rush. “I’m sorry about that. Like I said, force of habit.”

You huff out a laugh and another eye roll and you can see him fight a grin at your reaction. “Only you would describe flirting with someone as a habit, Jake.”

“Well, I’m one of a kind.”

“Shut up, Seresin,” you giggle, glad to be back on solid, friendly ground with him.

Two hours later, Jake sent you off with a hug and his phone number as you and your friend climbed into an Uber and set off for home. She had a few questions about the “dreamboat” of a Naval aviator that you had apparently dated back in school, but was a little too excited about recounting her own evening to push you for details. It wasn’t until you arrived back at your apartment and collapsed on your couch that you realized Jake had been texting you the whole time you were in the car.

Unknown: It’s Jake 🫡😜🤠⭐️🍻🏈😉

Unknown: Hope you get home safe, beautiful. It was great to catch up with you.

Unknown: And I would be an embarrassment to the U.S. Navy if I didn’t at least offer to be your tour guide around San Diego

Unknown: I know all the best spots after all

Unknown: So text me if you want to grab lunch or something

Unknown: Or if you finally want to learn how to surf

Unknown: But give me fair warning beforehand, I remember how bad your balance is lol

You: lol I forgot you text every single thought in your brain

You: but having a tour guide sounds nice

You: we could get brunch this weekend and you can give me the highlights?

You had only just begun to take your shoes off, resigned to finally get off the couch, when your phone pinged.

Jake 🤠 🧡: I know just the place

You gave his text a quick thumbs up and got ready for bed smiling the whole time.

-—-—-—-—-—

Comments and reblogs are always appreciated! I don’t know if I’m going to have a regular schedule with this or anything, but I will do my best! Thank you for reading about the absolute menace that is Jake Seresin

Tagging some people who asked:

@tvshowgirl81 @redbarn1995 @stoneyggirl @keepingitlokiii @averyhotchner @dizzybee03 @olliepig @lynnevanss @djs8891 @mamachasesmayhem @mamaskillerqueen @kmc1989 @hookslove1592

#top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun hangman #top gun maverick #jake hangman fic #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fic #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman x reader #hangman x reader #my fic #jake hangman x you #fic: it's a bad idea right?

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sidekick-hero · 2 months

Text

(steddie | explicit | 11.7k | tags: pwp, friends to lovers, brief Steve/other, mutual pining, summary: Steve asks Eddie for help in fulfilling one of his fantasies. Eddie has no idea that he is the actual star of this fantasy | AO3)

“I have no idea where you get your weed but damn, this shit hits so much harder than the stuff I usually manage to score," Steve says, face pinched as he blows out the smoke, the pungent smell of it filling the small room, before handing it back to Eddie. They're sitting side by side on the bed, both holding beers, bodies already going lax against the mattress.

"You know I don't kiss and tell."

Steve snorts a laugh. "Since when? Just last week you got lost on a ten minute spiel about that guy giving you head during your lunch break dude."

Eddie’s eyes cut a sideways glance at Steve, lips already curling in a shiteating grin. “Yeah but we didn’t kiss, so my point still stands,” Eddie retorts, wiggling his eyebrows at Steve and they both burst out into high laughter. Steve's body tilts sideways into Eddie's, and instead of pushing him away, Eddie just adjusts his own position so they're leaning against each other more comfortably.

When their laughter subsides neither of them moves away, bodies too heavy with the weed and booze in their system. They’ve been friends for years and have found themselves in much more compromising positions. Friendly cuddling while high doesn’t even make the top ten, Eddie thinks lazily.

“So, anyone interesting happening since Lunch Break Guy?”

“I’m pretty sure his name was Matt. Or Mark? Something like that. And nah, had to help Wayne clean out my old room last weekend, remember? I’m still recovering from hauling boxes all day.”

“Awww did you haul them with your dick? Poor delicate flower.” Steve giggles at his own joke, petting at Eddie with the hand not holding the beer, movements already sluggish and uncoordinated. Steve is such a lightweight and Eddie wonders why he finds that so endearing.

“Asshole,” Eddie chuckles, swatting Steve’s hand away. “At least I didn’t hook up with a guy dressed up as Frankenstein."

"It was Halloween, Eddie." He can’t see his face but Eddie hears the eyeroll in Steve’s voice.

"Did you compare your freaking monster dicks?"

"You know we didn’t, you were the one walking in on us to make that exact same joke,” Steve snorts and Eddie feels it against the skin of his neck.

Once again, Eddie wonders if it's weird that they're so close. He knows Steve doesn't tell Robin half the shit he does when he's getting his rocks off, and they're platonic soul mates. He didn't tell Chrissy about Matt's? Mark's? tongue piercing, or how he swallowed about half of Eddie's load before he started coughing and got the rest all over their clothes, so Eddie had to call Steve to get him a change of clothes because he couldn't work in cum-stained jeans. And he's pretty sure that normal friends don't make out with each other when they get drunk or high either. But, like, whatever. Who needs normal when you can have Steve leaning on you like that, smelling of his expensive shampoo and weed.

Taking another hit from the blunt, Eddie holds the smoke in for a long moment, and just as he's about to blow it out, he feels Steve's hand on his jaw, turning his head down toward his open mouth, as if he'd been waiting for this very moment. So Eddie slots their mouths together and gives Steve what he wants, as he always does. Because it's Steve, and Eddie doesn't know how not to.

After they have both exhaled the smoke, Eddie gives Steve the blunt to put in the ashtray. Steve does so, but not before taking one last hit. It's their second joint of the night and they both feel it.

“What about you, Mr. Charming? Any new adventures I haven’t heard about?”

"I went to the Babylon the other day."

"Oh," Eddie says, drawing out the syllable as he looks down at Steve in surprise. "That's the one with a darkroom that has, like, another room behind it for the really kinky stuff, right?"

Steve laughs awkwardly, avoiding Eddie's eyes. "Yeah, that one, although I think that's a hoax."

"And how do you know that?" Eddie asks, before gasping dramatically, his hand pressed to his chest in mock indignation. "Steven! Did you go in the dark room?"

Instead of a snarky comeback, all Eddie gets is an almost timid nod.

Huh.

Steve almost never gets shy, didn't even blush when he walked in on Eddie eating out the bartender in their room when they went on vacation together last year. Simply told him to hurry up because he was tired before he went back outside.

Not in the least bothered by Steve's weird behavior, Eddie pokes Steve in his rips and asks excitedly, "How was it? Tell me everything."

He can feel Steve fidgeting where he's still pressed into Eddie’s body and he takes another sip of his beer before finally looking up at Eddie.

Steve's eyes are glassy from the weed, the white tinged with red and so dark they look bottomless, like Eddie could actually fall into them, lost forever. Fuck, Steve's right, the shit Rick sold him really hits hard.

"It was good. Like, really fucking good, y'know. Intense and, I dunno, a bit awkward at first, but then it was... yeah, just really good."

Eddie feels that Steve is not telling him something here. They may be high and buzzed, but that was a lot of good in Eddie's opinion. And Steve is still fidgeting.

"Sounds...good. You picked someone up at the club to fuck there?"

"Not...really."

As it turns out, Steve went in there alone, but he wasn't alone for long. Eddie listens with bated breath as Steve goes into more and more detail about dancing and drinking at the bar, about seeing people disappear behind a thick velvet curtain only to emerge long minutes later looking disheveled and satisfied. He tells Eddie about strolling over there himself, just to check it out so he could tell Eddie about it later, and about being surrounded by strangers, too dark to make out anything but the sounds of skin slapping against skin, ragged breathing, moans and whimpers filling the thick and humid air.

Eddie feels himself getting more and more turned on the longer he listens to Steve's low voice talking about lingering hands and mouths touching him everywhere, strangers grinding against him before he inevitably moved on. Eddie's already half hard, and when he looks down into Steve's lap, he sees the thick, hard outline of his cock in his sweatpants.

It's not as embarrassing as it should be. Steve has always been hot, Eddie has two functioning eyes and an active libido. It wouldn't be the first time he jerked off thinking about Steve, not even the first time Steve was present if asleep, but they never went further than a few heated make out sessions, sloppy kisses and some grinding before remembering their friendship and breaking apart.

Not that Eddie wouldn't drop everything and be on him in seconds if Steve asked, but that’s neither here nor there.

"And then this guy just grabbed me, he was strong and I wasn't expecting it, and then my face was pressed against the wall and he was on my back, rubbing against me, his dick thrusting against my ass, and -" Steve takes a deep breath and Eddie, realizing that he has been holding his breath all along, follows suit.

"And?" Eddie asks when the silence stretches.

Another deep inhale before Steve goes on. "And it was really hot, like, I've never been so hard in my life. I wanted him to, y'know, use me, just, uh, pull my jeans down and fuck me without me being able to do anything. Just… Making me take it, getting off fucking me and then walking away like I’m just some, I dunno, toy with his cum dripping out of me."

Eddie was biting his lip so hard he was sure he'd taste blood any second, but it was the only way he could hold back the moan that was trying to crawl out of his mouth. His dick had gone from half hard to so hard it almost hurt, and he was seconds away from pushing down his own sweats and jerking off to the way Steve talked about being used.

"But then, I don't know, my brain, like, panicked, and I pushed him off, and ran out of the room before I even knew I was going to do it."

Steve is decidedly not looking at Eddie, which is good, because Eddie has no idea what his face must look like right now. Probably as destroyed as he feels. He's pretty sure Steve has seen the way his sweats are tenting by now, but considering how obscenely Steve's dick is stretching the fabric of his own pants, Eddie thinks Steve doesn't have a leg to stand on. Eddie also felt the way Steve's hips squirmed as he recounted the way those strangers in the darkroom had touched him.

The silence between them grows and grows, sitting heavy on his chest, so Eddie clears his throat and asks, "So - was it, I mean," he exhales loudly, "did you, uh, like it?" Steve looks up at him, surprised by the question, and Eddie clarifies, "I mean before you panicked and ran out. Everything before that."

Chewing on his lower lip, Steve considers his questions and the air between them is so thick that Eddie feels like he's drowning. He swallows and watches, transfixed, as Steve's Adam's apple also bobs, a bead of sweat sliding past it as it moves.

"I mean, yeah. I did. It was hot, man, like I said. Especially the... the way they were just touching me, taking what they wanted. I didn't even know that I, uh, wanted that?” It isn’t often that Steve sounds unsure, at least when it comes to sex and hookups. So when Eddie hears his voice waver like that, like Steve is embarrassed to want something, his instincts to comfort and help start screaming at him.

Before he can do anything about it, like pull Steve against him and tell him it’s okay, Steve keeps going. “But it was too much… Too, I dunno, surprising? Like, I really wanna do that again, but like, with some precaution. So it feels safe and I can, uh, let go or something. Not panic again because that sucked man.”

Steve finishes his beer and drops the empty bottle on the floor next to Eddie's bed. Usually he would bitch about it, just because it's what he always does, but tonight is not like most of their ‘boys’ nights’, as Robin calls them mockingly. Eddie is a little lost and a lot turned on right now and he thinks it would be best for him if their conversation ended here.

If only it was that easy when you have the impulse control of a toddler and can’t leave things very well alone.

"But you fucked strangers before. Like two weeks ago I watched you pick up some random guy to fuck in your car before coming back in for another beer. I helped you get out the cum stains the next day, too."

"I know, I know. It's not that. It's - you remember Clive?"

"Ugh, that asshole." Eddie says with feeling.

Steve chuckles against Eddie's neck and moves even closer, soothing Eddie's annoyance with the contact. God, but he hated that guy who had treated Steve like shit. He had been mean and condescending, and Steve had always looked subdued, almost small, in the days after their hookups.

"Yeah, that one. You hate him, he was a dick, I know. But he, well. He fucked me like this once, pinned me down on the bed, caged me in, ass up, face pressed into the pillow so I could barely breathe, and pounded me so hard I was covered in bruises the next day. Said some nasty shit too, man, and I felt so dirty but also so fucking turned on that I came without a hand on me.”

Steve squirms and fidgets next to him, his body moving against Eddie's in small increments, and Eddie thinks Steve doesn't even realize he's doing it, lost in his memories and the typical weed horniness. "I want this, but, y'know, like, with more."

Eddie actually chokes on his spit at that, stammering, "More?"

"Yeah," Steve says, pushing his face into Eddie's neck like that's the last straw, the thing that's too embarrassing to say out loud. "Like, when I think about it, I'm completely helpless. Hands tied, legs spread with a bar so I couldn't close them even if I wanted to.”

Eddie can't help it, he's got to do something or he'll actually die of Steve-induced sexual frustration. He shifts slightly on his right side, towards Steve, so that he can push his left leg over his right, pressing it down enough to relieve at least some of the pressure. Still, the sensation of any kind of friction against his aching dick makes him clench his hands into fists, his whole body tense.

His next words sound strained to his own ears. "So why not... do it with someone else? I mean, I've seen you at clubs and parties, Stevie, you'd have no problem finding someone willing to do, uh, that."

"True. But it doesn't feel safe. What if, y'know, the guy is, like, a serial killer or something? I've watched enough crime shows with you to know that happens!"

Eddie doesn't say anything, just takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. Because seriously, Steve is right, it's super fucking risky and if he's honest, he doesn't want to think about Steve in that kind of danger. He'd go crazy worrying about him.

They're both silent and Eddie's thoughts are racing, the mellowness that usually comes with getting high gone. Replaced by more and more images of Steve flashing behind his eyelids.

Steve on a bed, Steve bent over a table, Steve on some faceless guy. Hands and mouths and teeth all over Steve’s body, his beautiful hazel eyes wide and wet, his face slack with pleasure. His gorgeous dick dripping with need.

Steve, Steve, Steve.

"Can you be there?"

His thoughts come to a screeching halt as his eyes widen in shock. What?

"What?"

"Well, no one would try anything if someone was looking out for me. Also, I could let go knowing you're there. I know you'll keep me safe."

Which, yeah. Eddie would. He would always make sure Steve was safe. It's himself, his heart, that he doesn't trust to be safe when he's there.

"What are you saying here, Steve?"

"I dunno, just that when I think about it. Think about being naked and tied to a bed, all helpless and shit, and there is some guy fucking me however he wants. Use me however he wants… I just. I want that, been thinking about it so much since that night at the Babylon. And you're always..." Steve's hand clenches and unclenches against Eddie's arm. "I want you there. To watch out for me. Make sure I'm still safe, that he doesn't really hurt me. Like, y'know, a safety blanket."

Jesus fucking Christ. He'll never let Steve near his weed again. Not if it ends with Steve tucked into his side, that familiar heat spreading from all the places their bodies touch, both hard in their sweatpants, while Steve talks about Eddie being his goddamn safety blanket while he gets railed by a stranger.

Still, Steve so rarely asks for anything that Eddie wants to do this for him, as fucked up as it sounds. He’s always been a freak and it seems Steve’s right there with him.

Before Eddie can make up his mind, however, Steve lifts his head and chuckles in a way that sounds forced. "Sorry, never mind, it's the weed talking, just forget it."

With that, he untangles himself from Eddie and stands up, his hard dick very obviously tenting his sweats as he turns away from the bed and towards the door. "I'm gonna get another beer, you want one?"

Looking at Steve's back and the tense line of his shoulders, Eddie says, "Yeah, sure.”

Read the rest on AO3

#steddie #steddie smut #steddie fic #eddie x steve #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #my writing #nsft

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chronically-ghosted · 6 months

Text

stay gold, baby boy

rating: 18+ (expliiiiicit)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: almost 6K

summary: six months into your friends-with-benefits situation, you institute a new game. A gold star on the board every time Dieter is a good boy. Today, he gets bingo . . . for wearing real pants.

warnings: friends with benefits (with more feelings), oral (m receiving), dom/sub dynamics (guess who subs today!), talks of edging, hair pulling, creampie, piv sex, praise kink, my mother raised me to have better taste in men but fuck it

a/n: remember when i posted this picture? And then this one? Remember how you could hear me yelling from space? Well, @sp00kymulderr has added fuel to the fire – Dieter and stickers. I can’t explain myself except that I was horny and I wanted to take his pants off with my teeth. So I did.

✨gif credit goes to the ever incredible, talented, and enabler of my dieter fantasies @perotovar! she saw me floundering with the header and immediately was like 'hold please i can make his baby cow eyes even better'✨

🤍Masterlist

With your foot on the low table, your ass firmly planted on the middle poofy cushion of the dumpster bin couch at the back of the trailer, thumbnail nibbled between your teeth, you have to admit it’s starting to get a little embarrassing. It’s honestly such a bad look.

Not that he would ever shame you for it. In fact, he’d probably like it.

And it’s not like you waited for him here all day. You had things to do as one of the co-screenwriters on this film. You had things to do and people to see and stuff to organize – all of which had nothing to do with Dieter fucking Bravo.

Okay, so a lot of it actually had to do with him. Lots of scene rewrites, lots of notes from the studio, lots of instances where the two of you had to put your heads together and come up with a solution that made the studio happy and didn’t make you want to claw your eyes out artistically speaking.

Which had led to this.

And the past six months of whatever this is. Working together led to seeing each other (outside of work), to eating with each other, to fucking each other – with the line firmly drawn there.

Whatever you may say about Dieter, the man could compartmentalize in a way that would make Marie Kondo weep with joy. By the way he treated you on set, no one in their right mind would ever have guessed he knew what you looked like naked. Or that he knew your left nostril twitched just before you came.

The same could be said for you too. Out of boredom one morning in the grocery store, you bought a trashy magazine with his face emblazoned across the top – Dieter Bravo and His Lonely Hearts Club. You weren’t one for the gossip rags, but flipping through it, not a single one of his “club members” mentioned his raging praise kink. You bought the damn thing on the spot, giving them all a consolation prize of some sort. Sorry, ladies, guess I win. Ha. Ha.

But, at the edge of the cushion, eyes occasionally flicking between the door and the failing darkness outside, you didn’t feel much like you’d won anything.

In fact, you’d lost. Big time. When all of this had been your stupid idea in the first place.

It had been your idea (and your initiative) to buy a packet of gold star stickers. Like the kind teachers use with their first graders. Actually, exactly like the ones teachers use for their first graders. You couldn’t form words when the woman at the education supply store ringing you up asked, “oh, what grade do you teach?”. You just tossed a twenty at her and booked it, your face painfully hot for a fairly innocuous purchase.

But all of that was his fault for dropping a praise kink and a teacher kink on you all at once the night after you jokingly spanked him with a ruler in front of the director, in-front of his co-star, because he wouldn’t agree to a line change, and he had to excuse himself from the room.

A month later and he forgoes touching himself for a gold star. He agrees to your line changes without argument for a gold star. He picks you up in the morning and drives you home at night for a gold star (you could drive yourself, but there’s always that last minute thing you need to talk to him about so you do it just because it’s easier, really).

He lets you come, over and over again, and keeps nothing for himself – all for a gold star.

Someone is bound to figure it out. They have to. Six months in and you’re getting sloppy. Obvious. What the fuck would you be doing in his trailer at seven o’clock at night after a full day of shooting unless you’re fucking him?

But you, worryingly, can’t find it in you to care.

You had lost your mind, that’s what you lost. Because tonight is the night Dieter gets his final gold star. It’s his reward but you’re about to vibrate out of your skin with want.

(It didn’t matter that you hadn’t seen each other in two weeks and by the third day, an ache had settled in behind your breastbone, one that clutched your phone in your hand, and forced your eyes to the screen every minute, checking for a new text message.

He called on day five, by the way.)

Your neck snaps up when you hear voices outside of the trailer. Laughter, his.

You suddenly feel the need to flatline against the floor in case anyone might see you.

Fuck, and how are you supposed to explain yourself if the someone he is with follows him into the trailer? Too many frightfully bad scenarios and you’re rooted to the floor, unable to make a single decision.

The metal latch clinks and his trailer door swings wide open.

“Yeah, man, I’ll catch you tomorrow.”

You can hear a deep, “see ya” from the other side (maybe Daryl from craft services?) and the scrap-metal trailer squeaks, as the lock clicks shut.

Dieter scratches his cheek, surveying the trailer as if some part of him knows something is different, but his conscious mind can’t figure it out.

Until he turns. And nearly leaps out of his skin.

“Fuckin’ – what are you doing in here? Wait – I thought you left town to scope out the new location in San Diego.”

You want to answer him. You know how – open your mouth and tell him the trip’s been delayed for a few days, nothing serious, timeline bullshit – but you can’t.

It’s officially embarrassing.

It’s embarrassing how turned on by Dieter Bravo you are.

Hair in all kinds of directions, skinny cloth bracelet loose around his wrist, he had pushed up the sleeves of his henley shirt, exposing the thickly drawn triangle over his forearm and the clear one near his wrist. His hand with the rings hangs by his side and something inside of you silently whines.

But what really sets you off, what really makes this embarrassing and terrible because there’s no bluffing here, no hiding your cards and folding – nothing you can do to keep spit from flooding your mouth the longer you look –

He’s wearing pants.

Black with loose belt loops. Zipper and all. A silver button sitting between his hips. Fuck. Just like you told him to. Fuck fuckfuck.

You’re briefly aware when he says your name and you have to make a physical effort to tear your eyes away from that glinting silver eye winking up at you.

Dieter’s frowning, knowing silence isn’t really your thing.

“Are you okay? Why are you –,”

As though it had called his name, his gaze drifts from your face to the table between you and him. Where his scorecard rests with four stars in the Good column, and shockingly, none in the Bad.

His mouth parts, eyes going dark, as the realization hits him like a mack truck.

“Delays,” you say suddenly, preemptively, knowing that normal people usually have some sort of preamble before tearing each other’s clothes off. You stand up a bit straighter, tilt your jaw away from him, gaze leveling him from the end of your nose. You have got to get this thing under control. “Frank ran into some scheduling issues with the boat for the lake scene so, until further notice, the trip to San Diego has been delayed.”

He blinks slowly as if he’d been struck over the back of the heat, mouth parted. He has such fucking gorgeous, fucking perfect lips –

“So you’re here?” he asks, his voice low, disbelieving.

You scoop up the scorecard and step over the table, your shoes long since gone. It’s like his vision narrows the closer you come; he is transfixed, gaze on you as if molded at the seams, as you step up to him. You tap him on the chest once with the corner of the scorecard, excitement and nerves and that ache making you tremble despite your confident appearance.

“So I’m here.”

“On the last day of the week.” Words thick, as if all the moisture had been sucked out of his mouth.

“On the last day of the week.”

“When I,” he swallows thickly, “when I should get my reward.”

God, this kind of power trip should not be making you this wet.

You lift your gaze from his chest, taking in his beautifully dumb-struck face.

“You will.” You nod. “And do you know why?”

His breath quickens, lip between his teeth, when you scratch off the final star from the package and stick it to the Good column.

“Because I was a good boy?”

You toss the scorecard behind you, it clatters onto the table, and you cup the back of his hot neck.

“Because you were a very good boy.”

He stumbles back, knees unsteady, when you kiss him. You see his eyes a split second before you close yours and hot electricity swoops down to the pit of your stomach. It would be mortifying if you just fucked him right here and now – he does deserve something extra special – but fuck – you want his whole hand inside of you.

His warm palm slides across your jaw, pulling you into him, and Dieter breathes, deep and long, inhaling as much as he can. You don’t think he realizes that he’s picked you up off the ground with his arm around your back until he opens his eyes, vision hazy and off-center.

“Go lock the door, baby.”

He nods and puts you back down. You slip off your jacket as he bolts the trailer door shut.

Dieter’s mouth drops open when he turns around and sees you on your knees.

Shit, you should have stolen some knee pads from the costume department.

“Really?”

You smile at him because he asks like a kid that just got offered a puppy for Christmas. You reach towards him and he takes your hand, unsteady on weak knees

“For as long and as much as you want.”

You palm him and Dieter groans, mouth-closed at the sensation, the hard ridge of the metal zipper not one he is entirely familiar with. At least, not like this. Beneath the warm press of your palm, you feel him thicken, harden, and you press more, digging your fingers into his thighs. The muscles in his legs tense, his mouth falls open, as his hips cant forward, desperate for the new weight of the zipper.

“And I won’t make you wait, Dieter,” you say, eyes tripping up from where your hand sits, up to the flash of exposed tummy where his pants have ridden down and his shirt slid up, into his almost surprised gaze. “You’ve been very good, wearing this for me, but I want you to learn why it’s important to wear pants with buttons.”

“I-I t-t-thought,” he tries, voice abruptly cutting off when you nuzzle the constrained bulge in his pants. He tries again, eyes slamming shut as if to stifle the sensation of your warm breath so near to where he needs you the most. “I thought i-it was so I d-din’t – didn’t look bad.”

Your face still pressed into his crotch, you briefly massage his calves, then the backs of his thighs. You cup the curve of his ass through the starchy back pockets, which is remarkably prominent now that he’s in something else than baggy sweatpants.

You shake your head, nose dragging along his hot length, against the space between his hip bone and his cock, smiling.

“Baby, you know I like how you look. I always want you to be comfortable.” You look up and meet his eyes. The remaining brown not yet wholly consumed by a blurry, heated darkness softens. Somewhere beneath the hazy, disarming feelings of lust currently filling his head like a bike tire, he’s still your Dieter. Or – well, wait – at least the Dieter you know. The Dieter you have impossibly fun times with. The Dieter who makes you laugh like no one else. The Dieter that can make you fall apart until you’re a gooey, dripping mess and he still manages to stitch you back together. The Dieter that keeps you up at night thinking he might possibly want something more. “But this is so much more fun.”

Grounding your chest against his thighs, holding yourself against him as leverage, you sink your teeth into the corner of the fabric fastening his pants together. Eyes up at him again, you tug and his cock is pushed up against your tits from the force of the pull. He rocks forward, an airy gasp escaping his mouth, and the button gives, the lip of the fabric sliding back as the silver disk slips through the hole. Now your touch is unimpeded by rough fabric when you lean forward and kiss him just below the waistband of his black boxers.

It takes you a second to realize that Dieter Bravo is wearing underwear at all and you smirk up at him.

Something about your gaze makes the tips of his ears go red, as if he had been caught being very naughty. His big hand cups from your jaw to your ear, as if trying to placate you, beg you not to be mad this close to his cock.

“You said I had to dress u-up,” he says, eyes wide and round. God, he’s trying to be so good. One week of the rating system and Dieter Bravo is a trembling mess. Despite your wildly beating heart, you smirk, your thighs shaking briefly at the sudden rush of tenderness you feel for the man in front of you. You hide your own blush by mouthing that open spot just below his tummy and above his cock, wetting the black material with your tongue. Before he can whine about it, you pull back just barely, enough to curl your fingers around both his black underwear and the pants he wore for you. Just as you begin to pull down, you nip the zipper between your teeth and slowly, slowly, rubbing your nose against him, tug the metal teeth apart. His pants open and Dieter groans loudly. He’s already so sensitive.

For a mouthy, ego-driven bastard, he really did have a magnificent cock. Flushed at the base, thickest you’d ever had inside you, and he’s leaking silvery threads from the head. The vein thickly pulsating on the side makes you wonder how he hasn’t passed out from all the blood rushing to his cock.

You lick that vein, that beating pulse, and his knees buckle. His massive hand grips your shoulder and Dieter shakes his head, his mouth wrenching open.

“Please, please — mhmm — don’t tease. I-I can’t – you haven’t – please.”

As if you would be cruel to him. You feel rather dizzy, elated on the idea that you wield this much power over him. That he trusts you with all of him. There it comes again, that arching ache in your chest.

“I’m just trying to get myself ready for you,” you confess quietly. “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

Dieter swallows something large in his throat, panic receding from his eyes. His smile is small and his touch on your cheek is light.

“I know.”

And you weren’t lying. You’d never forget the sound of your jaw popping and cracking the morning after you sucked him off three times before you let him come. Dieter is shockingly big, annoyingly only when he uses it against you or makes you tell him over and over just how big he is before giving it to you. For now, you just want to remind him how very appreciative you are that he gives it to you at all.

Eyes decidedly looking away from the warmth on his face, you squeeze the backs of his thighs as you relax your jaw as much as you can. Above you hear him huff with his mouth shut as you start to take him in, your tongue wetting that soft skin on the underside of his cock. One move forward and you’ve wet him halfway, tongue massaging that vein. Another drop of your head and you’ve taken him completely.

“Fuck,” Dieter murmurs, the hand on your shoulder tightening. Your heart pounds in your chest all the harder when he takes his other hand and knots your hair with his fingers. By the twitching of his thighs beneath your palms, you know it’s taking every ounce of his restraint to not buck his hips forward. “That’s it that’s my girl you take me so fucking good you feel so fucking good.”

The thing about your mouth that is markedly different from your pussy: you can’t release your gag reflex to take more of him. But fuck, you want him to fuck the back of your throat – you just might drown before it happens.

He smells surprisingly clean as your nose inches closer and closer to his skin. With each pull, you slide your tongue down the other side, until it pokes through and licks where you haven’t reached with your mouth yet, inches from his pelvis. He shudders when you use the tip of your tongue.

“Oh my god, your mouth, baby, your mouth.” The words dribble out of his slack mouth, fingers flexing in your hair as if he can mimic pushing your head down further. You pull all the way off him, tongue catching the rim of his cock and he drops his head back against his shoulders and moans. The sound of it makes your pussy throb and you breathe out your nose to stifle your own noises. This is about him. He did good. He was a good boy the whole week.

You replace your mouth with your hand. Sufficiently wet from the way you slobbered all over his cock, you use a fist around his flushed head to smear pre-cum all the way down to the base of him. You brush his balls with your knuckles, just as you fit the tip between your lips, sucking – and Dieter bucks, hard.

“Ngh – shit! S-sorry!” His nails dig into his thighs, eyes squeezing shut as silvery threads spurt out from his cock.

Maybe you’d gone too far with the whole sticker thing and he really thought this was another test. His cheeks are burnt pink, his chest heaving and it’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen.

“Dieter,” you cry softly, gently, comfortingly. He still doesn’t open his eyes, not even when you resume stroking him. You lick the soft skin of his balls and his gasp punches the air out of his lungs, his eyes splitting open. He looks down at you, thighs trembling and you squeeze him gently. Not to edge him or punish him, but to make this last a bit longer for him. “Dieter, take your shirt off and sit down.”

He can’t move fast enough. He yanks the henley over his shoulders, the collar scraping his hair up in wild directions. He goes to sit but his thighs are shaking too much and he just sort of tumbles onto his ass. Smiling, you take your own shirt off, hoping to save this particular bra reveal for another time, but fuck, this time is as good as any. Despite his panting and squirming, his gaze rolls from your face to your tits. Emerald green with black lace, this is far too nice for a work bra and it properly communicates to him that you were going to fuck him whether or not he was going to get that final gold star. The realization is visible as it crosses his mind, bleeding hungry black in his eyes.

You take off his pants all the way, before sliding your own jeans down and to the floor. His roving gaze catches the matching panties and the noise in his throat is deep, like a smothered grunt.

“Now, I’m going to suck you off no matter what,” you say as you crawl in between his legs, before leaning back and sitting on your heels. You smooth your hands down his thighs, near his red, stark cock, but not touching. Dieter’s breathing hitches in anticipation, not sure where to put his hands or his gaze. “But I want you to answer one question for me first.”

He nods rapidly, spreading his knees further for you as if to remind you there’s other places he could be fucked.

“Why did you think I was going to punish you today?”

You’ve asked this question paraphrased a dozen times, usually when you both know the answer: he came without asking, or he came by himself, or any of the dozen reasons Dieter liked to push your buttons, only for you to break him as far as he can go. But today, there’s no sultry edge, no double meaning. Your question is sincere and it takes him a moment to understand. He swallows as his eyebrows tug down on his forehead, something vulnerable flashing in his eyes before a look of uncertainty crosses his face.

“We’ve never had sex just to have sex.” He says it like a question. He settles into the floor one hand going behind his head, the linear tattoo on his forearm dark like a third eye. “Not that I’m complaining but it’s always a competition, or because we’re bored, or you wanna work out some personal shit because of the costume department. I know this is my reward, but I figured there had to be some kinda catch to it.”

You frown deeper than him. “There’s no way we haven’t had normal sex.”

Something like a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Define normal sex.”

Now it’s your turn to go warm across the cheeks. “I mean, like . . . outside of . . . our roles. Where there aren’t roles at all. It’s just . . .”

You break off for the third time, the look in his eyes forcing you to snap your mouth shut before you say something incriminating like, just us.

Dieter shakes his head. “No, we haven’t.”

“You’re telling me in six months, that’s never happened once?” You adjust on your heels and cross your arms. “It’s not like you can remember every time we’ve had sex.”

“I do.” This, coming from him, is not a question. It’s an irrefutable statement that you don’t seem able to refute with a no you don’t. There is no room for arguing.

Driving right on through the heat of your cheeks, that ache returning, you shake your head. “Then doesn’t that get old? Having to play games every single time?”

Dieter pouts as he thinks, eyes on the roof of the trailer. “Sometimes, but I don’t mind. Not enough to want to stop fucking you.”

“So, after a week of nothing, you were totally willing to let me edge you within an inch of your life? Let me treat you badly?”

Dieter smirks and it suddenly feels like you’re the one under him. “Sure, but you like me too much to keep it going for too long. And you like watching me come.”

Your teeth grind together at this very bold accusation, your entire face blazing. Weren’t you supposed to be domming him today??

His feet slide out beside you and Dieter is the very picture of arrogance, his arm still tucked behind his head. He drums his fingers on his stomach.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he says, the smirk around his mouth soft, “I like you too.”

It doesn’t. Not really. Not when his words spear through you hot and hard, landing in your chest like a landmine. Fuck.

Fuck.

“Oh, so this is all for me, then?” You ignore the fact that you’ve slipped back into your role in active defiance of talking about this anymore, and crawl forward until your forearms frame his head. That teasing contentment fades from his face as he watches you, eyes following a line that only he can see from your nose, lips, chin, throat and tits. Your hair slips off your shoulder, darkening the light on his face when you straddle his waist. “But what about you? Don’t you want to come?”

He nods, slower than before, but only to keep from breaking eye contact with you. Light as feathers, Dieter trails his fingers up the backs of your thighs, over the curve of your ass, to settle into your hips. His mouth parts in anticipation, pink tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

“I do,” he says, rolling his neck as if he can see more of you this way. “I really fuckin’ do.”

“What a coincidence.” You shift down, dragging the wet patch on the emerald green underwear beneath your drooling cunt, shift until it slides across his half-hard cock and Dieter’s hands dig into your hips, a groan breaking off in the back of his throat. His eyes slip half-closed, a thick, smoky black enveloping that beautiful brown. “So do I.”

Grinding down over so slightly, you roll your hips once more – Dieter tenses, his hands easing to the tops of your thighs – before sitting back on his knees.

“Now relax, baby, you’ve earned it.”

You drop forward over his hips, open your mouth, and slurp him up between your lips.

The noise that comes out of his chest is broken, knocked loose, split down the middle. You take him all in one, down until your nose is tickled by his coarse hairs, and you swallow. He is immediately, instantly, rock hard and dribbling. You swallow again and his hands dive into your hair, knotting the strands around his fingers, the way a rider draws up the reins of his horse. He goads you down with just gentle pressure, needy and demanding all at once, and you take him, and you take him, and you take him until the blunt head prods the back of your throat and you gag, throat constricting, and Dieter’s eyes roll back in his head.

“Shit, that’s too fucking good.”

You breathe out your nose, pulling up just enough to keep him off your reflex, but instead you hollow out your cheeks and suck, tongue pressing up against him and around that hammering vein.

And here, here comes the sound you’ve wanted from him all night –

Dieter whines, high and keening, his neck straining, your skull pinching from where he pulls. Between your thighs, the emerald green is completely ruined, buffed out dark in the wet.

The vein throbs again and you nearly drop onto your elbows, not caring if you choke or drown or sputter, you want him in your mouth, you want that salty, gooey taste of him that you find you can’t seem to lick up enough. You want him inside you –

With a grunt that morphs into a groan as it rises up his chest, he tugs hard enough on your hair that the pain splits your mouth open, head tugged back enough that he slips out of you, a thread of pre-cum from your puffy lips to the tip of his blunt head.

You lied. This wasn’t entirely for him.

You can feel your lips twist into a snarl. “Dieter, what are you –,”

He kisses you with such a force, that noise in his chest is transferred to yours, a collision that sparks a causal nexus and his own desperation bleeds with your own. The kiss is messy, dizzying, spit and pre-cum smearing across swollen lips and wet tongues. He twists his fingers deeper into your hair, as if he can consume you through the bowl of your skull.

Your name is something that tumbles, falls, drips from him, his mouth tilted a fraction of an inch away from yours. Eyes dark, full, a beast that howls for the moon in your eyes.

He’s going to fuck your brains out on the floor of this rickety-ass trailer.

Dieter tugs you forward, drags you onto your knees over him as he settles beneath you. Your fingers knock with his in a fight to reach your panties first, to shove them down your hips and thighs, get them to the floor.

Dieter’s flushed, pupils dark, big hands grappling against the weight of you as he pulls you onto him. You are so aroused, so sunken into the smoke of lust, you go as you are moved, his cock smearing apart your wet pussy. Dieter sits up, eyes locking onto where you’ve nearly become a single creature, and then he hesitates.

Sanity seems to ring his bell, for just a moment. Without waiting, he sucks two fingers into his mouth, coating them with his spit, and you can see what he’s about to do just before he moves. You shake your head, knees aching from carrying your weight against the flat trailer floor, and sit up off him, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Don’t need it,” you mutter before licking into his mouth. He drops his head back to let you sink your tongue between his lips. Both hands wrapped around his jaw, you thumb his earring and he grunts out the side of his mouth. “I want –,”

His big hands settle and it’s like he dropped a thousand pound weight between your ribs. You drop, right onto him, his cock forcibly shoving you apart in a single thrust. Dieter barks out a moan, his hands clutching your spine, teeth going for your shoulder to muffle anything else that threatens to escape him.

You swear your nerves are on fire.

He always takes his time with you, for your benefit, and his. He can be maddening and incessant and demanding, right up until this part, the part where he could actually hurt you. Right then, he waits. Lets you come to him. Let you take as much as you want and he holds you tight.

But this, this is you taking all you want and then some.

In the split second you allow for your bodies to recognize the give and the take, the swell and the invasion, you meet his gaze.

No roles. No games. No landmines.

Exposure.

Blistering and brittle.

Safety.

You curl your toes underneath you, grip his shoulders, and slide up on an inhale. On an exhale, you thrust down and you don’t know who cries out louder.

Dieter pulls you to him, arm banded around your back, the other to balance as he leans back to meet your downward strokes with his upward thrusts. His fingers pinch the clasp of your bra and the straps slide off your shoulders, your frantic bouncing knocking those emerald cups loose.

“Oh, yeah, oh fuck yeah.” He mouths at your collarbone, tonguing the sweat that blooms across your skin. Your short huffs have your chest trembling, a shudder disrupting your breath when he uses the blunt edge of his teeth against the soft curve of your breast. His nose against your skin, he turns his head and licks your nipple into his mouth. He sucks, licks, your rapid rise and fall catching your sensitive peak against the tops and bottoms of his teeth. He uses the barest hint of pressure and your back arches. He sucks your other nipple into his mouth, repeating that same pattern with his tongue, while his fingers flick your hardened bud.

You think you’re going to melt, fracture and ooze into this hot pool of pleasure that hums between your legs.

“Fuck, Dieter,” your own voice is unrecognizable, breathy and high, cut short every time his hips meet yours in a harsh slap, “I can’t –,”

He rubs up against something truly devastating inside of you and immediately your legs give out. You topple into him, arms around his neck, nose pressed up against his jaw. You feel his overheated skin, a balm, a solidifying force, against your cheek. The whirling inferno in your head soothes. A drop of sweat from his hairline trails down by your eye and you lick it.

“Make me come, Dieter,” you whisper for him, of him, beg in a way that only he can hear. You nuzzle his earring and he keens. “Please – I need it – n-n-need you.”

Open-mouthed, breath hot, flush down to his chest, he slithers the hand against your back between your warm bodies and finds your clit. Drags his thumb across it as his hips pound up into you – you can’t hear what he says in your ear, the edge you’re dangling over loud and pulsing – and then there’s a softness against your throat.

The white spark between your thighs erupts and you come so hard you scream. A release. Controlled and contained brightness now spilling out everywhere, you can feel it as you soak his lap. It drips and winds down, and it drunkenly slides off you. Finally, you curl into him, a muddled tingle radiating out across your nerves.

You sink into your skin again and hear him, still whispering, still talking.

“You’re so fucking beautiful when you come it’s okay baby I’ve got you I’ve got you I’m here – I’m gonna – g-gonna – oh, shit,”

His hips thrust up one more time before a full body shudder yanks his words and the air right out of his mouth. You melt as his cum floods your insides, the warm pulses intoxicating in the place he so forcefully claimed for his own. His shoulders curved towards you, his hand pinches the knot of your spine as if to steady himself, palm scalding against your skin. In your exhaustion, your sweaty forehead falls against his.

He doesn’t seem to mind.

Seconds mold into minutes, minutes into maybe hours then days.

Dieter’s trembling elbow finally weakens and with his arm around your back, he tips you both backwards.

His cock rubs up inside of you in a new way and your cunt clenches involuntarily. You both groan when his cum leaks out of you, squeezed out by the contraction. You shift your hips to lay fully on him, and his cock slides out, but his arm around you remains.

It remains long after your breathing settles, long after the sweat dries and your exposed skin grows cold. The longer you lay together, the more you feel he’s going to start stroking you, touching you in a way that a fuck buddy shouldn’t. But he doesn’t. He keeps you close but doesn’t move.

The feeling, the ache in your chest. It’s soothed and hastened by the beating of his heart beneath yours, your ear lying flat against his chest. It beats so loudly for you.

For some unfathomable reason, you glance up at the window. It’s dark out, the sun set and gone. For all you know, you two might be the only two people on the entire lot.

“Dieter.” His name sticks in your mouth. “Dieter, I –,”

“Five stars?”

You blink, lifting your head for the first time in ages, sweat on his skin almost suctioning your ear to his chest. He’s grinning, curls matted and damp against his forehead.

He reaches up to the table behind him and snags that stupid bingo card, along with that packet of shiny gold star stickers.

This feeling, you can contain it.

For now.

Smirking down at him, you peel off one of the bigger stars and with your thumb, you press it into the center of his forehead.

“Five stars, Dieter. Five star dick.”

His smile widens.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #the bubble fanfic #the bubble 2016 #the bubble fic #the bubble fanfiction #pedro pascal #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x oc #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #the bubble

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mvniro · 2 months

Note

Imagine Fyodor’s fem!s/o treats him like somekind of loyalty, feeding them, bathing them,hugs and kisses, riding them, since his anemic weak ahh body probably have low stamina. I just can’t stop thinking about Fyodor. He is so handsome and adorable silly little pookie <3

. a fyodor drabble.

. um is this satisfactory?

. tw ; fem!reader, nsfw mixed with sfw.

feeding fyodor .

see, fyodor is a weak man and one who doesn't show much emotions and so, he feels grateful when you do these stuff without him even asking to. he doesn't show it through words but through actions,,

,,that is, he smiles or laughs in embarrassment when you feed him but when you try to move away, you can't due to his leg hooked with your's under the table.

"leaving a man half filled is very bad dear."

he isn't really clingy unless extremely tired. not really clingy when he is sick but if you are sick? no, he still isn't clingy lol.

but but but, the man will be more stern and more strict then normal if you try to protest him from feeding you,

"tch tch. your hands should be on the table where i can see them. am i clear?" fyodor spoke quietly yet with the way his head was tilted, you didn't have it in you to be a brat and defy him.

fyodor getting angry? uh yeah, sadism at it's peak.

bathing fyodor.

this really applies only if you are married to him but bathing fyodor always somehow, ends with you on top of him in the bathtub or sprawled uncomfortably on and in the bathtub while your cheeks are hallowed as you try to suck him dry.

fyodor isn't a man of action yada yada -- that doesn't apply over here. if he is getting naked, so will you.

so while you are lifting his hand to scrub some of the coconut and vanilla soap lather on his skin, he has his back pressed against your's as he traces shapes on your shoulder blades.

for some reason, most deep talks happens during bathtime and if fyodor finds you getting lost in the sensation of his touch on your back and that you aren't actually listening to his words? he will thrust his dick onto your ass cheeks whiles his hands rub down on your inner thigh but not quite where you want them to be.

see this as edging but not really actually edging.

also gonna spread my fyodor boob guy agenda here. they are now his stress toys and entertainment from boredom.

hugs and kisses.

see, fyodor has health issues so he really does lean more towards domestic affection so expect a side hug and kiss to the forehead whenever he greets you.

you on the other hand, boobs pressed against his chest as you wrap your arms around his neck and pepper his neck in small pecks till fyodor's cheeks turn slight pink.

if you aren't that good at chess, distract him with a kiss to the lips! (it won't work but you'll get a kiss from him).

at night, in bed, fyodor likes laying betwen both of your legs as his head rests on your clevage and he is thinking of whatever super genius plan he is going to use next while your hands comb through his hair. whenever you see him biting his fingers, you either pull at his roots which makes him groan quietly or swat his hand down which makes him look at you with eyes a bit wider then usual in confusion and a small frown tugging at his lips. he bites on your breast as revenge and as a form of obedience.

riding fyodor

he may have less stamina but oh man, the way he makes you fuck him. like no matter how good you are, he will instruct you on how to pleasure him.

remember the top para in the beginning where i mentioned angry fyodor and sadism?

okay so imagine he is angry for whatever reason, he will make sure to make you ride him even after you are reallllly overstimulated and if you stop, he would lazily look at you and pinch your clit between his fingers. he will spit at your clit and stomach and rub his saliva all over you, getting off to how messily erotic you look due to him.

when you cum, like a second or two after you calmed down, fyodor would spread your legs apart and thrust up in you to draw out a second orgasm.

he has weak stamina, not no stamina. he is smart enough to know when to conserve and when to use his energy and strength.

he won't let you stop till your thighs are red from his nail marks and till they are burning as hell, till you are a panting mess.

if you wanted to stop and tried to? fyodor will grab your hair in a makeshift ponytail and pull it back to arch your back and will literally use you like a ragdoll or fleshlight.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x you #bungou stray dogs x you #bsd x y/n #bungou stray dogs fanfic #bsd fanfic #bsd smut #bsd x female reader #bsd fyodor #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #bungou stray dogs fyodor #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor x you #fyodor x y/n

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youaintnothinbuta · 2 months

Note

Hello!!! I saw you wanted some sort of army Elvis prompt so I thought I'd send one through!!! Love your stuff by the way. Daddy!Elvis 🥺🥺🥺🥺 he's so cute!!

Ok...how about...Elvis is doing like a party (can be army Elvis or Vegas Elvis or anyone of his phases up to you!) and he and the reader have been together a while, but while they're catering...this one guy and old friend of Elvis's gets a bit TOO touchy feely with her, and takes advantage of her going around catering to people by asking for continuous drinks and stuff until he's drunk. When she tells Elvis he laughs it off the first time. But then when the drunk man gets angry with the reader for refusing to serve him any more drinks he gets a little 'too' angry for Daisy and does something (you can make up what) and then she tells Elvis when she pulls him aside in tears. And then he becomes super 'protective' Elvis....please? 🥺🥺

Hope this is ok!

❤️

“She’s being a real brat.” — Elvis Presley x reader

Omg thank you for replying n for the inspo ily!!! I hope this is okay 💗 I purposely didn’t mention a time so read it as any Elvis era you like

Summary: see request^^^

Pairing: Elvis or Austin!Elvis x reader

Word count: 970

Warnings: fluff!! There is some unwelcome attention and arguing but Elvis looks after you <3

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“Don’t forget, baby, we gotta bring all those chairs outside for everyone before people start arriving,” you reminded Elvis, as the two of you prepared for the party he was hosting.

“Oh, right, thank you honey.” He kissed the side of your head, heading outside to deal with that, while you unpacked the crackers and cheeses and alcohol, his chef preparing the actual food, of course.

That evening, once everyone started arriving, you and your husband made yourselves busy, making sure to greet everyone. As the evening wore on, you found yourself bustling around, making sure everyone’s drinks were topped up and their plates were full. Amidst the lively chatter and music, you were approached by an old friend of Elvis’, a guy you vaguely remembered from previous gatherings.

“There she is! What a stunner Elvis has got himself,” he complimented you as he took another full glass of champagne from your hand, though it didn’t really feel like a compliment.

With a polite smile, you acknowledged him. “Thank you. Yes, it has been a while.”

Initially, his conversation remained innocuous, but as the night progressed, his demeanor shifted. His touches lingered longer than was appropriate, his compliments veering into the realm of discomfort. You thought it was quite interesting too how he only became this way the moment your husband was out of sight.

“Why’s your mister letting you walk around like this? I can’t take my eyes off you,” he remarked, his gaze lingering a little too intently as he brushed his hand over your lower back.

“Thank you,” you replied, a nervous edge creeping into your voice. “I should attend to the drinks.”

Stepping away, you discreetly sought out Elvis, who was engaged in conversation with other guests.

“Elvis, could I speak with you for a moment?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He turned to you, concern furrowing his brow. “Of course, what’s the matter?”

Hesitantly, you confided in him about the man’s unwelcome advances, hoping for some form of intervention.

“That guy, he’s been getting too familiar with me. I can’t even place a name to his face, I don’t even know him.” you pleaded quietly.

“Don’t stress, honey. He’s just being friendly,” he reassured, though his words did little to assuage your discomfort.

As the evening wore on, you went from feeling uneasy to borderline violated. The man, now visibly intoxicated, began demanding more drinks, despite his already inebriated state.

“Hey, sweetheart, another round over here!” he slurred, his voice growing increasingly belligerent.

“I’m sorry, but I think you’ve had enough,” you replied, trying to maintain composure despite the rising tension.

“Pardon?” He asked, his brows furrowing in confusion.

You knew he was trying to give you an opportunity to change your words, but you didn’t, repeating yourself. “You’ve had enough to drink.”

“Listen, little girl,” he plunked his empty glass down on a table, his words slurring.

He gave you a gross smile, curled his finger towards you in a come hither motion. As not to cause a scene in front of other guests, you listened to him, even if it was against your better judgment, and leaned in to him.

He positioned his face far too close to yours, startling you with a yell, “you don’t tell me when I’ve had enough. I’ll have as much as I damn well please!”

Your heart raced, and a sense of dread crept over you as his demeanor grew increasingly aggressive. Every instinct screamed at you to retreat, to find safety in the presence of Elvis. How dare someone speak to you like that? Especially in your own home. You feel uncomfortable and unsafe, and you most certainly didn’t want him in your home anymore.

Tears threatened to spill from your eyes. You were able to pretty quickly and easily pick Elvis out from the large amounts of people, tugging on his shirt to pull him aside.

“Baby, what happened?” Elvis asked, immediately clocking your glossy eyes. You began to recount what he had said to you.

“Elvis, he won’t leave me alone. He’s getting aggressive,” you implored, desperation colouring your words. Elvis’ expression hardened as he listened, his concern giving way to resolve.

Elvis approached the guy, who smile at him.

“Just the man I was looking for! Will you tell your girl to get me a drink, she’s being a real brat.”

“Listen to me, ain’t no one gonna talk to me like that, especially not about my wife,” Elvis asserted, his voice cutting through the noise of the party, “you need to leave.”

The man’s smile faltered, replaced by a look of defiance as he squared his shoulders, clearly intent on challenging Elvis’s authority. “Come on, buddy, don’t be like that,” he slurred, his words punctuated by the stench of alcohol on his breath.

Elvis’s jaw clenched, his patience wearing thin as he glared at the man. “I said leave,” he growled, his tone brooking no argument.

For a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath, tension high, then, with a defiant snort, the man turned on his heel, stumbling towards the door with unsteady steps. As soon as he was out of sight, Elvis turned back to you, his eyes softening with concern. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice gentle as he reached out to cup your cheek.

“I am now.” You nodded.

“I’m sorry, I should have listened to you. Why don’t you hang around me for a while.”

“It’s okay,” you placed your hand over his that was on your cheek. He placed a kiss on your lips, before pulling you into him, dancing with you. You laughed at his spontaneity, as he spun you around, mouthing the words I love you. You replied the same way, as others around you cheered and danced, the party quickly picking back up.

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loveneversleepss · 5 months

Text

Santa Tell Me (Naughty version)

Pairing: Lee Know x female reader, established relationship

Genre: Christmas stuff

Warnings: 18+ mature content, kissing, unprotected sex, slapping, choking, pet names.

Regular version here.. kinda short ik😓

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You push him onto his back as you crawled into his lap, straddling him. “Baby..” you lean down to kiss him, igniting your internal fires. “I want you.. please?” You mumble against his lips, he indulges you and holds you tightly. "Now I can get my real present.." He mumbles against your lips as you nod and smile against his lips. He pushes you on your back softly as he makes himself comfortable on top of you.

He begins to tear off your shirt like wrapping paper. Throwing it off to the side as his kisses flows down your body. It feels so good but you have your own idea in mind. A sudden urge of dominance, as you notice the unbuckling of his pants. You spring up, and push him down below you, getting on top of him.

He’s not opposed to this movement, he actually enjoys it. He smirks at you as you pull off his pants. “What’s so funny?” You finally notice his smile, you tilt your head. He shakes his head, “you never want to be top..” It’s true, you let him do all the work often. “Well.. I wanted to give you a good Christmas,” and with that you kiss him. While slowly gliding yourself down his length. You two slowly moan in each other’s mouth as it satisfied you both. You begin to move your hips, as his hands explore your breasts. He pinches your nipples which causes you to jerk forward at the sensation.

The friction is starting to feel just right. His lower lip goes between his teeth, showing that it feels good for him too. "Y/n," he looks up at you through his hooded eyes, he holds your hips still. You know it isn’t easy for him to let you do this either, to resist the temptation to pound into you. “I can’t.. I want..” You shush him, covering his lips with your finger. “My turn remember?” He pouts like a baby while you continue your hip movements. You drag your hand down to choke him softly, not enough so he can’t breathe or talk. His mouth drops open as you begin to go faster and faster with your hips. “Fuck, please.” He grips onto your shoulders but you knock off his hands as yours place on his chest.

You begin to scratch at his chest as the feeling builds up inside you, his groans slip out of his mouth so easily. You close your eyes and feel the warmth of him more. “I’m sorry baby,” he whispers as you feel yourself getting picked up. Your face gets mushed into sheets but you could care less. You knew at some point he would want to be dominate again. You earn a burning sensation of a slap on your ass, you moan in delight. He grips a bundle of your hair in his fist, bringing your face off the sheets. "You're gonna be a good girl for me, right?" You nod your head like crazy, doing and saying he wants.

He begins to pound into you, hard. It makes your whimper aloud and scratch at the sheets. “Shh, it’s okay baby,” he whispers into your ear. You feel a finger circle your sensitive bud as you try to crawl away. He brings you closer to him and holds you down again. “Imma make you feel good kitten, don’t run away from me.” He begins the movements again which make you squirm under him. The pleasure begins to build up for you. You begin to shake as he abuses your clit.

Him pounding your walls, hitting you in your g-spot perfectly hurts and feels so good at the same time. You can hear the bed start to shake as you realize whoever has the room next to you is suffering. “Fuck, baby,” you know he’s starting to get close so you try to focus more on the pleasure. “Lee know,” you coo at him to encourage him. You feel a knot in your stomach and cry out. You want it so bad, then with one more stroke, you hit it.

You don’t remember what happened next, just sheets in your face. You woke up with Lee know laying next to you. You smile as your fingers touch his face. “You okay baby?” He asks you as you nod with a content smile. “Never better.”

#stray kids stay #stray kids #stray kids imagines #skz lee know #straykids hard hours #stray kids smut #skz scenarios #skz imagines #straykids smut #skz x reader #skz smut #skz #leeknow smut #skz hard thoughts

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shdo-xplosion · 1 year

Text

SLIMEBALL!AIZAWA X READER

Warnings: dubcon, explicit content, aizawa wrestles with his conscience but his dick wins, aloe vera as lube, talk of when reader was his student, almost somnophilia, fingering, p in v, creampie, cum play, fem-bodied reader, reader is white-coded, described as turning pink/red from sunburn

Word Count: 2.1k

Notes: my contribution to the Wet Hot Slimeball Summer collab! thank you to @bastardblvd for letting me join! i’ve been wanting to write aizawa for a little while now and this just possessed me. hope everyone has fun with it, and make sure to check out the masterlist for more slimy content!

He should wake you up, give you a nudge where you lay in your beach towel, but Shouta can’t bring himself to. Not when he has such a perfect view of your body, the arch of your back, the curve of your ass, the way your tits squish out from beneath you, your skimpy top barely doing anything to cover them.

Fuck, he should wake you up. Your skin is already turning pink. You’re going to have painful burn lines that will peel and turn into sexy tan lines, and Shouta has to shake his head to get the image out of his mind.

His sick mind. There must be something wrong with him. You were his student for fuck’s sake, and sure, you haven’t been for a few years now. Now you’re a big shot pro, one of the top 10, but he can still remember you sitting in the back row of his classroom, mouthy, obnoxious, still learning to control your quirk.

He remembers having to tell you to shut your mouth every single day, a mouth that he finds himself staring at more and more, lips parted and pouty, and Shouta wants to slide his fingers between them, feel your tongue on his fingerprints.

But he refrains, just bites the inside of his cheek and looks out at the waves.

The beach houses are nice, other pros having rented a few out for a nice little getaway. There are still heroes in the city to protect civilians, nothing to worry about. All Shouta has to do is relax.

He’s in a house with Hizashi, All Might, Snipe, and you, and his patience is running thin. Between Toshinori’s loud ass voice and Hizashi forgetting to turn on his hearing aids, Shouta is beginning to think that maybe he does deserve a little treat. Maybe he should indulge.

No. No. Ex-student. And the media would have a field day if anything ever got leaked. Not worth it. Definitely not worth it.

But hours later finds everyone back in their respective houses, resting after a long day in the sun. Hizashi and Toshinori are passed out and Snipe has retired to his room, probably also sleeping, leaving Shouta tired but awake, listening to you hiss every time you move.

“Jesus, I haven’t had a sunburn like this since I was a kid,” you whine.

“Should’ve put on more sunscreen,” Shouta replies. Or he could’ve just woken you up. Been an actual good person instead of perving on you in your bikini.

“I meant to! But the sun felt nice, and the waves were so soothing, and I just…”

“Dozed off. Just let all those UV rays cook you.”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t need a lecture, Aizawa Sensei,” you scoff, and the way the old title makes Shouta’s dick twitch in his sweatpants. Fuck.

“You’re right, you’re right. How about I go pick up some aloe vera, then?” he offers. He needs to put some space between the two of you.

“What, I’ll stop whining?”

“Maybe,” he smirks.

Once he pulls on a shirt Shouta leaves and makes his way down to the little shop at the end of the street. All it sells is beach stuff, but lucky him, that’s all he needs.

One bottle of overpriced aloe vera and a meaningless chat with the cashier, and Shouta is on his way back to the house. He wonders if you’ll lather it on in front of him. Maybe you’ll even ask him to help.

The lightweight shirt you had put on earlier must be too much for your raw skin because you’ve gotten rid of it, walking around in a t-shirt bra and little shorts. Have you gotten even redder?

“Oh, thank god.”

“Let me throw it in the freezer for a few minutes,” Shouta says, pulling the bottle out of your reach when you practically lunge for it. “It’ll feel better cold.”

“But Aizawaaa,” you pout, sounding a lot like a petulant child, crossing your arms only to whimper and drop them back to your hips.

“It’ll be worth it. I promise.” Without giving it much thought he hooks a finger under your chin, thumb flicking your pushed-out bottom lip. When you don’t recoil from the touch, he fights to keep from pulling you closer.

Unfortunately, you don’t ask him for help when you apply the cold cream to your skin, but Shouta is granted a look at your hardened nipples through the material covering them, the icy aloe making you break out in goosebumps.

“Thank you for getting this,” you say genuinely. “It’s gonna make my nap so much easier.”

Shouta has always been good at hiding his emotions, so you aren’t able to see the disappointment he feels as he watches you retreat to your room, the green bottle in hand.

It’s fine though because an hour later he finds himself creeping in after you, eyes locked on your sleeping form. You’re lying on your stomach, likely to avoid the burn on your back that you weren’t able to reach. No blankets are covering you, the heat from your skin keeping you well warmed.

The bottle of aloe is on the nightstand, and Shouta reaches for it—room temperature now, and squirts some in his hand.

He’s doing you a favor, he reasons with himself. Your back is an ugly (beautiful) red, and he wants to help soothe you.

His hands on you don’t wake you immediately, just make you sigh and snuggle further into your pillow. Shouta gently rubs the remedy over you, as careful as possible. You feel so nice under his palms, so warm and smooth, the dip of your back calling to him. He could make you arch further, make your hips roll and buck. Your shorts ride low, waistband just above the swell of your ass, and Shouta wants nothing more than to rip them off, but he resists. Instead, he rubs up your sides, slowly and purposefully, fingers barely dipping beneath the elastic of your bra so that he grazes the sides of your tits.

That makes you stir, eyes slowly opening as tired little noises make their way out of your throat.

“”zawa?” you ask quietly, and his self-control breaks.

“Shh, just relax,” he tells you in a low voice. “It’s okay, m’just taking care of you.”

He sees your eyebrows furrow, and you try to roll over, but his strong hand presses against the small of your back to keep you from turning.

He unclasps your bra, squirts a generous amount of aloe between your shoulder blades, and begins working again. At first he thinks you believe that his actions truly are innocent. You can’t see or feel how hard he is in his sweats, how precum is already beading at his tip.

That belief is shattered when he moves his hands upward again, this time sliding under you to cup your tits.

“Aizawa!” You push yourself so that you’re sitting up awkwardly, but all it does is make it easier for him to grope you and press his lips to your shoulder.

“You don’t have to pretend you don’t want this,” he drawls, smirking into your skin. “I haven’t forgotten about your little schoolgirl crush.” Because as much as you may have annoyed him in class, you still looked at him with hearts in your eyes. It was easy for him to deduce that all your smartass comments were just to get his attention.

“That doesn’t mean…” You trail off when he pinches both of your nipples, pulling a quiet moan from you.

“Just once, sweetheart. You owe me after teasing me the last few days.”

“I wasn’t…”

“Walking around in your short little dresses, prancing around with these pretty tits falling out of your bikini tops.” He gives you a tight squeeze before letting go of the plump flesh in order to trail his hands down further. “Let me have you just once.”

You only resist a little when he pushes you back down on the bed, face down again. You’ve lost your bra, and Shouta is quick to pull your cotton shorts down your legs, revealing that you’re wearing nothing underneath them.

He groans, groping your ass, bouncing your cheeks before spreading them to show your folds.

“Such a pretty cunt,” he growls, running a finger down your slit as far as he can. You’re already wet for him—such a good girl—but he still wants to get you slicked up and messy.

Shouta grabs the bottle of aloe vera once again, covering his fingers with it then slowly pushing two of them inside of you.

“Ahh, fuck, ‘zawa,” you gasp. With your cheek against the pillows, Shouta can see the way your mouth opens, eyes wide as they flick around to whatever you can see. Your body is tense, but you aren’t fighting him, thighs parting a little more.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he purrs. You don’t respond, just bite your bottom lip. Doesn’t matter. As long as you let him touch you he’ll be a happy man.

Pumping his fingers, Shouta stares at your reddened skin and gets the idea to mark you, presses his fingertips into your flesh then pulls them away, admiring the light circles they leave behind. Mesmerized, he grips your ass with one hand, squeezing to create those same marks just under the curve.

“Fuck, you’re sexy.” He punctuates it with a spank that makes you jolt, but you quickly melt when he curls his fingers a certain way. “You ready for my cock, baby? I’ll be gentle. I know you’re sore.”

A lie. He slicks himself up with more aloe then thrusts into your heat all at once, stretching you on his fat cock and holding you in place when you squirm.

“Y-you said… nnfuck.”

“I know what I said, but your pussy is just too—” he snaps his hips back and forth, eyes rolling in his head. “Too sweet. Can’t help it.”

Shouta tugs you up so that you’re on your knees, back pressed to him, and he knows the friction is hurting you, the coarse hair on his chest chafing your raw skin, but at this angle he can reach in front of you to play with your neglected clit, massaging it with two fingers.

“‘zawa let me… at least let me ride you,” you plead.

It’s a tempting thought, but… “you feel so good like this, though. So warm, taking my cock so well.”

He presses a hand low on your tummy, swears he can feel his dick moving, but he gets distracted when you let your head hang back to rest on his shoulder. Opportunity presents itself with your neck so open, and Shouta wraps his fingers around your throat, just barely squeezing.

He’s so deep inside you, cockhead nudging your cervix. Ohh, he wants to fuck you so full of his cum, wants to see you sprawled on the mattress dripping with him, wants to see you ruined.

Words stick in your throat, but your lips are moving like you want to say something. Shouta pants in your ear, “what is it, baby? What do you want?”

“Wanna—wanna cum,” you whimper, and now Shouta knows that you’ve fully accepted him. You’re not mad at him for fucking you, no. You want this. You want him.

“Cum, then,” he growls, nipping your earlobe. “Cum on my cock, I wanna feel your pussy—”

Your back arches painfully, sensitive skin pulling taut as you cry out and cream all over him. Feeling your cunt contract around him, Shouta fucks into you harder and deeper, using you like a rag doll as he gets lost in your climax, climbing to his own.

He’s not sure he’s ever cum so hard in his life, thick lines shooting from his dick and coating your guts. Shouta bites into your shoulder hard enough for you to yelp and try to slap him away, but all of his muscles are so tight that even his jaw is locked. His hips stutter as strings of white keep shooting into you, your used cunt so full of him that it starts leaking back out of you.

When he pulls out, Shouta scoops some of his cum out of you, dazed as he smears it down the pink of your spine.

“What the hell are you doing?” you ask breathlessly, falling forward onto the mattress and glaring.

Shouta shrugs his shoulders. “Aloe works just as good as lube. Maybe cum’ll work well as aloe.”

“That’s disgusting.”

So is he. But at least he finally learned to relax on his vacation.

2023©️shdo-xplosion. please do not plagiarize or repost my work to any other platforms.

#aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x reader #aizawa smut #mha x reader #bnha x reader #tw dubcon

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vintagemulti · 2 years

Text

rainfall

pairings: bradley “rooster” bradshaw x pilot!reader

desc: you’ve always had a thing for your best friend. this mission didn’t help.

warnings: this is quite long😵‍💫, swearing, sex references and innuendos, alcohol and drunkness, death and family member loss, dissociation mentions, i know NOTHING about pilots/flying sorry, this WILL be a series !!!

a/n: someone tell me to stop making series. i beg. this is my little writer brain not being able to watch anything without making a character WHOOPS. anyways, i’ve not seen the first top gun. so. cannon? who? we don’t know her. also i hate called bradley rooster i can’t work out why but i’ll only refer to him as it when flying. soz.

series masterlist

masterlist

you had been in bali when you got the call. you and bradley, in bali, relaxing. but who ever said naval pilots get to relax?

it was something you had gotten far too used to, having to pack up your things and get the first flight back to the states. sure, you had been the one to chose this career and the disruptions you faced were consequences of your own actions, but you had really - really, really - hoped that you didn’t get called up when you did.

two weeks in bali with bradley bradshaw, the highlight of your year. it had been planned for almost a year, which was saying something. normally you and bradley would say you’d do something, and it would never actually end up happening. but no - this vacation had went ahead, and you’d had six days of utter bliss before the dreaded number showed up on your phone.

bradley had been phoned right after you, his reaction being about the same. annoyed, upset but somewhat excited. what the fuck was all this about? both you and him being on the same mission?

and so you had packed all your stuff and made your way back to california, dropped your bags off at your separate apartments and rushed to put together an emergency bag, with your uniforms and workout clothes inside.

that took you up to now, sat in the passenger side of bradley’s new range rover, forty minutes into the drive back to the naval base on lake tahoe. it wasn’t far away now - only ten or so minutes, but the sun was beginning to slowly dip it’s head, ever so slightly.

you were still dressed in your summer clothes, a tight, black dress with white lining and held up by a strap around your neck. it was low cut, a little lower than you’d like for the first time meeting your other teammates, but there wasn’t any time to get changed.

bradley was dressed in the same way, tight white tank top covered in a hawaiian shirt, nude-coloured cargos covering his thighs. and, of course, his aviator glasses. was it really bradley without them?

he turned into one of the roads leading to the hard deck - a bar frequented by everyone within a mile vicinity - and you turned to look at him, right as the sunlight hit him. golden rays washed over his skin, his collarbones shining and under his sunglasses you could see his brown eyes - turned like honey in the light.

you thought he looked beautiful, but you’d never tell him.

“this better be good,” he spoke, breaking the moment of silence. “that hotel cost a fuckin’ fortune.”

rolling your eyes, you nodded. “you’re lucky i remembered we get travel insurance. who was it that was determined we didn’t, again?”

“oh, shut up,” bradley said, but you could see the outline of a smirk on his mouth. “no one ever told me we get that.”

“lies!” you laughed. “they put it in the ads, that if you get called up while away, they pay you back whatever you lost.”

it was bradley’s turn to roll his eyes. “alright, miss ‘i always read the fine print’.”

“at least i can read,” you joked back.

electing to ignore the snide comment he made back, you reached into the passenger side compartment, searching for your own sunglasses - feeling nothing. you looked around the car, sighing in defeat as you realised you must have left your pair at home.

spotting another pair of aviators on the dashboard, you picked them up. “can i borrow these?”

bradley looked at what you were referring to, almost laughing when he saw his spare glasses in your hand.

“go ahead, sugar, i won’t need ‘em.”

putting the sunglasses on, you pushed down the butterflies in your stomach that flew around with the pet name.

the hard deck came into view, looking busy already. it was so loud - you could practically hear the music playing from the jukebox all the way out here.

“takes you back, huh?” you asked.

“that it does,” bradley pulled into a parking spot. “feels like yesterday we were here last.”

“wrong,” you undid your seatbelt. “yesterday we were in a five star villa in bali.”

opening the car door, you stepped onto the concrete, your heels clicking against the ground. why did you wear these again? good god, it would be a long night. bradley joined you, walking towards the front door of the bar. it was so loud now - it was like you were already inside.

he pulled the door open, letting you in first. fireworks exploded all over your body as his hand moved around your waist, letting him manoeuvre himself to be standing next to you. you let him take the lead to where the rest of your team appeared to be, and you watched him walk - his swagger that was just so fucking hot almost making you forget you were stood completely still.

most of the faces you recognised - actually, you recognised all of them. pheonix, hangman, fanboy and payback we’re speaking to bradley, and someone you had recently been introduced to was the first person to notice you.

“rainfall! hey, how’s it going?” bob smiled at you, the other people snapping their heads to look at you as well.

“yeah, alright, how’re you?” you answered, him nodding a reply.

“wow,” hangman spoke first. “both rooster and rainfall arrive late, not in uniform? been busy, you two?”

“about as busy as your mum, hangman.” you retorted, those around you letting out a surprised laugh.

“that’s not the most important question,” pheonix tilted her head. “what the hell is this? what can they possibly be trying do here?”

you furrowed your eyebrows, prompting her to go on; “well, we’re the best there is. who the hell can teach us?”

the question took you by surprise - but it wasn’t irrelevant. the only briefing you had was this was a training program for an intense mission, and only those who had came top of the top gun class would be accepted, so, pheonix was thinking right. who could possible teach the best pilots out there?

a bell rang throughout the bar, interrupting your thoughts. everyone cheered, knowing exactly what the bell meant.

“poor guy,” rooster mumbled. “i’m going to the restroom, get me a drink?”

you nodded, walking over to the bar.

he wasn’t recognisable at first - he looked so different. but it was the eyes that gave it away, he was still young behind the eyes.

“it’s you, then.” you mumbled, taking the empty spot next to him at the bar.

maverick looked at you, realisation hitting when he clocked who you were. “nice to meet you, rainfall. i’ve heard lost about you.”

“so have i.” looking at him, he wasn’t the man you had built up in your head. he looked nicer.

sighing, maverick nodded slowly. “i thought that’s who you came in with.”

“he won’t want you to teach him, you know that, right? you… you ruined his life, maverick. his mum’s, too.” you said, although you knew it wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard a million times already.

“yep,” maverick clicked his tongue. “i thought that would be an issue.”

“he hates you.”

“i know.”

bradley might have hated maverick, but you didn’t. sure, he was an arrogant ass from what you had heard and he destroyed your best friends family, but you personally had nothing against him.

penny walked over to you, interrupting your conversation with her greetings.

“wow, y/n, you’re here too? damn, what a mission.”

“hey, pen,” you smiled. “i know, i know.”

she raised her eyebrows. “must be serious, huh?”

you raised your hands in defence. “i have absolutely no idea what this mission’s about, swear.”

humming in response, she changed the subject; “what’re you for?”

“uhh, a blue WKD for me and the house beer for brad.”

she nodded, looking at the man next to you. “he’s paying, by the way.”

you almost laughed, turning to maverick. “unlucky son of a bitch. you better take a loan out, maverick.”

“how was i meant to know the rules, huh? i’ve not been here in god knows how long.” he grumbled.

both you and penny chuckled as she served your drinks, taking one in each hand and moving away from the bar, you turned to look at maverick again.

“mav,” you called, and he looked around. “good luck.”

he smiled, nodding. you would admit it would be hard work for him, and it must be difficult to teach the boy who’s father you watched die. but then again, he could have declined the job.

spotting bradley, you walked over to him and handed him the glass of beer. he thanked you, face contorting in disgust as you noticed what you were drinking.

“i don’t know how you stomach that stuff, sugar, it’s all sweetener.”

“says the man who threw up after three of them. they’re only like, three percent as well.”

bradley narrowed his eyes. “all sweetener.”

laughing, you walked with him to join the rest of the group. your feet already began to ache with every step you took, straps digging into your ankle. god - it would be a long night.

if you were counting how many drinks deep you were, you’d have used up all your fingers. you’d been here for a few hours, at least, the sun was almost setting now.

you could see it from the small window in the bathroom, the blur effect on the window turning the sunset into just colour. you didn’t need to pee or anything, just a minute. it was a fair assumption to say you were an extrovert, and loved to be around people, but the noise of the crowd in the bar had become slightly too loud, especially as maverick had just been thrown overboard.

the sound of a piano playing came muffled through the door, followed by a familiar singing voice. it made you smile; hearing bradley drunkenly scream out ‘great balls of fire’.

washing your hands and quickly drying them, you walked back out of the bathroom and into the crowd, thanking the girl who had been holding your drink for you. you walked towards the piano, seeing bradley completely in his element.

“kiss me baby, ooh! that feels good, good!” he sang, everyone joining in.

leaning against the piano, you joined in, the lyrics coming as a second language, this song was practically indented into your brain.

as you sang, you watched bradley’s hands hit every note perfectly, his fingers tracing the keys with a gentle-harshness, something that just about set you off. a man who was good with his fingers? lord have mercy.

he looked at you, as if on cue, smiling as you sang out the words. bradley took a spilt second to remove his hands from the keys, gesturing to his lap.

you tilted your head. he can’t be serious, can he?

“sit!” he called, hands going back to playing the instrumental section.

maybe it was the drinks you’d had, influencing your system. but it took you the whole of two seconds to decide to follow his order, slipping under his arm and placing yourself down on his lap. people around you whooped, especially the ones in your team. had this happened before? you couldn’t remember through the tipsy-horny-lovesick haze that had clouded your vision.

bradley’s leg bounced, making you laughing against his chest. when he started singing, you joined in with him, your voice coming out as more of a tuned shout compared to bradley’s angelic singing voice.

“kiss me baby,” you looked up at him. that second you made eye contact - that whole second - felt like an eternity. it felt like no one was watching, thay for once the love that remained behind your eyes finally appeared behind his, too.

or maybe that was the vodka shots talking.

“ooh! that feels good, good,” he sang.

you looked away, staring at his hands once again while you sang the words. if you had kept staring, you would have seen the way he looked at you while he sang; “i’ma tell the world that you’re mine, mine, mine, mine!”

if you had seen that, you probably would have melted on the spot.

the song came to an end, everyone cheering for bradley’s fantastic piano performance, yourself included. you fell against his chest, laughing like a schoolgirl. he laughed too, taking his hands off of the keys to embrace you.

was this normal for best friends, you wondered? did everyone do this when they were drunk? the answer: wait and find out.

“i’m gonna get a drink,” you smiled at him, finally standing up.

“alright, darlin’, get me a beer?”

“god,” you feigned annoyance. “one day you’ll pay for your own beers, bradley bradshaw.”

you walked away before you heard his mumbled comeback; “yeah, our wedding day.” but, even if you hadn’t walked away, what would you have done?

walking to the bar, you leaned against it, ordering with penny for the god-knows-how-many-th time that night.

“thanks,” you smiled.

“is that a tan line i see?” penny asked, pouring out a beer.

“yep,” you popped the ‘p’. “i was in bali with brad, was supposed to be there until next week.”

“oh,” she sat down one of the glasses. “but you got called up?”

nodded, you took a drink of bradley’s beer, instantly regretting it. “fuckin’ hate the navy sometimes.”

penny stopped in her tracks. “oh, y/n, did i just hear what i think i did?”

your eyes widened. “no, penny, please, i’m seriously broke right now, i’m begging-”

the bell ringing cut you off. hanging your head, you felt multiple people clap your back.

“oh, no, what do we have here?” bradley appeared at your side, laughing.

“this one,” penny giggled. “was insulting the navy.”

bradley exaggerated a gasp, putting his hands over his mouth. “no!”

“yep!”

“tut, tut, tut, lieutenant l/n!” he joked.

you raised your middle finger in response.

“honestly, rooster,” penny was half way away, walking to serve another customer. “get your girlfriend under control!”

the heat rose to your cheeks, head snapping up. luckily for you, you were ninety-nine percent sure that bradley didn’t hear her, but when you were sober, you’d have to tell her off about almost spilling your decade long secret.

“my god, brad,” you walked away from the bar. “i’m gonna be so broke tomorrow.”

he giggled, a sound your drunk mind would have registered as the trumpets of heaven, the best music in the world - every lovely sound put together. god, how in love were you?

“come on, rainfall,” bradley led you to the table the group were all sat at. “the night is young!”

there’s a saying, if you had a dollar for every time this happened, you’d be rich. well, if you had a dollar for every time you’d gotten blackout drunk the day before the first day of training and had to get up at the crack of dawn, you’d have slightly too many dollars. every time, every single time.

as you sat, shoulders straight and hair tied ever so slightly too tight, the commander speaking about something you weren’t properly listening to - the thought of about seventy aspirin was popping into your mind, almost soothing your headache with the sheer thought of it.

footsteps came from behind you, but you didn’t turn around. you knew who it was. instead, you looked at bradley, who was sat in the chair next to you.

as his eyes fell on maverick, you noticed the way his whole smug demeanour fell - for just a moment. you then noticed how he put those walls straight back up, clenching his jaw and shifting in his seat. he cleared his throat, making eye contact with you and raising his eyebrows.

looking away, maverick started speaking.

you must have been truly hungover, because from the second maverick opened his mouth to right now felt like it went by in a blink - you couldn’t tell if you had dissociated the entire time or if you weren’t interested enough to actually pay attention.

zipping up your flight suit, you smiled to yourself. this was your first training exercise for what seemed to be an impossible mission. getting in and out of a thin passage within a minute and a half seemed unrealistic, but compared with the insanely low hard deck and the pull up? you’d be lucky if you made it out alive.

a few planes were already in the air as you stepped onto the tarmac, helmet in hand. looking to your right, you saw two planes, to your left; pheonix and bob doing push-ups.

the exercise was simple; don’t get caught. if you do, you have to do two hundred press ups.

you had almost laughed when maverick set the exercise, how insanely easy it sounded. unfortunately for maverick, he had never flown with you before - he hadn’t quite learnt the meaning of your call sign.

radio chatter sounded from your headset as you climbed into your plane, spotting bradley on the tarmac as well. everyone had insisted you two went last - the top two of the class. even hangman bit back his ego for two seconds to admit that you had finished top of the class, so you should go last.

that’s right, you came top of your class. one of the best pilots of the last decade, apparently. it had earned you quite a reputation, pilots almost always recognising you wherever you went. you were some kind of a legend.

buckling yourself in and triple checking your belts were secure, you pulled your helmet over your head, and your ears were filled with radio chatter. bradley got into the plane next to you, doing the same thing.

“when are we ready to take off, mav?” you asked, closing the top of your plane.

“any time now, rainfall.” he replied.

it was a feeling you always craved, taking off. as a little girl, you used to love going on holiday, just because when the plane would take off and your stomach would turn, it made you smile. from that moment, and from the moment you saw the pilots in all the different documentaries, you knew you wanted to fly planes.

just in a little more extreme way. a way, way more extreme way.

gaining speed, you clicked the needed buttons and flipped the right switches in order to take off, and the tarmac got smaller and smaller as you flew higher into the sky. hearing bradley take off a few moments later, you knew the game was about to begin.

you knew this would be personal for bradley - getting beaten by maverick. anything maverick did to him, it would be personal. you prayed he would be able to separate the pilot from the person, just for a minute.

“good morning aviators,” maverick spoke. “ready to play?”

“oh you are on,” you smiled, still gaining height. “old man.”

bradley laughed over the radio, making you smile even wider.

“for everyone listening over the radio,” you spoke. “get ready to listen to the best flight of your life.”

down on the ground, the rest of the team laughed.

“ready?” maverick asked. “three, two, one… the game has begun.”

you understood the purpose of this exercise - dogfighting. to watch out for yourself while attacking at the same time. playing both offence and defence.

seeing bradley slip into your peripheral, you looked around for the other plane. still gaining height, you hoped to god that your technique would stay reliable.

everything felt like a blur - you were flying so fast, so high, nothing felt real. keeping your eye out for maverick, you swerved through the clouds.

“all alright, rooster?” you hated calling him by his call sign. if felt so… impersonal, weird.

“all good here, rainfall. you?”

you nodded, even though he wouldn’t see it. “no sign of him.”

looking down, you could see bradley underneath you and to the right. he wouldn’t even notice you, if he hadn’t learnt to always look up.

“oh hello, you,” he said, the smugness seeping through the radio.

“hello, rooster.” you smiled.

as you stared down at him, a second plane came into view, far enough away that bradley wouldn’t notice him.

“rooster, on your left!” you called, swerving away as soon as you said it.

“shit,” he mumbled, and you could see him fly away.

“language, folks, come on.” maverick laughed.

“alright grandpa.” you joked back.

looking below you, you could barely see the two planes dogfighting, but from the small glimpse you got, it wasn’t looking great for bradley. maverick was too fast.

“hurry up, rooster,” you spoke your mind. “he’s faster than you.”

“yeah, thanks for that observation.” he grumbled back.

“cheeky.”

from your point of view, the dogfighting was getting even more intense, bradley constantly being tailed by maverick. you hoped once again, that bradley didn’t take this too seriously.

a dial tone broke your thought.

“and rooster, you are out.” maverick spoke over the radio, making you sigh.

“fuck you.”

and there it was; all of your proof that bradley had taken it personally. fuck, this would be a hard one to calm him down from.

“ready to fight, rainfall?” maverick said, and you could almost see his smirk.

pushing everything else in your mind to the side, you let the calm, slightly arrogant side of you take control.

“do you know why my call sign is rainfall?” you asked, already spotting maverick below you.

“i suppose you’re going to enlighten me?”

you let a beat of silence pass, making sure you were in the right position. it was obvious maverick was looking for you, but you were at least fifty feet above him, slightly in front of him. why did no one ever look up?

“or not?” maverick added.

“because,” you paused, gripping your gearstick a little tighter. “rain always comes from above, and you don’t see it until it’s on you.”

with those words, you descended with absolutely no warning. as you came closer to maverick, he seemed obviously surprised, fumbling for a moment to move out of the way so you didn’t fall straight into him.

“jesus, kid,” he mumbled.

“did you know that i came top of my class?” you pulled back up without hesitation, g-force pushing you back ever so slightly.

“yeah, i read it somewhere,” maverick was flying parallel to you. “i wasn’t too of my class.”

“oh, i know,” you somehow managed to keep your tone casual. “iceman, right?”

maverick hummed over the radio, obviously too focused on getting you out.

but your technique was working perfectly. descend on them, climb up, and when the least expect it….

pulling away, you circled around maverick, seeing the outline of a target appear in your helmet. he hadn’t even realised what you had done.

a dial tone sounded through the radio silence, everyone on land holding their breath - even bradley.

“you,” a voice cut through the radio. “are out. good game, maverick.”

the people on ground cheered almost loud enough for you to hear all the way up in the air.

“what the hell?” maverick was in disbelief. “what?”

“i’ll see you on ground, mav.”

the sun was already setting by the time maverick had finished his press ups. he must not have taken in personally, offering to buy you a drink for how well you had flown.

but you didn’t want a drink, you were too concerned with other things. it had been hours since the training had ended, and bradley was still outside, doing press ups.

you walked onto the tarmac, out of your flight suit and in casual clothes, the figure of bradley noticeable - everything still apart from him.

he was shaking, sweating, almost sunburnt. the most noticeable thing was his red eyes, they were so red you thought he must have burst a blood vessel.

“bradley?” you called, getting closer to him. he didn’t answer.

walking right next to where he was, you sat down. sat, right on the hot tarmac - it heated up your legs. “bradley, please,” you called again.

this wasn’t new - for him to do exercise until he just about burst. some people punch walls, some people drink - bradley worked out. maybe it was just as unhealthy as every other coping mechanism.

his arms were so shaky, he almost couldn’t even keep himself up right. you wanted right then and there to take him into your arms, let him cry his heart out and tell him that one day - one day in the future - it will get easier.

as if he could hear your thoughts, he stopped. collapsed onto the ground, arms finally giving in. you could hear him, choking out sobs between breaths - it just about broke your heart.

“come here,” your fingers brushed his arm, and it was like he just needed the instruction to do so, because he moved into your arms and clung onto your shirt, just like a baby.

you didn’t care where you were. no one was looking, anyway. everyone went home or went elsewhere hours ago, you and bradley were most likely the only two people left there.

“what is it?” you cooed, gently running a hand through his hair.

“he- my dad, he- maverick-” and that was all he had to stutter out for you to understand.

“i know, i know,” you bent over him, almost encasing him in your body. kissing his head, you repeated the phrase over and over again.

it was in that moment that for the second time in twenty four hours you thought to yourself - is this normal for best friends to do? it is, right? like, you would do it for any of your other friends?or maybe that’s what you liked to tell yoursef to deny the simple fact;

you were in love with bradley bradshaw, your best friend.

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bestialchorus · 6 months

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MOVING IN WITH YOUR WEREWOLF GIRLFRIEND INCLUDES:

-For months, you’ve both been tiptoeing around the topic. Since you first started dating, quick quips like being excited to be “roommates” one day were always uttered whenever you were forced to say goodbye to each other. How these dreams were peppered in daily conversations, holding desires you each assumed were hidden from the other. How quickly those jokes gained weight the more your lives became intertwined. You loved her, and by the gods, did she love you. The love you shared was akin to the romances you once dreamed of, romances acted out in movies but seldomly found in your world.

-On one fateful night, you finally find the courage to whisper, “I want to live with you.” Her glowing eyes meet yours as the moonlight peaks in through the window. She softly rubs her canine head against your face, instantly filling you with warmth. You feel your lover start to shift back, leaving a large woman who is as much muscle as she is beauty”. “There’s nothing I’d love more,” she purrs close to your ear before softly dragging her finger down your body, sending a shiver down your spine. Her hand meets a familiar wetness. You start to whimper as you feel two long fingers slowly enter your folds. “Relax, baby girl, I’ll take care of you. Now and forever”. A few hours later, you lie on top of her as she gently rubs your back and plays with your hair. You talk deep into the night about what kind of home you want to build together. You remember passing out at some point as sleep finally catches up with you. You could have sworn you heard a whispering voice saying, “I can’t wait to call you my wife.” But maybe you just dreamt it.

-Right off the bat, it seemed money wouldn’t be much of an issue. You don’t quite understand at first, but she explains that she’ll soon be receiving a form of “inheritance” promised to alphas who reach a certain age. You still insist on contributing, and she doesn’t fight you on this, respecting you as a partner and her mate.

-After months of searching, you finally end up finding a place that suits both of your needs.

-Moving day was a lot less stressful than you thought it’d be. You remember packing up the last box one morning when you heard a knock at the door. Your girlfriend opens it, and a group of werewolves greet you with toothy smiles and warm mornings as they start to pile into your small apartment. You’ve spent much time with the pack, so all the faces before you were friendly. You can’t help but smile as one jokes, “I cant believe you’ve found someone who can actually tolerates ya, let alone live wit ya”. Some join in on the teasing as others come to chat with you. Without having to ask, each ONE immediately starts picking up a box and moving it down to the large pick-up truck outside your building. You release a surprised “EEP” as your alpha picks up while you’re holding a small box, “I wanna help too,” she giggles as she carries you bridal style to the truck. You feigned annoyance as you smack her arm, secretly loving every minute of it. All of your items (and yourself) are quickly loaded into the large vehicle with your girlfriend behind the wheel.

-After all your stuff is unpacked in the new place, the best part of moving could finally begin; decorating. You spend the next few days shopping together, hitting thrift stores throughout the city, and you actually find some pretty great stuff! One may have been a brand new pair of fuzzy handcuffs that your lover INSISTS will be essential for a “happy home.”

-You come home one day and immediately stop in your tracks as you find your partner in a tight tank top and parachute pants, her outfit covered in paint as she moves a roller against the wall. Your brain turns to mush as her prominent abs peek through the thin fabric. She can’t help but smirk once she catches you ogling her. She decides then that it’s time for a bit of fun. Without saying a word, she takes off her shirt, revealing the body you were always in awe of. “I’m feeling a little warm after all this painting, honey, do you mind getting me a glass of water”? She acts as if she didn’t just fry all the neurons in your brain. You quickly shake your head and dash to the kitchen as you feel your cheeks heat up.

-The house renovations have been complete torture. Whether it’s putting down new hard floor or tightening some plumbing. Your alpha is always wearing very little clothing; claiming she runs warm. You can believe that, but the image of your sweaty, beyond-built partner wearing a tool belt was sending you into your own version of heat. You’ve gotten little work done because you have a literal goddess walking around with a power drill. You decide to work a few days at the office going forward…

-Every day feels like an endless sleepover. Catching each other up on your day, grocery shopping together, painting each other’s nails, etc., it truly feels like you are hanging out with your best friend….a best friend who also just so happens to be 6’4 and able to crush a dresser with her bare hands….but best friends not the less.

-Another benefit of living with an extremely self-sufficient werewolf is that she’s an incredible cook. One night you come home and immediately smell the aroma of your favourite meal floating in the air. Her lips gently meet your neck as soon as you enter the kitchen, and your breath stops for a moment. “I’ve been cooking all day and while I’m excited for you to eat, I’m starving, baby”. You don’t get a moment to think as she has you bent over the table in a split second. That night you end up being her appetizer as she helps you build up an appetite.

-You insist on helping her whenever she puts on a tie. You love putting her together for the day but love even more that you’re the sole person who gets to see her without all the bells and frills. You may share a space with your alpha, but you’re her true home.

-Showering together has become one of your favourite rituals. You help the other wash the day off as warm water makes you melt. It always starts off innocently enough but very quickly becomes less than innocent whenever she starts to scrub around certain intimate areas….

-You had never thought much of a “forever” home while growing up but now realize it’s not only possible with your alpha. But that you’ll have one as long you’re with her.

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fandomfluffandfuck · 1 month

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It’s been a bit since I wrote about feral!Bucky but I genuinely cannot put into words how much Steve (and me) loves him

Bucky now associates physical touch with pain, with torture. He hides from visitors, scampers away from touch, and never lets anyone get close to him. Nevertheless, Steve wakes up from a nap one day with Bucky curled into his side, and Steve is pretty sure that if he could, Bucky would be purring like a kitten.

“Bucky?” Steve asks tentatively, trying not to spook him. Bucky doesn’t seem to be upset by Steve sudden consciousness, instead just making a small noise and wrapping his arms around Steve’s chest possessively. He mumbles something that sounds like “Stevie”.

“You alright, angel?” Steve asks with a grin, confused but pleased with the change in Bucky’s demeanor. He knew Bucky had always been closer with Steve, trusting him more than others, but this was still new territory. He slides his arms around Bucky, which causes Bucky to make a happy noise that Steve hasn’t heard in years.

————

Also, maybe Bucky’s a bit territorial now that he’s been given more freedom. The poor thing doesn’t know what to do with himself. However, after consulting a bunch of psychiatrists and Dr. Banner, Steve knows what he needs to do. He empties out an old walk in closet, and fits it with as many soft things as he can find. He buys as many plushies as he can afford, and stuffs the closet with them. He remembers how much Bucky hates harsh lights now and decides to buy those pretty string lights that Peter has in his room at the tower. He shows it to Bucky when it’s finished and they’ve both had a good day.

“It’s all your own space, Buck. I’m never going to come in here without your permission. I swear it.” Steve says, holding Bucky’s hand, which lately Bucky won’t let go of.

“It’s… mine?” Bucky says, slowly, tentatively. He’s scared that all of this will be taken away.

“Yeah, Buck. Yours.” Steve says, as comforting and securely as I can, trying to make his confidence transfer to Bucky.

Steve is tackled in a hug, and there are tears wetting his shirt. He hugs Bucky back, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“Thank you.” The whisper is so soft, so small, that it’s almost imperceptible. But Steve hears it. He’ll always hear Bucky.

————

Then, of course, there’s the moment when Steve’s telling Bucky about life back in Brooklyn, a topic that Bucky is very interested in. He’s going on about something that they did to piss off Becca (“we were teenagers, Buck. The best entertainment we had was making that poor girl mad.”) when Bucky stops him.

“I remember.”

Steve drops the pencil he’s holding. “You… You do?” There’s so much hope in his voice. There’s unshed tears in Bucky’s eyes, and a small smile on his face.

“Yes. Rebecca. My Becca.” Bucky’s smile gets bigger, as does Steve. Steve rushes to his side, hugging him. Bucky’s crying, and Steve’s not far behind him. Bucky laughs, and it is the best goddamn sound Steve Rogers has ever heard. “She was so mad. I can’t believe we did that.” He giggles, and it makes Steve feel like maybe everything will be okay.

previous feral!Bucky

Me too! I am such a fucking sucker for feral Bucky

I am beside myself thinking about Bucky being so touch adverse only for Steve to wake up and find him tucked into his side 😫 and there's something so special, too, about Bucky having moments in recovery where he's so suddenly more himself. It makes it so much more painful to see the rapid realignment. It's as if he's found two loose ends and knotted them together as quickly as his fingers would allow to ensure that he doesn't misplace them again. Gah! It's so just 🤌🏻ouch🤌🏻

Oh my god!! The territorial thing, yes! I've had this in my notes for actual years, waiting for me to come back to it and do something with it:

Sometimes, during Bucky's recovery, he latches onto things with this ferocity, holding until his fingers hurt, distraught when he accidentally breaks it, if the object of desire is fragile, claiming "mine." He won't let anyone touch it, not unless it's over his dead body. Steve has genuinely never been so distraught and proud of someone for grabbing a mug and declaring it as their own. Bucky deserves to have his own things.

Same wavelength, lmao

That's so fucking sweet, though! I love the idea of Bucky having his own space. (And I love the idea of Peter's room in the tower having fairy lights. Fuck yeah.)

Ah! That last part is the fucking best. Steve will never be as eager to be interrupted as he is when he's in the middle of a story, and Bucky stops him because he remembers. He doesn't need to tell him again, he remembers. Steve could fucking kiss him. Steve will kiss him. Steve will pick him up and spin him around, clutching his waist all the while, a huge grin on his face.

In conclusion:

Thank you so, so much for this!!

#asks #sillysickly #anon provided writing #bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #hurt/comfort

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shutupineedtothink · 8 months

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More Moiraine & Lan (and the Bond) thoughts, because I really just can’t help myself.

Just thinking about how we know every Aes Sedai and Warder share the Bond, but we don’t see any other AS/Warder teams using it as a form of communication NEARLY as much as Moiraine and Lan do.

Like these mofos are having full conversations with head tilts and tiny eyebrow raises and 3 seconds of eye contact from the jump. Sometimes not even looking at each other. And it’s extra great if you’re a show only like me because you only realize it when you go back later after all the stuff with the Bond is explained in 1x04/1x05. Like I remember thinking when I was first watching the pilot ‘wow, these two are really in sync, clearly they’ve known each other a long time,’ but it’s so much more than that obviously.

Now, one easy explanation for this is that we’re just seeing them the most, they’re main characters, and s1 especially does a lot of work hyping up the Bond and how important it is so that we get the full impact of them being cut off later. Makes sense.

But… idk like even Alanna and Ihvon and Maksim, who are actually in a romantic relationship, don’t seem to prefer the Bond as a way to communicate. We even see them have their little diplomatic discussion before Ihvon goes to follow Tomas. It’s an actual conversation. Maksim even prefers the Bond masked, so I guess in that way they kind of have to talk to each other.

Verin and Tomas are pretty quiet in general, but still it’s not emphasized that they use the Bond to communicate that much. Perhaps this is also highlighted by Tomas’s advice to Lan that the Bond isn’t the only common language they share with their Aes Sedai.

Except for Moiraine and Lan, it’s like AT LEAST 80%. It’s the primary way they communicate. Because 1. they’re both so naturally reserved on the outside (but feel very deeply on the inside), and 2. I imagine it comes in handy to be extra good at it when you’re on the road searching for the Dragon Reborn and you don’t want everyone around you to know what you’re about.

Then there’s Stepin’s comment from s1 to Kerene, “Can you imagine their dinners?” Which is funny but also very telling. To all the other Aes Sedai and Warders, Moiraine and Lan seem pretty cold and distant, to everyone else and each other. But again, that’s by design to protect their mission. They’re just having conversations no one else can see, even other Bonded pairs. It’s like most AS and their Warders use the Bond as insurance, a fail safe even, to understand and communicate with each other, with normal human communication (i.e. TALKING) as the primary method. But for Moiraine and Lan it’s the other way around.

My POINT BEING, that this adds weight to their storyline in S2. Like they are REALLY struggling because on top of everything else, this fundamental piece of their relationship and communication is just gone. And it opens a door for Moiraine to push Lan away, when she NEVER would have been able to before, practically or emotionally. And he reels from her attacks because he’s just not as good at understanding her without the Bond, when he would have seen right through that shit before, just from feeling alone. So Tomas can say to him, you need to really listen, but 20 years of shared emotional mind reading is not that easy to bypass. You don’t learn normal person communication skills overnight. Certainly not when there’s this gaping hole in your head/heart where another person you probably knew better than yourself should be but isn’t.

Anyway, I think it just adds even more credence to why they’re both so lost throughout most of S2, especially Lan. And what makes them so badass with the Bond but so absolutely uncoordinated without it. And why every other Aes Sedai/Warder thinks they’re fuckin weird. And why we love them, because who doesn’t want to be so fundamentally understood like that? Who doesn’t want their own secret language with someone that no one else really gets, but that person gets you on a level so real it can’t be replaced? That’s what we’re all reaching for, and that’s what they have with each other. For better or worse.

#other aes sedai and warders: talking 80% / Bond 20%#Moiraine and Lan: Bond 80% / body language 15% / talking 5%#so extra #but I imagined it just happened for them #it wasn’t intentional #but then they got too used to it and couldn’t stop #and they never thought they’d have to #and then they finally get it back and it’s like they become whole people again #like you can see what a missing limb it was once they’re finally back on their game #jfc these two #wheel of time #the wheel of time #moiraine damodred #lan mandragoran #wot on prime #wot

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turtleblogatlast · 2 months

Note

hey!!! this is less of an ask and more of a fic rec tbh 😭 but have you read 'I May be Invisible, but I Still Look Good" by Dandy over on Ao3???? It's after the movie AND Leo-centric and like he gets cursed so his spirit is ripped out of his body. It's like 125k words of wonderful storytelling

OH- but for an actual question, do you have and fic recs?? or any AU's you think people should go check out?

I tried answering this before and it erased my reply orz

ANYWAY YES I HAVE read this and I absolutely love it with every fiber of my being.❤️ 100% one of my top fics to read in this fandom that I even go back to for a reread more than once. The characters are perfectly done and the set up for the story is believable with a fantastic payoff, highly highly highly recommend to anyone who hasn’t read it yet.❤️

As for recs, I’ve always been terrible at giving recs since my memory is very bad especially for ones I haven’t read in a while.😭 Off the top of my head I can recommend (note these are practically entirely Leo-centric since he’s my special guy you understand (the others aren’t forgotten at all though!!!) - and most of these are very very well known so you’ve likely already read them…):

[Note many of these are unfinished and may remain that way - please no one harass the writers for more, let them write at their own pace if they choose to write at all]

- The Neon Void by sugarpastels is absolutely incredible, the dramatic irony of it all as we follow Leo in the state he’s in and see just how broken all the Hamatos are by his “death” is just 👌👌👌 The fact that this places with one of my favorite tropes aka “Leo being in the Prison Dimension longer than canon” is just so good. Genuinely a thoroughly gripping tale that I highly recommend. It’s not complete yet (a lot of this list isn’t) but what is there is so amazing please read (though you most likely have read it already haha)

- little kid with a big death wish and firefight by remrose are another two you’ve likely seen but by god are they worth the read. Firefight isn’t done yet but it and death wish are so amazingly well written and really go into how trauma affects people differently and how ties with family can be tested in traumatic situations. Hard subjects definitely but very maturely done. (Also I misread firefight as firelight for way too long before I realized it-)

- Power Up and Times Five by pickedcarrotsandradish are both unfinished but I can’t care because what we were given is so good that I’m fine with them as they are. Both deal with Leo’s insecurities and bad feelings about himself and, very importantly, the fics go into how these insecurities establish a base for Leo’s very real flaws and how those flaws push him to act the way he does. Very interesting and compelling stuff here!! Power Up especially does really cool things for the boys’ mystic power ups, especially Leo’s, and I loved reading about the ins and outs of what they could do.

- Race Against Life, Death, and the EPF by Cass_Phoenix is just so engaging to read??? Like I love the entire set up for it - it’s feels so fresh and like you’re in Leo’s desperate situation yourself. I was so excited whenever a new chapter came out because the atmosphere was so well done.

- A Mixed Bag by GreatlyBlessed is SHOCKINGLY not Leo-centric for once haha. It’s not completed, but again, like the others above it is so good that I recommend it anyway. This story is actually a crossover between four sets of TMNT (‘87, ‘03, ‘12, and Rise) and the dynamics set up in it are SO fun I love it. Team 2 is my fave because you have literally all my faves on that team how could I not?? I also highly appreciate that everyone gets a chance to shine and that there’s no bashing at all, they’re all just very much in character and it’s refreshing to read ❤️❤️❤️

There’s a LOAD more that I could recommend I’m sure but I don’t remember them off the top of my head at the moment.😭 If I remember I’ll come back and add them in!

(Forgot about AU’s- honestly there’s some that I see and catch up on when I see them but there’s just so many that it’s a bit difficult to keep track of sometimes! I’d have to go around and fully look through many before having a solid answer haha! The ones I do see are always so well done though, I may come back and add them here if I remember 😅)

#non au ask #it’s killing me to not remember them all orz #I swear there’s so much more #‘are they all Leo centric’ yeah LMAO #maybe one or two are more ensemble but yeah haha…#my special interest hyper focuses on my fave sorry 😭 he’s also just the most fun for me to read personally #but yeah I’ll come back and add more when I remember them lol #wracking my head to remember #gonna tag this as #turtle fic recs #so I can find it again later

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david-talks-sw · 11 months

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I can’t remember which post it was off the top of my head but you’ve mentioned how George was explicit that nothing in The Clone Wars directly influences Anakin’s fall to the Dark Side, what about indirectly? There’s the obvious one: Anakin finds it easier to give into his anger as the war goes on. But I was also thinking the events of Hardeen and Wrong Jedi arcs weaken Anakin’s trust in the Order that then plays into the circumstances in which his fall to the Dark Side took place. Like that weakened trust meant Anakin distanced himself which gives context for why he refused to go to Obi-Wan when the visions started.

It also fits with his character because one of Anakin’s flaws is that he takes things way to personally, e.g. he was not the only person the Council lied to about Obi-Wan’s fake death. Then when Ahsoka was leaving the Order after the Council let her down, which they did let her down, she had to remind Anakin that it was about her not him.

Of course weakened trust is nowhere near enough to cause someone to commit genocide and Anakin didn’t seem to make any effort to mend those fences either. And of course none of this would have happened without Palpatine manipulating things. Hence my question of how you think The Clone Wars indirectly influenced his journey to the Dark Side even as none of really tied to why Anakin ultimately fell.

I think you summed it up perfectly, actually.

If you're using Lucas' word as the "be-all, end-all", then The Clone Wars is indeed just an asterisk/addendum to the story of the films.

Its purpose? Providing context for the minor changes between Episode II and Episode III, changes that aren't exactly relevant to the story of Anakin's downfall.

"Anakin seems more mature and less whiny, in Episode III, what happened to change that?" He got a Padawan of his own during the Clone War and when you're put in charge of someone, you grow up real quick.

"He and Obi-Wan were constantly bickering in Episode II, now they're best buds, why?" In Episode II, Anakin was in Obi-Wan's care but felt he needed to leave the nest, whereas Obi-Wan was being a helicopter parent. In The Clone Wars, we see that once Anakin gets knighted, their relationship smooths over, now becoming a more brotherly bond than a parent/child one. Obi-Wan will sometimes worry that Anakin will fly off the handle, but he's also able to recognize his former Padawan is now his own man, whereas Anakin takes responsibility more frequently, now, due to now having a Padawan of his own.

"What's the relationship between Anakin and the other Jedi we saw in the background of the movies?" Find out by tuning in to The Clone Wars!

"The clones have names, now? And they're the Jedi's friends, when did all that happen!" You can find out by seeing them fight side-by-side with the Jedi and slowly becoming independent thinkers, only in The Clone Wars.

"The Jedi are more scheming and political in Episode III, they and Anakin are at odds... why the shift in attitudes?" They were drafted into a war, and forced to make compromise after compromise to a point where their values have been rendered pointless and they've become begrudging hypocrites. They're playing politics (and sucking at it) because they've been dragged onto a political chessboard and are trying to keep up with a far more skilled opponent. These terrible decisions impact all of them, even Anakin.

Stuff like that.

But none of that is relevant to Anakin's story, which is more personal, in nature. It's a story about how his own greed turned him into the very thing he swore to destroy, which parallels how the Republic became the Empire for those same reasons.

The films show us this, and The Clone Wars *reinforces* this narrative by giving us further examples of it.

While Anakin is aware of what's right and wrong... the more the war rages on, the more frequently he takes the "easy" path and gives in to his anger and selfish desires, enabled by Palpatine.

Sometimes Anakin does manage to get a grip, he does manage to take responsibility, he does learn to let go... but then something happens (often orchestrated by Palpatine) and he goes right back to square one... then square zero... then square minus one, etc.

He never takes that final step to being a more enlightened person.

The Clone Wars challenges the Jedi at times, questions their actions... but ultimately, the responsibility falls on Anakin's shoulders. The series will show you moments where they fail Anakin, but there's as many moments of him failing them.

Could the Jedi have done more? Yes. But if you think them doing more would've solved the problem, you're missing the point of the story of the Prequels.

Functionally, all that is achieved from the Council/Anakin conflict (again, orchestrated by Palpatine), in Episode III, is creating more pressure for Anakin to cave under. That's it.

They're not a meaningful factor in his turn to the Dark Side.

Padmé is.

When he's hesitating between saving Mace or saving Palpatine...

... he's not thinking "one of them was nice to me, but the other one was mean to me and kicked out Ahsoka, so I'll chop his hand off".

And he's not thinking "this isn't by the book, Mace you hypocrite!"

Lucas tells us what's going through his head, in that moment.

It's about Padmé living. And we've already established that what that's really about is "Anakin not wanting to live without her". So, really, it's about Anakin.

Mace and Anakin butting heads isn't even considered. If Mace had been laughing with Anakin and hugging him on the daily, Anakin still would've ended up chopping off his hand. It wasn't about Mace, it was about Anakin.

If Ahsoka had stayed with the Jedi Order, he still would've joined the Dark Side. Because it was never about Ahsoka, it was about Anakin.

If Qui-Gon had lived, Anakin would've still turned. It was never about Obi-Wan or Qui-Gon being the teachers, it was about Anakin.

Because the message of the story is basically that:

"Ultimately, it's up to you to take personal responsibility and be compassionate. If you avoid responsibility and give in to your darker impulses for selfish purposes, bad shit happens. The only meaningful change can come from within."

And in Anakin's case it didn't. He zigged instead of zagging at almost every turn.

Now, you can agree or disagree with that message. But that's what it is. Even some of the current Star Wars authors acknowledge this.

The story of Anakin Skywalker is told in the movies.

The Clone Wars is there as an addendum to:

Shine a spotlight/provide context on minor changes between Episode II and Episode III.

Humanize Anakin, to further drive the point that what happened to him can happen to anyone.

ADDENDUM:

#yes this IS the post I had written last night then lost by *gasp* pressing Ctrl+Z ???? AKA the tumblr nuke button!#george lucas #jedi order #anakin skywalker #QnA #obi-wan kenobi #star wars #long post #meta #collection of quotes #lucas quotes #attachment #pro jedi

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