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luveline · 28 days

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hiii could I please request miguel walking in on reader crying in secret?? ty!! :)))

thank you for requesting! fem!reader, 1.2k

It takes Miguel half an hour to fix your spider suit, but when he picks his head up from his work desk with a brag waiting on his lips, you aren’t there. He hadn’t noticed you slinking away. Perhaps he should’ve, given his fantastic sixth sense and his habit of awarding you special attention, just you’re quiet when you want to be.

He sends you a short message through his wristwatch. Where are you? delivered 7:58PM.

No response. Miguel folds your suit into a square and holds it under his arm, flicking off his workbench light as he rolls his neck from one side to the other. He wanted to finish the repairs before nightfall so as not to disrupt your routine. He quite likes your routine together. In a stressful life, time spent with you is peace he doesn’t deserve. You aren’t a peaceful girl, of course, you’re his idiot, but he knows the stark difference of having you versus not having you.

He can’t track you without your suit on and your watch doesn’t have that capability, but he can ping your phone.

You’re in the building still, at least.

He texts you. Where did you go? I fixed your suit. It’s dinner time soon.

Loosely translated, it means, Why did you leave? We always eat dinner together.

Miguel sighs and decides to check the most obvious places first. The alcove of the hallway leading to the laboratory where you like to hide, the arts lounge, the atrium where your friends hang out, and the outdoor area right at the surface of the society. By 8:30PM he’s agitated wondering where you’ve gone, because he should probably know, but he’s not a great boyfriend and you’re not always as honest as you claim. You could be anywhere. You could be with someone nicer.

He’s pissed. With no choice but to admit defeat, he decides he’ll head up to bed (he’s not going to bed, he’s gonna find you, because you can go wherever you like whenever you like but it’s been a long time since you disappeared without telling him). He cares about you too much, even if he wishes sometimes he didn’t. Not because of you.

He sulks into the apartment (his apartment, your apartment, you were never supposed to live with him but here you tend to stay), throwing his phone and command pod onto the made sheets of the bed.

The shower drips in the bathroom. He can hear the plink of water dripping onto the floor, a slow, dysrhythmic pattering. Two seconds, a drop. Three seconds, your breathing.

He startles. You’re shuddering, a sharp inhalation, that strange sound you make when you’re overwhelmed without being smothered by his shoulder. “Stop,” you say under your breath. Another harsh breath, and a pained whine to follow.

Miguel has never crossed a room so quickly. For a moment he thinks there must be someone else there, not a fully realised theory but an instinct —you’re telling someone else to stop, because someone is hurting you, because you aren’t alone. But he can hear only your heart, and your breath. So he stops cold by the door without bursting in and forces himself to knock.

“Mi cielo?” he asks, aiming for tenderness, roughness seeping through. He knocks the door. “I’m coming in, okay?”

Miguel doesn’t realise the door is locked until he’s cracked the doorframe.

You stare at him in shock. Tears fall fast but quiet down your cheeks, thick streams of them, the kind to accompany gutted sobbing.

“What’s wrong?” he says, his chest falling. “What’s wrong? Y/N, tell me. Tell me,” he prompts, secretly terrified at your tears and your quiet. He sounds demanding instead.

“I’m fine,” you say.

“No you’re not.” He speaks before you can deny it again, not sure what to make of your teary voice or the way you’re smiling; trying to hide.

“It’s okay–”

“It’s not okay, mi cielo,” —he takes your hand if only to be touching you— “you're crying.”

“You weren’t supposed to see,” you say, closing your eyes.

Tears squeeze their way out unbidden. Miguel reaches to his right for the toilet paper and pulls off a few sheets, bundling them in his palm. Careful, hesitant, he brings the corner to your face and begins to dry your tears from your cheeks, your chin, the wet line running down to your t-shirt and then back to your eyes. He shushes you as you shudder, “Shh, lovely. Everything will be fine. Everything… Todo va a estar bien.”

“It’s fine,” you whisper tightly.

“It’s fine,” he echoes, much more kindly, though he’s no closer to understanding why you’d locked yourself away to cry so intensely. “Tell me what’s wrong, yes? You tell me what’s upset you.”

“It’s nothing–”

You try to persuade him but end up sounding even more upset than you had, shaking your head from his touch, receding backward toward the sink.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” he asks gently.

“It’s so stupid, Miguel, you weren’t supposed to know.”

He’d say it was unlike you to be secretive with your feelings. You love loudly, tease louder. You’re spirited and petulant when you feel like it and you’re constantly barraging him with cheerfulness he doesn’t deserve, so why doesn’t your unwillingness to share this with him surprise him?

“But I know now,” he says, bending to be your height, to meet your tired eyes, “and I want to know what’s wrong so I can make you feel better. Can you let me do that?”

“I don’t feel very well.”

Miguel can only handle so much. He uses some of his added strength to wrap you up in a full body hug, your toes struggling to stay on tiptoes and then completely off the ground as he leans back under your weight. “I know,” he says, though he hadn’t, “it’s okay, cariño, I’m here. I’m gonna take care of you.”

You’re all softness in your off-duty clothes. The rolled neck of a worn t-shirt, your naked arm curling behind his neck and your thighs to his. He doesn’t keep you up for more than a few seconds, just enough to take your weight and hopefully save you the energy it’s taking to stay upright. You sag against him as your socks touch down again. He’s the one thing keeping you standing, and he doesn’t mind. You should know that already.

“Please,” he says emphatically, “don’t cry by yourself. You have to let me know.”

“Sorry.”

He moves his head from one side to another slowly, his nose rubbing along your hairline. “Don’t be sorry. But if I don’t know, how am I supposed to fix it for you?”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“Are you kidding?” He encourages your head back tenderly to meet your eyes. “That’s what we do, hmm? What do you think?”

You smile. Still sad, still watery-eyed, but a real smile. “Yeah.”

“Alright. Let’s go sit down, okay? I’ll get you a drink.”

“So weird,” you murmur.

“I’m weird?”

“You’re being really nice to me.”

Miguel squeezes your arm. “Don’t get used to it, Spider-Girl.”

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cyberghouleo · 6 months

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bodyguard! simon riley x celebrity! reader

To the displeasure of everyone I know, I got cod brain rot.

Inspired by: Celebrity by Slayyyter

When your manager suggested you hire a new bodyguard after your old one quit, you were not expecting a masked man with an accent to walk through your doors.

At first, he sees you as a spoiled brat. He’s not used to being a bodyguard for someone famous, he is used to being hired as a hitman in more dangerous situations. He only accepted this job as the pay was good and his last job was nearby, but now he feels as if he's being toted around like a puppy, trailing behind you as you go along your normal day to day life.

Everything was a culture shift to him, he wasn’t used to following his clients while they shop or getting asked if you should purchase something, to which he always responded with “if that’s what you like.” He’s not used to sitting at lunch at a nearby table as your friends drill you with questions about him, questions about the mask and why he looked so differently than your previous guards. He was used to being in stressful situations, spending hours researching his client's attacker while being on alert 24/7, now he was just following you around with no immediate threats happening to you.

While you're doing interviews or getting your makeup done before a photoshoot, he is sitting across from you in a chair with his arms crossed. He keeps his balaclava on and hardly speaks unless someone tries to deny him access behind the scenes with you. He speaks before you can, “I’m ‘er guard.” he grunts out as he keeps walking past them, following behind you.

Trying to get to know him felt like pulling teeth, he’s standoffish and when he does answer questions, it's always short answers, even refusing to tell you his real name after you asked. You knew almost nothing about him, but that all changed once you’re alerted that your P.O box is being sent threatening letters, claiming to have a hit out on you. Ghost instructs that you are both to not leave the house until he can gather enough info about your threatener, leaving the two of you alone for several weeks.

These weeks alone cause him to slowly start opening up to you as the two of you have nothing else to do or talk about. You learn about his past clients, how this is his first high status bodyguard job, and his time in the military. He tells you bits at a time, not willing to spill too much at one time, almost testing to see how you respond to each bit of new information you learn about him. During dinner one night, he randomly speaks up. “Simon.”

“What?”

“My name. Simon.”

It only takes a few weeks for him to track and find the person sending you the threats, and he reassures you that everything will be fine now. He doesn’t show any proof, but you trust him enough to believe him. The weeks you spent together did lead to some tension between the two of you, you are able to see a human side of him that you weren’t expecting, and you could feel yourself getting intrigued by what else you could learn about him. You scolded yourself for thinking this way towards a bodyguard, someone trying to do his job, but you also couldn’t deny the way you were starting to feel when you caught glimpses of his arms flexing underneath the tight black shirts he wore often.

He slowly starts warming up to you and seeing you in a different light once he spends a few months inside your house. You aren’t as bratty or snobby as he expected. He tries to brush away any lingering thoughts as you ask him to help you zip up your dress, noticing how small your shoulders look under his gaze. Or when you ask him to help you put on a necklace, comparing how small your hands are to his when you hand him the necklace.

The tension finally breaks when you are in a dressing room alone, waiting around as the photographer goes over the photos one final time before you could leave. You can feel him eyeing you up and down while you aren’t paying attention, his eyes studying the dress you were getting paid to wear and the way it hugged you. One offhand comment from you leads to him lifting you up onto the vanity counter, his mask pulled above his nose as his mouth finds yours, soft moans escaping you. Your panties are pulled to the side as his tongue circles around your clit, one hand pressed against your mouth to quiet you, so the staff doesn’t hear you cumming against his tongue.

When in large crowds, one of his hands is always pressed against the small of your back as he guides you through the masses, the feeling of his touch lingering on your back even after he pulls away. His other hand resting close to the concealed gun he keeps at his hip, staying alert as his eyes scan through the faces to assess any threats. Crowds will naturally part once they notice how big he is and the way he towers over most of the fans.

The paparazzi gets a photo of you two together, Simon holding a few shopping bags as he trails behind you. The photo is captioned as if he was your secret boyfriend and your fans go crazy, tweeting how cute the two of you are together and how mysterious he was.

“Look, everyone thinks we are dating.” You say as you shove your phone in his face. His eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the photo, reading a comment on how good of a couple the two of you are. He only hums a response and rolls his eyes. He expects you to have a different reaction, shocked that you didn’t find it annoying but almost enduring. The idea of you being okay with the two of you being in a relationship and not just fuckbuddies ignites something deep in his stomach.

You definitely talk him into taking a few photos of you for Instagram, instructing him on how to frame the photo as he stares blankly at the phone. When you post the photos, comments flood in asking if your mystery bodyguard was the one who took them. You often post stories with him lingering around in the background, only fueling the relationship speculation as fans talk about him living with you.

After the media starts to report more on the two of you, Ghost starts getting more offers from other celebrities to become their bodyguard. He gives them no second thought as he denies them. He will get approached with offers to pay him triple and he still waves them off, he plans on staying loyal as a bodyguard to you and you only, no matter how much they offer him.

Simon decides to make the two of you official by gifting you a necklace with his initial, something you wear and post about often, sending your fans into a bigger spiral. He finds the fans both amusing and slightly disturbing, showing how much love they have for you, yet you only get to call him yours.

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #call of duty #cod mw3 #bodyguard au #famous reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #smut #kinda? idk lol #got my wisdom teeth out yesterday so i got to speedrun this lmfao #ill post proxy things soon just let me live in my masked man fantasy rn

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pinkanonwrites · 1 year

Text

As Our Fingers Entwine

The end of the trilogy!!! I hope you all enjoy, both newcomers and those who have been eagerly anticipating this piece! It is in fact NSFW, appropriate tags below. Read it on AO3 here!

TRIGUN STAMPEDE EPISODE 7 SPOILERS IN FIC BELOW!

Vash/Reader, 6,000+ Words, AFAB Reader but no specific pronouns used, mutual pining, body worship, frottage, vaginal sex, alien biology, praise kink, enthusiastic consent, begging

You couldn't say for certain why the ambience of the peaceful town didn't lull you to sleep the same way the rattling underbelly of the Sand Steamer seemed to, but you had a distinct feeling it was because you weren't right next to Vash.

You'd never admit it aloud, mainly for fear of revealing your painfully obvious affections for your blond companion, but nowadays you always slept better with Vash by your side. And as happy as Vash seemed to have a room to himself and time to catch his breath, a selfish little part of you had hoped he'd be cheap again, crowd the two of you into a single room to save a few double dollars. The last time you truly got to sleep side-by-side with him was a few bumpy hours on the Sand Steamer, before the incident with the Bad Lads and the shootout and the, well, the entire steamer nearly catastrophically crashing to pieces. There wasn't much sleeping on the bus ride into town either, no matter how exhausted the both of you were.

And yet, when you collapsed face-first into the surprisingly comfy hotel bed, you found yourself agonizingly conscious. Somehow, a simple wall in between you and Vash was enough to keep you from getting a good night's sleep. Just when did you become so dependent? Now three nights have passed, each one spent tossing and turning, unable to get more than a few blissful moments of shuteye. It wasn't like you were scared, or even stressed! Your body had just acclimated to the idea of sleeping curled up next to Vash, and now without him…

"Hey, anybody home in there?"

"...Hmm? Oh! Oh, yeah, I'm listening." You hadn't realized you'd started to doze off at the diner table over your supper until Vash leaned over and snapped his fingers in front of your face. You jolted up, grabbing a wedge of your sandwich and jamming it quickly into your mouth as he gave you a soft and sympathetic smile, his salmon sandwich basically finished and his free hand twiddling a stray french fry back and forth across the plate. Ah, he must have been waiting for you.

"You're a little out of it today. Everything alright?"

You waved him off, taking a swig of water to force down the mouthful of bread and various fillings. "It's fine! Just not sleeping well, it's no big deal."

Your response didn't seem to soothe Vash's worries at all, as his little smile fell into a frown. "That's no good. Is everything alright? You don't feel unsafe or anything, do you?"

"Nonono, nothing like that, really!" His concern really shouldn't have been enough to fluster you, Vash would have been worried for just about anyone who looked as worn-out as you did. But it still hit a soft little spot in you, something eternally sensitive to Vash's care and attention that you had to do your absolute best to stifle basically every moment of every day. "It's just too quiet, you know? I'm not used to having a room to myself anymore, heh. Pretty silly, isn't it?"

Judging by the soft and further furrowing of Vash's brow, your placations did nothing to assuage his concern. "Is there anything I can do? To help, I mean."

Stay. Stay with me, always.

Yeah, right. Like you could actually say that out loud. You sunk further into your seat, feeling a bit like an insect under a magnifying glass in the face of his consideration. It felt as if one wrong word or move would suddenly and jarringly expose the affections you held for him that seemed so glaringly obvious at all times, always.

"I dunno. It's not a big deal, anyway. We don't have to worry about it."

He seemed to sense your own discomfort with the subject matter, and leaned gently back in his seat. "I saw there was a tailor in this town! If you want you can come with me tomorrow, maybe get that tear in your cloak patched up?"

You thumbed the rugged fabric edge in your hand, almost not wanting to. Vash had patched it for you last time, and though the job was a touch on the rough side you didn't exactly like the idea of someone undoing his heartfelt, albeit clumsy, stitchwork. But shopping with Vash? That definitely sounded like how you wanted to spend your afternoon.

"Yeah, that'd be nice. Anywhere you wanna stop by?"

"Might pick up some ammo, but not much besides that!"

And you were certain that would be the end of it. Even after thumbing out a few double-dollars to pay for dinner, opening the diner door for you with a cartoonish bow, and chatting idly as the two of you made your way back towards the hotel, Vash didn’t broach the subject again. By the time you’d made it to the door of your room you were certain he’d forgotten about it. But just as you were about to wish him goodnight and slip through the crack of the doorway his hand came to rest upon the door handle, that familiar soft expression of concern sneaking back up across his face.

“If you wanted… I could stay until you fall asleep?" There was a distinct shyness about it, like he was genuinely afraid of what your reaction may be. "Just to see if it would help?"

You blinked at him once, twice, needing a moment to process the words he was saying before it actually clicked in your mind. Face growing hot, you prayed your expression didn't fully give away your embarrassment as an image wormed itself into your brain, an image of yourself in Vash's arms, his lips resting on the jut of your collarbone peeking from the hem of your shirt, of warm hands on the soft dip of your hips climbing higher, and higher…

Seeming to take your extended silence as rejection, or worse, disgust, Vash began to frantically backpedal, hand flying from the doorknob to tangle in the soft hair at the base of his neck. "You can say no! I just wanted to offer. Maybe that was a little weird, huh? Sorry, you can forget about it.”

But you didn't want to forget. Forgetting meant a return to… To whatever you and Vash were before that first night you woke up and saw him gazing at the stars. Forgetting meant pulling away again, faking a smile, pretending there was nothing there when you so desperately wanted there to be. Forgetting meant not acknowledging that he kept offering his hand to you, and that out of your own foolish anxieties you kept drawing away.

And yeah, maybe things could still go catastrophically wrong. But wasn't that what you loved about Vash in the first place? How the entire world could fall apart around him and he'd still get up again, offer you a smile and put his best foot forward?

You loved him. You loved him. And you were fucking sick of pretending you didn't. Your fingertips had closed around the fabric of his sleeve before you could second-guess yourself.

"Stay with me."

And oh, oh, if the expression that crawled its way up Vash's face wasn't worth any and every possible humiliation, rejection, or vague discomfort. Red bloomed up from his collar, creeping up his neck into his cheeks and the tops of his ears. He blinked twice behind his oversized lenses, gaze flicking from your face to where you'd gripped his sleeve and back again a few times over. A thin, wobbly smile snuck across his lips, making his relief obvious despite his conscious efforts to hide it. A peek of sharp canines glinted from the gap as he shot you a crooked, sheepish grin, despite being nearly as red in the face as his signature coat.

"Y-Yeah!" He winced at the way his own voice cracked, oblivious to just how endearing you found it. "Yeah, heh, no problem! Let me, let me get my… I'll be right back. Five minutes? Give me five minutes, pinkie promise."

He even interlocked his pinkie with your own, a small, familiar laugh sneaking out before he slipped, momentarily, from your grasp. You watched as he stumbled down the hall to his own room, fumbled the door handle once, twice, banging his body into the wooden frame before managing to get it open, never once taking his eyes off you until the door slipped closed. Cute.

You stepped into your own room, clicking on the bedside lamp and flooding it in a warm, yellowed glow. Shedding your day clothes as quickly as possible, you kicked them into a heap in the corner and scrambled into your pajamas, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. Without Vash's buzzing, eager energy at your side you had just enough time before he returned to briefly feel incredibly embarrassed at your show of need, face growing hot as you replayed the little scene over and over in your mind. Your hand around his sleeve, his expressions, your choice of words… God, you were so obvious. Had he really not picked up on it at all? But he seemed so eager, as eager as you were at the very least. Maybe he wasn't the only one who had been a little oblivious lately.

True to his word, it couldn't have been more than five minutes before you heard a soft knock on the door to your room. Standing on the other side was Vash, not clad in his signature red jacket but rather his familiar, beige pajamas. The worn out shirt hung loose around the collar with the sleeves draping just long enough to cover half of his hands, the loose elastic of the sweatpants held tight with an old, white drawstring. His hair was floppy and now shower-damp, hanging partially in his face as he gave you that so soft, so sweet little smile.

"You look comfy." He said, voice as soft as his grin.

"I could say the same for you." You responded, cracking a similar smile. Stepping to the side you let him join you in your room, door closing with a soft click as a palpable air of… something simmered between you two. Tension? Nervousness? It felt like a melting pot of just about everything you had or could feel when it came to Vash. He stood awkwardly in the center of the room as you flitted around him towards the bed.

"You should probably get some rest, huh? I'll just grab a seat at…" He gestured vaguely towards one of the two chairs set at the table by the window, words dropping from his lips as he watched you pat the open space in the bed next to you. He blinked again, face flushing pink once more.

"...Only if you want to." You added softly. He visibly swallowed, nodding so gently you could have almost missed it, and set his glasses on the nightstand with a soft clack. Carefully, hesitantly, he pulled back the covers and let himself into the bed beside you, moving like he was afraid at any moment you were going to change your mind and ask him to leave.

You would never. You wanted him beside you. At all times, always.

He clicked off the lamp, and the two of you were plunged into darkness. A single stream of moonlight filtered between the thin curtains, falling diagonally across the bedroom floor and providing just enough light for you to keep Vash's face in view. When the two of you shared a sleeping bag for the first time the closeness was a necessity, there was nowhere else for you to go in the tiny shared space. But even now, with the width of the bed slim but still far greater than a sleeping bag could provide, you couldn't help but press yourself close to him. As always he was warm, so warm, heat radiating under the thin covers to soothe you, a constant thrum of energy just beneath his skin even when he was relaxed and doe-eyed as he was with you right now, laying on his side mirroring you, unable to look away.

In this moment you couldn't help but consider that Vash was more alive than you had ever been in your own lifetime, or that you ever would be. He was a walking enigma, incredibly powerful yet so gentle, capable of such inhuman feats but so intimately, painfully fragile. Maybe you'd never fully understand him the way you wanted to, maybe there would always be secrets he couldn't share or stories he wouldn't tell. But you didn't mind, not as long as he was yours and you were his.

"Hi." He murmured, breath hot against your lips, that small, sappy smile never leaving his own.

"Hi." You replied. "Is this… Is this okay?"

"Yes." There was a relief in his voice, a borderline reverence. His hand hovered, briefly, coming to rest on the small of your hip and sending a jolt of need crawling up your spine fast enough to give you a headrush. "Are we… okay?"

"Always."

He let out a low, shuddering breath, hand flexing around your hip. "I haven't… I want… I want…" His gaze flickered from your eyes to your lips and back again. He let out another breath, a short, warm huff as he hesitated, brow knit like even now he was afraid of the oncoming rejection, the inevitable hurt.

The two of you really had been completely oblivious, hadn't you?

You closed the gap yourself. Slowly, carefully, for no more than a few moments, you pressed your lips to his. He gasped when you did, a sharp, surprised inhale through his nose before his entire body seemed to melt into your several points of contact: your legs, his hand on your hip, your lips. You watched his eyes slide open again after you pulled away, crease in his brow receding as he blinked at you, almost owlishly.

"You kissed me." He murmured, that air of reverence returning to his voice.

"I did." You said it like it was the easiest thing in the world, and that's because it was.

"You'll… You'll always be in danger. You know that, right?"

"I do."

"We're always going to be moving. You wouldn't rather settle down somewhere nice?"

"Not if you're not there."

He sucked in another shaky breath, corners of his eyes growing glassy and wet. "It won't… It won't be easy. Being with me. It's hard."

"Vash." You cupped his face with your hand, forcing him to meet your gaze. "I promise you it's not. It's really not."

He positively beamed, knocking his forehead against yours as he burst into quiet giggles. "You're really amazing, you know? You're the most amazing person I've ever met."

"Shouldn't I be saying that to you?" Your own laughter joined his, and any hint of apprehension or concern Vash may have still held seemed to melt away in the face of your smile. "Now shush. Kiss me again."

He was clumsy, clearly overeager as he pressed his lips to yours once more. It started as another soft, fluttering thing, then a second, then a third, before you tipped your chin up and opened your mouth into the next kiss, inviting him to do the same. Fingers tangled in his soft hair, you pressed further into him, tasting honey and sunlight as you licked into his open mouth and he moaned against your lips. You didn't even realize he was moving you until you found yourself on your back, Vash's sturdy build boxing you in, knees framing your thighs as his teeth clicked wetly against yours and he groaned again at the feeling of your mouth moving against his. It was a messy, relief-stricken thing, like finding sweet, cool water after a day trekking across the open dunes. His still-flesh hand gripped your hip, fingertips indenting your soft skin, but his prosthetic hand cradled your cheek so gently, with such veneration it could have brought you to tears. There was a wet smack and a sharp gasp when he finally pulled away, like he was coming up for air. A single sticky strand of saliva still connected your lips, and as you swiped it off of his lower lip with a smile he gave you a sheepish grin in return.

"You gotta breathe through your nose, Vash."

"I know, I just…" He watches as you bring your thumb to your mouth, licking off the smear of spit there. He gulps, teeth worrying his lower lip. "...Just got a bit sidetracked, is all."

When he leaned back in a second time his target wasn't your lips, but the gentle slope of your neck. He placed a featherlight kiss upon you, relaxing when he heard your content hum and your fingers carded through the hairs at the base of his neck. Then he sucked a mark into the soft junction between your neck and exposed collarbone, teeth grazing and tongue lathing over the sensitive spot as you writhed beneath Vash's touch. His breath ghosted hotly over your neck, goosebumps prickling out across your skin as heat pooled low and eager in your stomach and you fisted one hand in the front of Vash's night shirt.

"Vash." You whined, and his low groan in response rumbled out against your already sensitive neck. "Vash." You moaned again, louder this time, needy but not completely sure what for.

"Hmm?" His questioning hum was barely discernible from his soft, pleased groans, only the uptick at the end of the throaty sound cluing you in that Vash had even heard you at all. His lips rested on the curve of your jaw, thumb trailing back and forth across your cheekbone. You fisted the back of his shirt in one hand and tangled the other in his messy hair, whimpering at each barely-there kiss he left as he trailed his way up your jawbone to your ear. "You're so soft. So, so soft."

His lips brushed the shell of your ear and you couldn't help yourself, whining as your hips jerked up against his. His breath stuttered and he jolted back from you to blink with wide, shocked eyes. Immediately a hot flush of shame coursed through your body, searing behind your eyes and cheeks. Was he disappointed? Disgusted?

"I'm so sorry." If you could shrink back and disappear you would, but it's not like there was anywhere for you to go. Vash's brow furrowed again for a moment before his eyes blew wide once more, immediately taking your face in both hands as gently as he could.

"No, no it's alright! There's nothing wrong you just- just surprised me a little! That's not bad! I just- Aw jeez." He pressed a kiss to your lips, then your nose, then your forehead. "Please don't cry. I promise I'm not upset or anything, so don't cry, okay?"

"I'm not gonna cry! I'm just… embarrassed." You mumbled between squished cheeks, eyes trained down and away from Vash's sympathetic smile.

“There’s no need to be.”

“I know that.” You whined, covering your eyes with the palm of your hand. You felt another fluttering kiss on the tip of your nose, and peeked through your fingers to find Vash beaming at you. There was a cautious apprehension behind his eyes now though, a similar fear to what you knew you were currently feeling.

“There is, uh, something I have to tell you though.” He fidgeted a little, not quite meeting your gaze. “It’s just that my body is kinda… Well, it’s a little… different? And I don’t want to freak you out or anything. But if you do freak out… That’s probably completely valid, I’ll be honest.”

“Vash, I’ve seen your scars before. You know I don’t mind, right?”

He winced a little, lower lip jutting out in a bit of a pout. “...That’s not what I’m talking about. It’s a… It’s a PLANT thing.”

“Oh.” As Vash sat back on your thighs you propped yourself up a bit to meet his gaze. “Well, that’s alright too. I won’t judge you for anything you can’t control, Vash.”

“Yeah but it’s… It’s pretty out there.”

“Try me.”

Vash opened his mouth, then shut it, then opened it, then shut it again, blush crawling its way up his cheeks with his fisted hands tucked into his lap. He twiddled his thumbs, worried his lower lip with his sharp teeth, and still failed to meet your gaze.

"It's, uh, it's just that it's a bit… different. My, uh… y'know?"

You'd been pretty oblivious to Vash's affections for you, but that didn't mean you were stupid. The way his gaze flickered down and then back up again when he spoke? The way one hand fisted the fabric of his pants and the other remained firmly tucked between his thighs, not quite against his crotch but definitely blocking it from your view? You could at least put those puzzle pieces together.

You rubbed the top of his knee with your hand, and tension seemed to melt from his stance with your touch alone.

"Would you… be willing to show me?"

He grimaced a bit, continuing to nibble on his lower lip until you ran the thumb of your other hand across it, trying to soothe the reddened skin. "I just don't want to freak you out or anything, is all."

"You really think at this point there's anything you could do or say to freak me out?" You bumped your forehead against his, the same way he had for you just moments ago. "Hate to break it to you, but you're kind of stuck with me now." He barked out a laugh, saying nothing but finally meeting your gaze, so you continued. "I don't want you to feel like you have to make yourself uncomfortable for my sake, but I also don't want you to run away from me. You trust me, right?"

"I do."

"Then trust that I won't run away either. I promise. I just want you, Vash, that's all."

He sucked in a shuddering breath, nodding softly against you. "Yeah. I want you too." Looking up at you through his eyelashes, he flashed you a cartoonish pout. "Maybe if someone gave me another kiss I'd get a bit braver?"

"You dork." You giggled, cupping his face in your hands and kissing him breathless once more. He leaned into you again, mouth open and eager, finally letting his hands trail back up your body where you'd wanted them. "Wait, switch with me."

"Hrmm? Whoa!" You wrestled Vash to the side, rolling the two of you over until you were now the one straddling his hips, not the other way around. He blinked up at you, mouth agape and lips slightly slick as he took in your form in the pale moonlight. "Oh. I could get used to a view like this."

With a single, sudden twist upwards of your arms, you pulled off your shirt and let it fall somewhere off the side of the bed, baring your chest to him fully. Vash gasped, hands squeezing against your soft sides as his gaze raked over your form.

"This one too…" He murmured. Trailing your fingertips down the length of his chest, you fiddled with the hem at the bottom of his shirt, lifting a bit but not quite tugging.

"This okay?"

He nodded, hands joining yours to help wrestle his shirt off over his head. Immediately you were upon him, a featherlight trail of lips and fingertips upon every inch of scarred skin, tracing the outline of the metal reinforcement over his left pectoral as gently as you could. Your thighs squeezed around his hips, the front of his loose pajama pants tented and straining where they met your clothed core. He was big, that much was obvious. Another roll of your hips, not accidental this time but intentional, left Vash gasping out a sharp, labored wheeze as his hips finally jerked forward against yours.

"Sensitive." He panted, shuddering helplessly as his hips stuttered forward again. "C-Careful, it's sensitive."

That sensitive, with several layers of clothes still between you? Now you were getting really curious. You rolled your hips again, friction sparking pleasure up your spine but it was nothing compared to the way Vash positively mewled, back arching and hips rutting erratically to meet you. A dark, damp spot was beginning to seep through the fabric at the tip. You cupped his clothed length with your hand as gently as you could. 'Sensitive.' You reminded yourself. But a bolt of surprise rocketed through you instead when you could swear that, just for a moment, you felt his cock squirm against you, pressing up into your hand without the aid of his hips.

"Please don't freak out." Vash wheezed. You squeezed his length again, pressing in firmly, but it was impossible to tell what writhing was from Vash squirming around and what came from, well, Vash squirming around.

"I'm not freaking out." You reassured him, and in all honesty you weren't. Were you surprised? Of course! But there wasn't really anything about Vash that could truly "freak you out" anymore, even this. You stroked his length through the fabric once more and watched that wet spot at the tip bloom farther and darker, Vash shivering like he'd just touched a live wire. "Is it okay to take these off? Only if you're okay with it."

You hooked a finger into the waistband and waited, Vash's gaze laser focused in on your hand. Slowly, carefully, he nodded. Fingers looped in the elastic of both his pajama pants and his boxers, you gave him plenty of time to change his mind as you tugged them down, Vash letting out a quiet, hitched gasp when his cock sprung free.

Well, Vash certainly wasn't lying about it being different. Arching upwards from between his legs was what you could only describe as a tentacle, thick base sprouting from slick folds at the apex of his thighs. It curled upwards towards his belly and tapered slim at the tip, beading semi-translucent liquid that dribbled down the length of the shaft. It wasn't the same shade as his skin; It was closer to a bluish-white, marked up the length with abstract patterning similar to the glyphs on the outside bulb of a PLANT. Vaguely you wondered if it was always out like this, or if it settled itself snugly within those wet, petal pink folds when he wasn't aroused. You had to think it did, if Vash was as sensitive as he made himself out to be, otherwise he'd be on the verge of cumming with each step he took.

On second thought, that wasn't a bad image either.

Vash gulped, squirming a bit under your gaze, knees pulling together but unable to close fully with your body in the way. "So, uh, you're not screaming. I'm gonna go ahead and take that as a good sign!" You smoothed a hand up the length of his thigh, pausing right at the junction of his hip, and his cock twitched towards you subconsciously like a writhing tendril. He seemed to shrink in on himself a little at this, shoulders pulling up towards his ears as he anticipated your reaction.

"Vash, God Vash… Do you even have any idea how pretty you are?" He had to know, you couldn't let him wake up tomorrow and just bumble around for the rest of his life not knowing. He was ethereal, scarred skin painted in hues of blush pink, cheeks burning, eyes soft and wide… He had to be a PLANT, because it just wasn't feasible for a normal human to be this achingly beautiful. "You're so, so pretty Vash."

"Oh." His breathing shuddered, hips twitching when you squeezed down on the fat of his thigh.

"Sensitive, right? I'll be careful, just tell me if it's too much, okay?" Fingertips trailing off the junction of his hip, you finally, finally, closed your palm around his length. It was hot, slick to the touch everywhere you put your fingers on it, and you could swear for just a moment that those glyphs pulsed with a faint blue-white light as Vash whimpered. "This is okay?"

He nodded furiously, hands fisting the bed sheets as he all but gasped for air. "Good! It's good. I haven't, it's been a long time since I- ohhh please…" Another bead of thick, slippery pre-cum drooled from the tip, slicking your palm as you moved it so slowly up the length of his cock, squeezing slightly on the downstroke and making Vash's back go concave against the mattress as he moaned. Heat burned low in your core, and you wrestled a hand down the front of your pajama pants to stroke your own slick folds directly. You couldn't help but picture how the silky writhing of his cock would feel inside of your pussy, slick oozing around where your bodies would meet as it pushed upwards into your aching core…

"Me too…" Vash groaned, hand grabbing for the waistband of your pants as he struggled to sit up. "Lemme touch you too, please." You stumbled off the bed for only a moment, but it was still far enough to make Vash whine at your lack of contact. Slick from Vash's cock smeared across the fabric as you wrestled both the pants and your underwear onto the floor before crawling back into Vash's lap like you couldn't stand to be away from him for another moment. His hands found your hips the moment you were within reach, rubbing soothingly up and down the outer curve of your thighs as he stared down at you, eyes swirling with arousal and adoration.

"Beautiful." He murmured, pressing his lips once more against the curve of your neck. "Tell me what you like, tell me how I can make you feel good."

Hand around his wrist, you guided him to the dark patch of hair between your legs. His fingers crooked carefully, curiously, two fingertips swiping upwards through your wet folds and catching over your clit. He shuddered when you moaned, the very act of giving you pleasure seeming to do him the same. Finding your clit again, he rubbed over it with his fingertips in slow, almost soothing circles.

"That's good." You cooed, taking him in hand again. "You're so good for me, Vash, such a good boy."

"Yes!" He moaned, his metal hand coming around to grip your ass, urging you to roll your hips against his hand. "Yes, 'm good, I'm so good." Sharp teeth dragged over your collarbone, just hard enough to send a prickle of pleasure up your spine. As you began to rock your hips he pressed his hand further in, letting you grind your clit against the heel of his palm as he slid his middle finger into your entrance. The intrusion was slick, effortless, and you couldn't help but moan as he curled his finger against your soft, hot walls. You pumped him again, another thick glob of pre-cum dribbling over your fingers as his cock wriggled in your grasp. "You feel so good inside." He continued to babble, drooling against your neck as he whined and gasped. "Wanna… wanna feel you, so bad…"

"Yeah?" You purred, shifting your hips further up his. With how keyed up you were you doubted you'd even be able to last more than a thrust or two with Vash inside you, but still you wanted. Nudging his hand out from between your legs, you shifted your hips down to trap his cock in between your pussy and his tense stomach as you rolled your hips and let it slip messily back and forth between your folds. Vash positively howled, head tossed back against the pillows as his other hand came around to grip your ass as well.

"Yes! Yes, please, oh please wanna make you feel so good." Shifting your hips to align his tip with your entrance, he peppered wet kisses across your neck and up your cheek as you hovered over him. You tipped your head to catch his lips with your own, moaning into his eager mouth as you finally let him nudge into you. Euphoria crackled up your spine with each small movement, an almost unbearable heat between the two of you as he shifted you so gently down his slick cock. It was almost effortless the way he slid inside, your combined wetness leaving no room for pain around the incredible pleasure as he stuffed you full, coiling and massaging your walls as you finally found your thighs resting on his and your lungs gasping for air.

"Oh, oh Vash." He shuddered at the sound of your name leaving his lips, hips snapping forward and once again driving the breath out of you as white-hot pleasure exploded behind your eyelids.

"Sorry, 'm sorry, not gonna last. Gotta make you cum, fuck, please cum for me…" His chest pressed to yours and his face pressed into the curve of your jaw, his hips thrust forward again, and again, wriggling one hand in between your sweaty bodies to thumb eagerly at your clit, rolling the swollen bud beneath the pad. You wailed, pleasure prickling tears at the corners of your eyes as your stomach coiled tighter, pushed you higher.

A sharp blossom of pain erupted from the crook of your neck, making you cry out as Vash growled against your skin. His sharp canines dug into your sensitive flesh, bruising the soft skin there and blooming pain and pleasure into a swirling cocktail of overwhelming sensation. You dug your nails hard into the flesh of his back, shivering helplessly in his grip. The desert had been cruel, and crueler still had been its people, but you would make sure that any marks you left on Vash would be ones he wasn't ashamed to show, to feel.

"Love you." You sobbed, bleary-eyed and desperate for release, babbling similar nonsense to Vash as you tumbled into pleasure-drunk ecstasy. "Love you, I love you I love you Vash!"

He wailed, teeth pressing further into your soft neck, hips stuttering forward once, twice more before he finally shuddered, pouring his load into your awaiting core. Molten heat flooded your pussy, sending you tumbling into your own release. Rapture flooded your senses, writhing in Vash's hold as waves of pleasure overtook you, walls fluttering helplessly around his length again, and again, and again. He was spilling so much into you, you could feel it pooling out around where the two of you were joined, slicking his thighs and inevitably staining the sheets below. Even as your own orgasm began to subside, little aftershocks of pleasure sparking in your mind, he was still spilling more into your fluttering heat.

"I love you." He sobbed into your neck, drool and tears dampening your skin as he clutched you tight, so tight. "Love you so much." His tongue lathed over the bruise his teeth had left behind, a silent apology for daring to leave a single mark upon your body. With a final, shaky thrust of his hips, he seemed to spill the last of his cum into you, muscles relaxing with a stifled groan. You curled a hand in the hair at the base of his neck, pressing a kiss to his temple as he nuzzled into you. He whined as his cock seemed to slip from your heat of its own accord, another gush of hot slick spilling from your entrance as it went limp.

"I've got you, baby." You cooed. Slumping gently into his lap and ignoring the sticky-slick feeling cooling between your bodies, you let yourself melt fully into Vash's gentle hold.

"...They're probably gonna charge you extra for cleaning, you know?" He quipped, and you could feel him grimace a little at the tacky feeling between your thighs. "A lot extra."

"I'll take my chances."

He guffawed against your neck, dragging you down to the mattress with him in a sticky heap. You curled into the curve of his body, head resting on his shoulder. His arm immediately rose to curl around you, pulling you tight against his side.

"Mmh, we should probably clean up." You mumbled, eyelids already beginning to flutter.

"...Five minutes?" He rumbled, pressing his nose into the crook of your jaw.

"Mmm… Five minutes."

#vash x reader #vash the stampede x reader #trigun x reader #trigun stampede #vash the stampede #trigun #my writing #long post #alien biology vash

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cheolaholic · 8 months

Text

ring of love; csc (01)

summary; agreeing to join vernon spectate an underground boxing match wasn't how you'd expect to spend your friday night. you also didn't expect to see seungcheol, someone you've lost contact with for years, become a part of the ring.

modern! au • boxer! au • hhu focused • multiple kinds of tropes • fluff, angst, smut

a/n; AND THE FIC IS OUT 💃🏻✨

ngl, i posted up the teaser at around 1am just to see how it'd go (was planning on deleting it right afterwards if nothing showed up). i woke up like 6 or 7 hours later and holy shit yall - i wasn't expecting it to get so much attention or blow up 😭 and it was just a TEASER 😭✋🏻 i've also gone through the small notes section of the taglist form (my favorite is the one that said they like my brain lol) either ways, i'm so glad you're all as excited as i am for this fic 🥹🫶🏻 it really means a lot to me <33

i'd also like to point out that i'm writing this fic as i go, kind of going with the flow, so, occasionally some things might not make sense but let's hope the flow goes well 🙏🏻

taglist at the end !

click here to join the taglist ♡

“hey there, babygirl,” vernon greeted as he took a seat in front of you at the library desk.

the nickname had you looking up from your laptop, shooting the boy a grimacing look.

“vernon, what the fuck?”

vernon chwe, an art major you had met on the first day of college during orientation, since both of you were in the same freshman group during said orientation.

you were entirely new to seoul, having spent most of your life in a small town in daegu (alongside your introverted nature, talking to new people while having to adjust to your new surroundings was basically an introvert’s nightmare).

when vernon approached you during one of the 30 minute breaks, he handed you a bottle of coke, a friendly gesture you appreciated a lot. that wasn’t what caught your eye though - it was his clothes. it’s not every day you’d see a college student wearing a bright neon tie-dyed shirt.

when vernon noticed your staring, he simply said “ah, yeah, the rest of my clothes are in the dryer. i’m vernon, by the way! vernon chwe!”

“...i’m ___,” came your response, “lee ___.”

from then on, you’ve both been stuck to each other like glue. always seen together to the point you both had been mistaken as a couple one too many times.

guess the saying of 'you're not real besties unless people think you're a couple' is true to an extent.

though you both have made it clear that the relationship between the two of you is strictly platonic.

the boy laughs at your reaction before shutting up as a few students shoot him a dirty look, a few others shushing him. “it’s fun messing with you, ___,” he said in a soft voice, not wanting to get on the nerves of the other students, “watcha working on?”

“just the usual presentation preparations,” you answered as you pushed back up your glasses and continued typing away.

“is this a group or solo project?”

“solo, which thank god. if this was a group and i had another bad luck on my groupmates, i was going to lose it.”

vernon cringes at the mention of groupmates. in your previous group assignment, you were stuck with not one, not two; but three parasites. he remembered how sleep deprived and stressed you were throughout the semester for said group project. he’d gotten you to submit an email to the lecturer in charge, writing out in extreme detail how you had to bear the responsibilities of the group members while they were out and about, partying, going out on dates etc.

however, you decided to go even further than just submitting an email.

it was the day of the presentation. as your lecturer sat in the front row seat alongside two other faculty members, you looked at your parasitic freeloading groupmates that were standing to your left.

“are you guys ready?” you asked in a quiet voice.

when they nodded their heads, you smiled as you pressed the clicker in your hand. anyone would have assumed your smile was that of an encouraging smile. you however, knew better.

as the first slide was projected onto the projection screen, the topic of the presentation was written in a big font while all four names of yours and your groupmates were written underneath it.

as you pressed on the clicker, one by one, the names of your groupmates began to be removed from the slide. the classroom was confused before catching on - you were calling out your group mates for being parasites.

your groupmates watched in a panic state as the students began whispering amongst themselves; the faculty members jotting things down on their clipboards.

once all the three names were removed with your name being the only one left on the slide, in a calm and collected voice, you said, “now, shall we begin the presentation?”

vernon remembered the proud expression you had when he met up with you the same day. “how’d it feel?” he asked, having helped you with your research and planned out the execution for the revelation of the free loaders.

“amazing!” came your reply with a beaming smile, satisfied.

“whatever happened to those three anyways?”

shrugging, you heard from some classmates that they had either gotten suspended or needed to retake the class. but, you didn’t care.

why would you?

if anything, you were glad you didn't have to deal with them for the rest of your studying years.

"hmm, fair enough," vernon responded before placing both arms on the table, leaning forward, "so, got any friday night plans?"

"if you're planning to drag me to a frat party-"

"not a frat party."

looking up from your laptop with an eyebrow raised, the boy just shoots you a smile - a smile that you can't help but feel suspicious of.

as you saved your work progress and shut down your laptop, vernon spoke again.

"have you heard of underground boxing?"

"i am not going to get in a boxing ring."

"you don't have to!"

once you've packed up your stuff and headed out of the library together, he explained more about the underground boxing.

it's a monthly event and is usually held somewhere in itaewon. when you mentioned that you didn't think vernon was the type to take part in these events, he replied with, "that's because i don't. a close friend of mine does and i usually go to support him with two other close friends!"

"and where do i play a part in this… support group?"

"don't hate me for this, okay? i just think that you could use some outdoor time, ya'know? i know you're introverted and want to hole up in your apartment the entire weekend, but it wouldn't hurt to try something new!"

you were silent for a moment.

"so, i'm a bore, is what you're getting at."

"what!? no! absolutely, not!"

when you let out a laugh at vernon's reaction, it had a few students around both of you stunned.

maybe it's due to your introverted nature that everyone assumed you'd be cold-natured too, black cat energy they call it.

but to vernon, he knew it wasn't the case. you just needed to be around the right people or in a setting you're familiar/comfortable with to be yourself.

'naturally introverted, selectively extroverted' as they called it.

"i'll go if you pick me up."

"does seven sound good to you?"

"yeap."

"aight, bet."

introverted ass: ik i should've asked this earlier

introverted ass: but is there like a dress code or smtg?

introverted ass: bcs i don't wanna show up looking extremely out of place

vrrnonie: casual should be okay

vrrnonie: maybe bring a jacket along

introverted ass: but it's a boxing match

introverted ass: wouldn't it be hot and stuffy from all that sweat

introverted ass: ?

vrrnonie: it's actually air conditioned, believe it or not

vrrnonie: and it's well ventilated too

vrrnonie: and there's not much people, dont worry

vrrnonie: the place can hold up to 100+ ppl

vrrnonie: but they usually only let in abt 70-ish?

vrrnonie: not wanting to be too stuffy, crowd control etc

introverted ass: so i'm assuming i can just wear my sweater and tights?

vrrnonie: yeapp

vrrnonie: reaching in 10 btw

introverted ass: wtf

vrrnonie: you can do your makeup in the car when we reach

vrrnonie: it doesn't start til 10pm so we can grab some dinner

introverted ass: again, wtf

vrrnonie: love ya bestie 😘

introverted ass: 🙄✋🏻

true to his word, vernon did show up ten minutes later at your apartment front door.

parking his mercedes-benz in one of the few empty spots, he then brought you to a diner he deemed to have the best burger in all of itaewon (of course that was after he let you finish doing your makeup, as he had promised you).

"so… how long have your friends been doing this whole underground boxing thing?" you asked, stabbing a few fries on a fork before shoving them into your mouth.

"oh, just one of them actually," vernon replied with his mouth half full of his beef burger. "wonwoo hyung acts as the manager while mingyu hyung and i are there as first aiders. occasionally, we'd help him train too. but, mingyu is the one he trains with since he works out more than i do."

"does this boxer friend of yours have a name?"

"i can't really say his actual name out here. but, his stage name is scoups!"

why does that stage name sound so familiar… you ponder.

it's now 1230am and you've been out way longer than you should be (technically, more like longer than you wanted).

by right, shou should now be on your bed, cuddled up in your blanket as you binge whatever series or movies are available on the many streaming platforms offered.

yet, here you are - in an underground boxing ring somewhere in itaewon all because your best friend had decided you should spend more time outside.

the match was nearing its final round and based on what you've heard from the people sitting beside you (vernon had left to go to the locker rooms where his friends were; but had assured you everyone is respectable and won't try anything weird. it didn't reassure you completely to be left alone in the crowd, but any kind of reassurance is acceptable at this point), it seems that the two final boxers would be JK and scoups.

(you had also taken a lot of toilet breaks due to the overwhelming feeling of being in a crowd for an extended period of time)

you still ask yourself why the name 'scoups' sound so familiar…

it was only when the loud cheers snapped you out of your thoughts, causing you to shift your focus onto the ring that you finally realise why that name sounded so familiar.

because right in that boxing ring, stood an old face you've been longing to see for years.

choi seungcheol.

taglist (i can't tag a few for some reason ㅠㅠ);

@yoonclip @1004luvangel @catjunhui @mystikha @spk93 @tinkerbell460 @yoozuku @dnylwoo @christinewithluv @limbomoon @plutoxxxworld @i-give-up-1234 @m1ngyuc0re @yunloyal @leclercloverbot @bettybeako @billboard-singer @ocyeanicc @krupyadoorrahe @seobinnieshi @xcynthiaaa @k411z @disneyprincesshuri @sunnyapp @khxsh @staygenezy @loufi8iepuff @ursweetener @noisypapergalaxy @wonwootakemyheart @sugainpinksweater @leah-rose03 @thisisnotthelastofus @yearnoclock

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cheriladycl01 · 1 month

Text

Better than me - Charles Leclerc x Reader P7

Plot: You are a rookie in your first f1 season, adding to the ever-growing amount of Brits performing in the grid

Credit to countingstars-17 for the GIF

You left Japan as quickly as you could, you wanted to completely forget about the race.

You'd gone home as there was a pretty large break between Japan and Australia, you spoke to your family about whether they thought getting more of these therapy sessions was a good thing.

Everyone thought it was a good idea, they could tell you'd been struggling for the last few weeks as you looked nervous and pressured during media duties and even though your driving was good, they knew you were made of more you were just scared to push.

So you had started to pay Chris, he made himself available 24/7 to you over text message and you were set to have weekly calls with him. You'd had one before Australia stressing some of you minor concerns about the race.

But all in all, Australia was one of your more confident tracks. You'd spent al lot of time on the sims going round Albert Park, you'd started to test out new racing lines because you were that confident.

When you got to the paddock, entering in a blazer and trousers with a nice pair of stilettos. You always liked dressing up when walking through the paddock for the first time, there was a certain level of power you felt when you did. You had a lot of cameras on you, as you walked through with Chris, who agreed to come to this race weekend with you and your PR manager.

You saw some fans waving you over so you hastily walked over to them.

"Y/N! Y/N!" they cry making you smile and start to take pens and caps and your mini helmets signing as much as you could while taking pictures with all the phones being offered to you.

A little boy shyly comes up to you, holding a little Audi car all boxed up, one that you promoted.

"I-I don't have a pen! Some-one stole it from me" he sniffles and you squat down to his height seeing the tears in his eyes.

"Can i borrow that please?" you ask a girl whose cap you just signed and she nods politely, squealing a little when you touch her hand as you reach up from your lower position to take it.

You sign the little boy's car for him and he pulls you into a big hug, thanking you. The parents further the thanks before you look at the paddock lanyards round their necks. You take the little boys hand and start to take him with you.

The parents follow behind happily talking to Chris and one of the Audi Mechanics that had seen you signing stuff.

You walk him to where you can buy merch. You get him an Audi Hat, Audi top and you get a little driver's poster. You sign it all there on the desk and hand it to the parents in the bag while placing the hat on his head.

"Thank you" he grins at you, the parents thank you as well before leaving. You leave towards the Audi garage, waving at the few people who you still trusted.

Alex had eventually caught up to you and walked side by side with you.

More people took pictures of the pair of you as you walked down the large and open stretch. Martin Bundle had come up to you both during his media day grid walk asking you both questions that you simultaneously answered questions too.

Eventually, you found yourself getting bored. Your PR team wanted to give you a cool down after the accusations from last week and not force your image back so soon. So they mainly focused on Alex.

You eventually left Audi hospitality where you'd been doing some private work on a laptop. You needed to get some fresh air and go for a walk. There was also only an hour before the F1 Academy Qualifying started and you wanted to be there for that.

You were walking down the strip when you see the two Ferrari boys walking towards you.

"Y/N? Can we talk?" Charles asks and you cross you arms looking down at him. Usually you felt quite small around Charles, not just because of his personality but because he was naturally taller than you. Now you were in these heels he was the one looking up at you, and if he was about to apologize you'd find that kind of funny.

"Depends what you want to talk about!" you admit to him.

"About how I acted about what I said!" he offers looking down meekly making you scoff.

"Look Charles, the fact that you ignored me all last weekend when I tried to reach out to you and then went as far as to not believe me when I'd be accused of drug use... which is a really serious accusation which was pulled into investigation because of your team and Red Bull... I don't really feel like I owe you a conversation! So no, we cant talk" you say, before walking off and towards the Mclaren garage in hopes of finding Lando.

You walk up to the entrance finding two workers outside who wave at you.

"Hey Y/N!" one of them smiles at you.

"Hey guys, how are you?" you smile at them and they nod talking to you about their stressful day trying to get content for Mclaren. You nod along with them as they rant until Lando comes trotting down the steps.

"Y/N! You wanna go for a track walk?" he asks and you nod, pit walks were always really good. It gave drivers the change to see it up-close and take it in while you walk around it.

"So, Charles text me" Lando starts as you both walk out of the pit lane and onto the track.

"Mmmm" you mumble quietly not really meeting his eyes.

"Said you weren't ready to talk to him?" he almost asks as if he's seeing if you thought you made the right call in not talking to him.

"All last week i tried to talk to him, tried to be his friend but tell me why he ignores me and pushes me away at every opportunity he gets. You don't do that, not when he spent the whole time between Japan and South Korea with me" you admit, rubbing your hands together.

"Maybe if you let him explain?" Lando suggest with a shrug.

"You meddling little bitch" you say lightly making his shoulder.

"Hey, hey! Ease up or i'll report you for trying to sabotage another team!" he jokes rubbing his shoulder a little.

"Seriously though, I agreed to this walk to talk with you, not talk about Charles, it's not just the fact he ignored me anyway" you sigh holding a hand up to block the lowering sun.

"Anyway, how are you feeling about the race?" you ask trying to steer the conversation away.

"Yeah pretty good, this year could be our year!" he smiles looking over at you.

Australia went alright, considering you not only had a lot on your mind but had car troubles you managed to finish P10, in the points Alex just above you in P8.

Team debrief was longer. talking about the car troubles you experienced before you were let go.

You met with Daniel, both he and Oscar wanted to take you out for food where they were both in their home country. Of course this meant you guys picked up Lando as a default. You guys went out for a meal, everyone online was excited to see the four of you out together.

Next weekend up was Jeddah, you performed really well there, your team thought it was time to use you for media again as much as Alex, and you ended up coming P4, Carlos just ahead of you taking that podium alone with Lando and Max.

After that came your most feared circuit... Spa. It was sort of a meme, when you were working your way up through feeder series and driving in other motorsport championships before you came to F1 that you never finished a race in Spa, there was either car problems or it rained and strategy was awful and you'd crash out or you would just have a problem driving.

You were hopeful to end that streak, the Curse of Y/N in SPA.

And it looked like that throughout all the free practices you completed and coming in P3, having set the fastest lap in Q1 on top of that.

You were nervous, but everyone was telling you that it looked like clear skies for the whole day and that it should be fine.

"Y/N?" a voice said behind you as you were about to hop into your car. You turn round spotting Charles there looking at you.

"Oh, Charles! You okay?" you ask looking over him.

"I know you struggle here, but I just wanted to say that I believe in you and what you can achieve today" he says in a small voice. The words, they were just words but it was the way he said them that you could tell that there was a different meaning behind them. And you appreciated it.

So you went into the car with a clear head.

"Radio check Y/N?" your engineer asks.

"Loud and clear, lets make this a good one" you reply before heading out for the formation lap. You do it and everything feels normal with the car.

You then wait for the lights out, you get an incredible start managing to go between Carlos Lando.

"OH WOAH, INCREDIBLE RACING FROM Y/N. She's managed to go between the Mclaren and Ferrari and SHE'S IN P1 Y/N Y/L/N LEADS THE BELGIAN GRAND PRIX" Crofty exclaims as he watched you on the screen in the commentators box.

You lead for the next few laps defending exceptionally from both Lando and Sainz who had managed to keep pretty close to you. After that it was a complete shit show. You had a really long pitstop, it was around 15 seconds and you were asking your engineer what was going on but they just said they were looking into it. It sent you down from P1 all the way to P18.

"Fuck sake!" you complain.

"I'm sorry for that Y/N, but lets pick up the pace and try get back up there" you have a spectacular drive. Your car was a rocket ship and you managed to get all the way back up to P4 and was about to overtake Leclerc when the rain report came through.

2 laps later and it was really raining, you'd pitted after a safety car was deployed changing tires and you managed to get the overtake on Leclerc. Into P3.

The rain only got heavier and that was when the race went tits up. The rain somehow interfered with your radio and it was only static you were receiving.

For the next laps you were relying on the pit board.

"What an interesting race this has been. Y/N has driven phenomenally and this is to date with out a doubt her best race in Spa, even through all the bad luck she's managed to pull through and she is currently in P1, defending her ass off from Lando and Lewis who are close behind her. This is just immense racing here today. She really came here with the mindset of a winner!" he explains looking at your on-board.

"Yeah, i mean she'd been without radio communications for 20 laps of this race, and the rains fading now, most crews are preparing to pit and make a final tyre change but its seems like nothing has been communicated to her"

As the track started to dry up you loose grip on the tyres more and more. There was no communication from your team and you were debating what to do. If you eased up now, you'd let Lando, Lewis and Carlos all past and risk your first win.

The last peice of communication you saw going past the pits was that you were leading and there was only 3 laps to go.

Lando was very close behind you, constantly in your wing mirror. He had tried some moves in an attempt to overtake but you'd kept defending like your life depended on it.

You go round one corner at the same speed you had been for the whole wet part of the race not realizing how quickly this corner had dried out. You attempt to break a little quicker, Lando doesn't antisipate and rear ends the back of your car, flipping you over.

"OH MY LORD THAT A MASSIVE CRASH FOR Y/N DOWN ON TURN 6. She broke early being on those intermediates where the tracks starting to dry out and Lando hasn't reacted quick enough. In the process he's busted his front wing!"

Lando Radio: Is she okay? I didn't mean that! I was it bad i went past to quickly to see where she went

Engineer: Red flag Lando, Red Flag

Lando Radio: Please tell me she's okay?

Lewis Radio: Holy shit, is she okay man. Why is she still on the inter's?

Engineer: Lewis that a Red Flag

Lewis Radio: This was a bad one.

And it was, you flipped multiple times before your car slammed into the barrier. You felt like an elephant was sitting on your chest right now and your head was dizzy.

"That's a really bad crash, and we don't even know if she's alright because the radio isn't working, the look of all the audi workers right now is really a sight to see" he says panning to all your colleagues with jaw's dropped and hands covering there mouths as their eyes water.

Some of them are actually crying, as no-body could detect movement and the car was barely visible from the damage caused.

You tried to keep your mind open with the adrenaline, but slowly your vision blacks out.

A/N: Oop i feel like this is my first proper cliff hanger!

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @stupidandunnecessary @clayra-g @daemyratwst @honey-belden @moonypixel @lauralarsen @vader-is-hot @ironcowboycopnickel @itsjustkhaos @the-untamed-soul @beebo86 @happylittlereader @ziejustme @lou-larcher5 @thewulf @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @chillyleclerc @chanthereader @annoyingmoonballoon @summissss @evieepepi08 @havaneseoger08 @celesteblack08 @gulphulp @fandom1ruined2me @celebstories @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhh @georgeparisole @dakotatankbig @youcannotcancelquidditch @zzonsbeek @tallbrownhairsarcastic @mellowarcadefun @ourteenagetragedy @otako5811 @countingstacksandpanicattacks @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @hopexcroc @mirrorball-6 @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @the-fem1n1ne-urge @21stcenturytaegi @dark-night-sky-99 @spideybv28 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @kapsylia @laneyspaulding19 @lazybot @malynn @cassielikereading @viennakarma @teamnovalak @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @jlb20416 @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @seomako @urdad-hot @formula1mount @tinydeskwriter @butterfly-lover @ironmaiden1313

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfiction #charles leclerc #charles lecrelc x reader #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #cl16 one shot #cl16 imagine #cl16 #cl16 x you #cl16 x reader #charles leclerc x you

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lookingformoondrop · 2 months

Note

Hi!! I love your writing and hope you’re doing great. May I request a break up scenario with yandere!Andrew?

Yandere!Andrew Graves x Reader

TW: Dark material, mentions of a unalived person, manipulation, andrew calls reader a dumb bunny, very toxic relationship, Andrew drags reader around by the hair (weeee), captivity/kidnapping if you squint? Angst, very very depressing, it's been a while, so this is probably OOC ;-;

♡ Notes: GUESS WHOSE BACK! yes, I admit I was gone for quite a while, but with the progress reports of chapter 3 coming around, I figure now is my time to rise again. After I wrote all of this, I realized I might have made this a little too dark... My next work will likely be a fluff. Sorry Anon! Thank you so much for supporting, and I hope I can continue writing pieces for y'all~ ♡

Tik

Tok

Tik

Tok

Tik

Tok

The clock on your wall ticked closer to 7 o'clock. Every sound in the room was silenced by the deafening sound of it.

At the time, buying that clock seemed like a cute idea.

It was an old thing, two big clocks held together with beautiful dark wood. And a small circle shaped glass built underneath the two clocks meant for displaying a picture.

It was placed on your fireplace mantel, accompanied by other little trinkets.

You tried not to look at the mantel or the pictures that displayed happy memories, instead opting to glare at the hands ticking closer to your doom.

You didn't deserve to glance at these memories with what you were determined to do.

The room around was in shambles. Blankets and pillows were thrown around, cups and plates stuck to the tables around the couch after hours of neglect, and every picture frame in reach with the smiling face of Andrew Graves was put down.

At any moment, Andrew was going to come through that door and open his arms for you.

You bit your lip, already cringing at the bloody spots forming. You had to leave. There was no other choice.

After what you've seen, there's no possible way you could keep hugging and kissing him...

When you first moved in with Andrew, you found yourself to be the happiest ever.

Every day, you'd roll over to face an already awake and smiling Andy, who would kiss your nose and promise you coffee.

Every evening, you'd have a delicious dinner prepared by Andrew, who would make the atmosphere romantic with candles and rose petals, all leading to a delightful night of fornication...

Yes, at times, there were small cracks in the fantasy you two had made.

You still had to go to work, and you still had projects and deadlines that needed to be met. Not only this, but you still had co-workers you needed to work with.

You had made peace with this and was more than happy to fulfill your office work, but Andrew was not.

Now that you thought about it, many times a day, he would demand for your attention. He would go as far as calling your office and asking to see you. Lunch breaks would extend to lunch hours, and your sick and vacation days were used up in a matter of weeks (back to back).

And then you get home... if you had spent a work day completely ignoring Andrew, going as far as muting him, there'd be no telling what he'd do.

It began with silence, then one word answers, but if you even started getting angry at him for his horrible communication skills, he'd finally lash out.

" Just help me understand. Do you hate me? You're ignoring me all the time so that I can run back to you and beg you to pay attention to me. Why do you even stay with me, then? "

At first, you thought maybe he was just stressed out.

You had such a beautiful relationship, and Andrew was never big on talking about stupid things.

These things could all be avoided if you communicated with him more. If you were just healthy, then nothing would be toxic. You were the shitty one in this relationship, not him.

When you took the blame for all those things, his anger disappeared.

So your life would become peaceful again.

You never considered Andrew to be possessive. He was... overprotective. That's all. He was caring for you. It's not his fault that you're so sensitive,

And now you were giving all that up, and for what? Because every now and then he'll complain about the people in your life?...

because once he'll complain about them, they disappear from your life?

...because you found one of those people in the basement freezer?

The same freezer he made you promise to never go into?

Your eyes blink up at the ceiling, the tears that were dancing on your water line finally spilling over the edge.

Suddenly, the sound of the door cracking open made you quickly wipe at your tears.

"Bunny? I'm here, where are you?" Andrew called out from the hallway.

"...In here, Andrew." You answered, holding your hands in your lap.

"Andrew? What happened to Andy? What, did I do something wrong?" Andrew walked in, having already ditched his shoes and coat.

"Y/N? Hey... What's wrong?" Andrew power walked to you, avoiding the many pillows scattered across the floor.

He leaned down in front of your knees, grabbing your hands.

You gulped, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Andrew, we need to talk about something."

"Yeah...?"

"You... you have to promise not to get mad at me."

Andrew's face darkened, "...sure."

You bit your lip and finally looked up.

But Andrew was no longer looking at you, instead staring at all the picture frames that faced the ground.

You breathed in once. You had put this off for as long as possible.

"Andrew, i didn't call anyone yet, but you need to let me leave. I dont- no- I can't stay here anymore and I -"

"No."

You sputtered but couldn't get a good look at Andrew's expression as he stood up.

"You always get me worried over nothing," Andrew scratched the back of his neck, absently playing with his sweater tag.

You stood up,

"Andrew, this is important! I- I don't feel safe anymore, I don't feel safe with you! You've been keeping so much from me -"

Andrew scoffed at you, cutting your words short.

"You're acting wacky. Are you sure you didn't take anything before I came home?" Andrew finally looked at you with cautious eyes, "Look, Y/N, you're probably tired and need a break from your phone. Give it to me, and I can put this whole thing behind us."

Andrew lent his hand out, half expecting your hand and your phone.

But you shook your head.

"I know, Andrew. I know what you did."

Andrew raised a brow, "What I did...?" His hand was still outstretched.

"Last night I wanted to surprise you with some chicken soup, but I couldn't find the meat in our freezer, so... I went downstairs to the basement instead - "

Your eyes glanced at the clock again, it's happy picture becoming distorted the more you spoke outloud,

Andrew's eyes widened, and his hand dropped, "Y/N, you promised me you wouldn't go down there."

Your breathing became shaky, and your hand grabbed at the hem of your shirt,

"Andrew, you told me that all you had down there was some hunting meat. Y- You lied, not only lied, but you... You fucking killed someone! Oh god, Andrew, why did I find my boss and his DETACHED head in our basement freezer?!"

Andrew avoided your eyes, instead opting to run a hand down his face, sighing deeply into his palm.

When he didn't defend himself, your thoughts ran wilder, and the anger that you had locked away began bubbling to the surface.

This went far beyond control and possessiveness, Andrew murdered someone. Your Andrew, the same man you slept next to for years, murdered someone.

"How many years did I spend with a goddamn murderer? I had thought that- that maybe it was this crazy elaborate plot twist, that maybe you had a good reason to keep A PERSON in a freezer, but maybe I was living with a killer who I should have left a long time ago!-"

"Enough."

You had barely any time to process what he said before he grabbed your hair and began dragging you to the bedroom.

You tried twisting from his grip, dry sobs racking your body.

"Andrew, please stop! I'm - ow!- I'm sorry!"

"No, you're not. Everything I ever did was to protect you. Clearly, you've been thinking about this for awhile."

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest, "and to think, I would've let you run around a little longer in the big world."

You continued sobbing, trying to grab at his hand. "Andrew, please!"

His hand pushed the door open, but right as he was about to enter, he stopped.

"Bunny", he crotched down to your level, his hand still grabbing your scalp, "do you love me?"

Your body shook involuntarily, your crying turning to hard hiccups. In your mind, all you wanted was to escape. To leave, to be embraced by someone who could protect you from this.

"P- Please Andrew, " you tried shaking your head despite the pressure, "s- stop, you're h-urting me."

Your chest heaved, your heart beating painfully against your chest.

Time moved slowly as Andrew searched your face, but slowly all the light he had in his eyes faded, and was replaced by a darkness that chilled your body.

"You didn't say yes." He clicked his tongue, "but that's okay, its only a matter of time."

Suddenly, he stood up and turned. Dragging you through the living room again, walking towards the basement door.

You screamed as you recognized the direction he was heading. You hit his hand, beating the grip he had on you.

Your eyes were wide and wild, trying to find some sort of escape, and your eyes landed on the clock.

Although you could no longer see the photo, you remembered the day Andrew brought it to you. He has promised to never leave you, and you promised to never leave him.

He asked you if you would love him if he was a monster.

You said, no.

All this time, you thought that Andrew would let you go. You would tell him you knew, he would turn himself in, and he'd let you go. Making all these years a bad nightmare. But the truth was, Andrew had long since known you would've found the body. The thought had crossed his mind, and he planned for the outcome even if he hoped youd be smart enough to never come to that.

When Andrew opened the basement door, he crotched down again and let go of your hair, instead moving you to his arms and holding you.

"Hey, I love you. You know that, right? I will never hurt you. Dont worry, you're going to be staying with me for a long time."

Andrew kissed your forehead, and began heading down the stairs.

Your eyes watched the door and the light that came from it as Andrew lead you further down the stairs.

Further away from the light, further away from freedom.

You cried into Andrew's shoulder, who patted your hair, until you could no longer see the light.

"You're never leaving me, my dumb little bunny."

Thank you for the ask! <3

#the coffin of andy and leyley #x reader #andrew graves #andy graves #y/n #andrew graves x reader #andy graves x reader #yandere andrew graves #yandere andrew graves x reader #angst #yandere #toxic relationship #manipulation #tw death #tw yandere #was supposed to be fluff #possesive love #possession #sorry this took so long

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phantom-0-writer · 7 months

Text

*standing menacingly at the door* i made u something

anyways lol. i had a lot of school work and was really busy freaking out and stress studying for a singular test that was 4 questions and would be over in like an hour and then i proceeded to cry about it in my car for various reasons.

but yk what that means!

time for our irregular and unscheduled update of

Gotham Academy's Mentorship Program

this episode featuring a fan favorite: Duke Thomas (aka The Signal - but thats kind of irrelevant for this)

you were supposed to read that like it was from a '90s sitcom and the off screen crowd cheers rly loudly.

some house keeping updates: this scene happens in the beginning of the school year (going by the american system should be september) danny meets damian (and upsurges tim on the same day) around midterm which is around october and then the stuff with jason and damian's drawing happens around december. i kinda accidentally burned the irl timeline for anything dc first scene so now im just gonna do whatever i want.

anyways with out further ado:

table of contents

scene 04: after school activities for normal kids

Duke stood around the corner of the classroom awkwardly, wondering if he had made the right call. Sure the bats and the birds had a plethora of hands on deck any time, but most of them specialized as night time heros. Not to say that they were incompetent or anything, they were some of the most skilled and innovative people Duke had ever had the pleasure of meeting. Sure if anything happened, they could handle it, at least until Duke could slip away and show up as the Signal- Alfred and Bruce had assured him so much. But Duke couldn’t slip the guilt of busying away more of his time to after school activities when he could be patrolling or studying instead,

But Duke had wanted to do something outside of those things, which was specifically why he had made the difficult decision to join a few clubs and after school activities. He could use a break from being surrounded by people who worked the vigilante life-style just to remember how to be a normal civilian. Let himself take a break from constantly be consumed by one case or another, one disaster or another, not being able to do enough no matter how much he tried or how much time he spent patrolling.

Duke needed to feel grounded, like his feet were on the ground and he could press the brakes and smell the fragrance of life. Even if the fragrance was a forgotten pile of dog s-

“Alright,” The instructor for their culinary club started with a weird German accent that sounded really fake. “I am Herman. You can call me Chef or Chef Herman or just Chef. I will not bore you all with the boring introductions, and let's head right into the cooking, yes. On this paper here I made the partners for all of you to cook with for the rest of the year. If you have problem with it then quit.”

This Herman guy seemed like quite the character, and was definitely not helping any of Duke’s previous anxieties. Many of Duke’s clubmates seem to think so too, sending their friends various looks. But no one spoke out, and instead shuffled to the front to look at the singular sheet of paper that would assign them their partners. Duke finally made it to the front and saw that he was paired with a Daniel Fenton at Station 7.

Crossing his fingers that Daniel had at least only a half-rotten personality, Duke made his way over to station 7. The station was already prepped with an assortment of ingredients and cooking equipment. Duke had already set his stuff down claiming the seat closer to the exit (in case) when a lanky kid comes over, “Uh, your Duke Thomas?” He asks hesitantly looking back at the front counter the partner assignment sheet was.

It took Duke an awkward second longer to realize that this kid was probably his partner. “Oh yeah I am.” He laughed apologetically, “You must be Daniel.”

“Danny’s fine.” The boy smiled, absentmindedly brushing his messy black hair out of his face, his glacier blue looking at the equipment. Duke couldn’t help but feel like there was something off about Danny. Not in Gotham’s usual psycho-maniac-out-to-terrorizer-the-city-and-kill-innocent-people kind of off, more in a he’s not in sync with the rest of the world off. While Chef Herman explained the general structure of various types of kitchen and kitchen hierarchy that Duke was already familiar with, Duke tried to get a read on him.

Weird did not mean threat, after all many of the Justice League- heck even the local Wayne/Batclan were pretty weird- and they (usually) didn’t mean any harm. It wouldn’t be fair of Duke to jump the horse like that.

Deciding he should try to be friendly with him, Duke leaned over, “Is it just me or is Chef Herman’s accent totally fake?” he whispered.

“Oh, Ancients,” Anciets? “I thought I was just going insane.” Danny sighed in relief with a small chuckle. There was a moment of silence between the two of them where no one said anything for longer than socially acceptable and Duke debated using his powers to see if he could find a clue or something. That seemed kinda invasive, though.

When the Chef had started instructions on making today's recipe, Chocolate Chip Cookies, Danny helped Duke measure out the ingredients. “So,” Danny tried again, “What are you in for?”

“What am I…” Duke repeated confused,

Danny chuckled awkwardly, “Like why you joined the club.”

Duke seriously needed to get his head in the present; this was getting embarrassing. “Oh.” He nodded in understanding, “I’ve always liked cooking,” Duke shrugged, “When I was little my parents and I would always cook together, and it was always one of my favorite things to do. And I’ve kinda always liked it, but I fell off of it for a while with school and stuff,” emphasis on the stuff “I thought joining a club could help me get back into it and get away from… everything.” That was a little more candid than Duke had planned on being with someone he had met quite literally a few minutes ago, but it felt good to have that out of his chest. The pleasant memories of his parents swimming in his mind. Mixing the dry ingredients, “Sorry that was kind of a lot.” Duke laughed genuinely this time.

“Dude, no it’s actually so cool that you like to cook.” Danny said admiration was easy on his face, and Duke couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed.

“What about you, then?”

“Ugh,” He groaned jokingly, “You can’t seriously be asking for my lame ass reason after you pulled out the flashbacks.” Danny whined, letting the oven preheat like Chef told them to.

“C’mon, it’s only fair.” Duke played along, already ahead of the other groups.

Danny sighed, “Promise you won’t laugh.”

“Okay, it can’t be that bad.” Duke could already feel the smile cracking on his face.

“It is.” Danny drawlled, “So I live in the dorms right, and I got to pull some strings and room with one of my friends from back home this year. And well, let’s just say my family has a bit of a reputation for causing problems, and the kitchen definitely wasn’t an exception. One time my dad tried to make some soup for my mom because she got sick.” Duke nodded approvingly, that was a sweet gesture, “It was all fun and games until the bomb squad had to show up and long story short we had to move.”

“You’re joking.” Duke gaped at the bizarre story, but at Danny’s solemn expression, Duke couldn’t help but be appalled, “A bomb squad over soup.”

“My parents were never really heavy on lab safety,” Danny added, as if that explained everything, “But I burn one pot of water and maybe make a few extra-crispy eggs, and suddenly its all ‘Danny you’re not allowed in the kitchen unless you start taking actual classes’ and ‘Danny that's a biohazard’.”

“You burned a pot of water.” Duke echoed, Danny nodded innocently, “Water doesn’t burn.”

“Well, maybe you’re just not trying hard enough.” Danny sneered, trying to crack an egg on the corner of the bowl only for all the shell to fall in the bowl and the yolk on the counter.

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s true.” Duke said, taking the bowl from him and expertly cracking an egg single handedly. Danny looked on in awe. “You said you live in the dorms?” Duke asked easily.

“Oh yeah, all of the non-local scholarship kids have to.”

Before Duke could respond, a girl from the station in front of them whips her head around, “You said you’re here on a scholarship?” She asked almost oppressively.

Danny just as taken aback as Duke felt, “Uh, yeah.”

“Me, too. Have you heard anything about the Mentorship Program here? Apparently we all have to join.” The girl’s partner was looking between Duke and Danny confused, but returned to their cooking uninterested.

“Oh, yeah. They make us all join.” Danny nodded.

“I heard from some of the older kids, that no one actually gets picked for that. It’s just like a weird formality thing.” The girl spoke animatedly, “What department are you in?”

“Applied physics and engineering design.” The oven beeps that it was ready but no one moved.

The girl seemed to deflate that answer, “Oh, I’m doing culinary science.” And with that solid conclusionary statement, she turned around and got back to her work station.

Danny blinked, processing what just happened and slowly turning to look at Duke for proof that just happened. But the second the both of them met each other’s eyes, they burst into a fit of silent laughter.

Bent vunuralably over the table, trying to catch their breath, they were accosted by Chef Hermon. “The two of you are having a comedy club, not a cooking club.” Chef crossed his arms at the edge of the table. Duke was pretty sure he was trying to sold them, but the fake accent was making it hard to tell.

Danny cleared his throat and striated up, “Sorry, Sir.” He apologized quickly.

“Chef.” Hermon peered at them, his hat looking comically large and lopsided on his head now that Duke was getting a closer look.

“Sorry, Chef.” Duke amended, trying to keep his cool.

“Yes, finish cooking your cookies.” He nodded satisfied, leaving their station.

“Okay so,” Duke tried to recount what the last thing they did was, but one look at Danny trying desperately to hold in his laugh had ruined all of Duke’s efforts as well. Barely managing to get their cookies in the oven, over Chef’s fake german accent and floppy oversized chef’s hat.

“So scholarship for applied physics and engineering design, huh.” Duke recounted from earlier, impressed.

“Yeah…” Danny trailed off embarrassed, “It sounds kinda snotty.”

“Dude. That’s literally one of the hardest departments to get into, and the scholarship is no sneeze either. There’s no doubt you worked your butt off to get that.” Duke assured Danny as they sat in their stools waiting for the cookies to finish.

“Thanks,” Danny smiled sheepishly. They sat in a much more comfortable silence now before Danny spoke again, “What grade are you in by the way?”

“I’m in 10th. General studies for now, but I was thinking of doing medicine. You?”

“I could totally see you as a hot-shot doctor.” Danny nodded approvingly, “11th. Technically, I’m your upperclassman then.”

“Technically?” Duke asked.

“I mean, how old are you?”

“15.” Duke supplied confused.

“Me too. I skipped a grade in elementary school, so we’re actually the same age.” Danny explained, sheepishly.

“Dude, you're actually way smart.” Duke gaped in awe.

“Hey medicine isn’t a day walk either.” Danny nudged his arm playfully, “I’m glad the mentorship thing is just for show, though. Now that we’re upperclassmen, y’know. I would not want my hands full with some random rich kid.”

Duke laughed, “Yeah, that definitely sounds like a lot of work.”

Easily unfolding the conversation into various topics and interests Duke found that he didn’t mind that the cookies were burnt. Or that Danny was definitely weird. But in a good way. Duke was glad they met and would get to hang out and cook with their weird not-German Chef every week. And if Danny and Duke exchanged numbers and planned to hangout outside of club activities, then well who was going to stop them.

#a little fluff to make our day better #duke and danny #the world definitely needs more of them #they start off a little shaky but their bffs at the end #danny heard the chef's weird accent and thought it was bc of time travel shenanigans and decided it was just best not to comment on that #duke will def be rubbing his friendship with danny in the other bat's faces once he gets indoctrinated #jack blew up his house over chicken noodle soup and no one lets him live it down #Gotham Academy's Mentorship Program #dpxdc #dp x dc au #batpham #danny phantom #duke thomas #signal #phantom

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thyln4gf · 2 months

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Polaroid

✞ You're the love of Charle's life, and he hates not having you around... This time, he missed you a little too much.

✞ A short one - 847 words.

✞ I have synesthesia! Here's 5 songs that I associate with this fic: "Older" and "I'm yours (sped up)" - Isabel LaRosa, "Unpunishable" - Ethel Cain, "Trust issues" - Drake, "Masterpiece" - Motionless In White.

✞ Warnings - sexual content, male masturbation.

✞ Charles x reader (Charles POV)

The days that Charles spent away from you were definitely a torture. And not for him alone - but also Carlos. He'd talk the poor lads ears off. You'd attend the races more often, but studies stopped you. What a shame, right?

Charles was down bad for you. If you have ever seen a guy simp for his girl? Charles was all that and more, multiplied atleast 7 times.

He loved everything about you, but one of his favourite things were... your tits. Yes, thats right. He liked them, maybe a little too much even. He liked to touch them, lick them, leave trails of kisses over them, sleep on them, just look at them in general. All of it. If you ever sat on his lap? You better have prepared to have his hands use your tits as his stress balls (they genuinely helped him relax after a long day). You never complained though - his hands were always warm, and felt pleasantly tingly against your colder skin. So whenever he was away from home for longer periods of time... What he experienced could be described the best as withdrawals - he was addicted to them. And the fact that they were attached to you? It made it all even better.

Charles was in his hotel room after a race, as per usual. But he couldn't sleep - his "withdrawals" today were stronger, and the thoughts about the absence of you and your tits kept him awake. He turned to his other side, again, letting out a frustrated groan. He was even starting to think of asking you to send him something, but he quickly shook the thought off. You were never the one to send nudes over text, but so was he. But suddenly...

He got reminded of something that completely vanished from his mind - something that could offer him a quick fix for his current problem.

He doesnt even have to leave the bed to grab his wallet - it was in the drawer of the bedside table. He starts to open it up, with slightly shaky hands. His fingers find the polaroid that he keeps in it, almost dropping the wallet in the process. He looks at it, and sucks in a breath. You see, the polaroid... was of your tits. It was a beautiful sight - you were laying down on the bed, clearly battling a hangover. Your arms were stretched over your head, covering your eyes from the golden hour sunshine coming through the window. The sheets were messy - a reminder of a fun night for both of you. And your tits were exposed. Charles thought of that moment atleast three times a day - you could definitely call it his "roman empire".

He stares at the polaroid for another 10 seconds, and it takes him maybe 5 to get hard. He wastes no time, because he knows that it would happen eventually. He reaches down into his underwear, his fingers gently teasing along his hard dick, and he breathes in quickly. He then wraps his hand around it, and thinks for a second. He felt a little ashamed, but he was getting rather desperate. He wishes that you were here, doing this for him - but this will also do, for now.

He starts stroking it, and a few soft moans already escape his throat uncontrollably. He is looking at the polaroid, thinking of you and your voice, the way you... feel, and even the way you smell, while getting himself off at the same time. He already knew that he wouldnt last that long, a few minutes at best - but he didnt care.

The stroking picked up pace in a few seconds, him getting more and more desperate to get the release - the thought of you felt way too good, teasing him in a way. More involuntary moans slip from his mouth. Oh, what he would give to hear some of your own right now.

He could finally feel himself getting very close, and he closes his eyes, picking up more pace - to reach his orgasm faster. And he succeeds - a few seconds later his hips are already moving up on their own, shaking slightly - just like the rest of his body. He collapses into the bed completely right after.

The hand that just finished pleasuring himself returns back up, to be able to grip the polaroid with both hands, as he opens his eyes again. The sight of one of his favourite things ever greet him, and he cant help but let a smile appear on his face. The time periods that you spend away from each other didnt matter to him - he was beyond lucky to have you, and wondered what the reason might be almost every day.

The relief hit him, but now the exhaustion followed. His eyes were already starting to close - but the thought of having to clean himself up woke him up again. He groans.

Fuck, chérie... The things that you make me do...

-----

Authors note: dedicated to a lovely human. Thank you darling<3 (you know who you are.)

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanart #fanfiction #formula one fanfics #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fanart #oneshot #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you

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backtotheshitshow · 1 year

Text

GHOST CLOTHES Part4 (final part): The Roof

(Wally Clark x reader)

Part1 Part2 Part3

Warning: fluff

Masterlist

Wally was literally freaking out. He’d spent all day setting up the roof. He’d put two school desk together to face each other and layed some fabric he found over them. Wally put out candles and paper flowers to add to the atmosphere.

“You’re stressing out too much” Charly says to the boy.

“Charly! Don’t start.” Wally says, fixing the the table cloths for the millionth time.

“I’m just saying I don’t think she’s gonna care if the table cloth isn’t perfect.”

“She might. You don’t know.” Wally mumbled.

“ dude it’s 7:15. You’ve been setting up for 4 hours.” Charly mentions.

“ what did you say?” Wally panics.

“You’ve been setting up-“

“No before that.”

“It’s 7:15.” Charly gave Wally a weird look.

“Shit, I’m late.” Wally shouts, quickly making his way to the football field.

…

Y/n sat on the bleachers, clothed in a cute little dress she found in the theatre department, chin in hand. Waiting for the jock to turn up to the date he so desperately wanted. “Come on Wally.” Y/n sighed.

“Y/N!” Wally yells for the other end of the field, sprinting to meet the girl. “Y/n! I’m so sorry.!” Wally shouts as Y/n walks down to him at the bottom of the bleachers.

“Wally it’s okay.”

“No I’m late and it’s not- Woah you look beautiful.” Wally looks at her like a 12 year boy who just saw boobs for the first time.

“Well thank you, handsome. Should we begin our date.” Y/n said taking Wally’s arm.

“Ah, um, uh yes of course. This way m’lady” wally laughed, causing y/n to giggle.

Wally and Y/n took their time making there way up to the roof, taking about everything and nothing. And for the first time since his death Wally didn’t feel alone, he felt seen and heard and… loved in a way that friends can’t give. They reached the last door to the roof when Wally makes Y/n stop.

“it’s not much but I tried to make it as nice as possible with what I could find.” Wally explains. Y/n gave the boy a soft smile.

“Wally just open the door” Wally did as told and opened the door. Upon seeing the roof set up Y/n smiled, following Wally to the table and taking their seats.

“Wally this is-“

“Too much?”

“No it’s perfect, this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.” Y/n confessed.

Wally blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah well how else was I supposed to win you over.” Wally laughs.

Win me over? Y/n thought. Does he really not know. He’s too sweet for his own good.

“Wally you don’t have to win me over, that’s not what this date should be for.”

“I’m sorry I thought-“

“Oh my god, Wally stop apologising, please. You don’t need to win me over, I already like you.” Y/n confesses.

“You do?”

“Yes Wally I do”

Wally smiled. “well good because I have something to show you.” Wally grabbed Y/n hand and pulled here over tho the edge of the roof. “Look down there” Wally points to the front quad. On it was ‘W + (your first initial)’ inside a big heart, painted in red paint.

Wally examined Y/n face for a reaction. “Ah shit, you hate this don’t you. I should have listened to Charly that it was too much.”

“Wally it’s adorable that you would do something like this for me.” Y/n says turning to face Wally.

Wally found himself admiring her features under the moon light again. He lost himself in the light that twinkled in her eyes, he placed his hands on Y/n’s waist. “You look beautiful, y/n” Wally hums.

“You don’t look to bad yourself.” Y/n smiled . Wally leaned closer, connecting their lips, smiling into the kiss.

They both melted into each other. Wally felt a warmth in his chest, and for the first time since his death he felt at home. The ghost pulled apart for air.

“Be my girlfriend.” Wally asked, practically begging.

“Only if I get wear that jersey and jacket of yours whenever I want.” Y/n says.

“Deal.” Wally agrees, pulling his girl in for another kiss.

… meanwhile…

“Charly, why are you keeping me in the auditorium?” Dawn questions.

“So I can make sure you don’t spoil the love birds romantic moment, again, sweetie.” Charley responds.

/////

A/n AHH! I loved writing this series so much, but not to worry there will be more Wally content from me.

#wally clark x reader #wally clark #wally clark x y/n #wally clark fanfiction #school spirits #milo manheim

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genderqueerdykes · 9 months

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Ditch Etsy for Good: A Disabled Etsy Seller's Experience

i started my Etsy store in August of 2022. I was in desperate need of income at the time, as I am disabled, and waiting for my full disability payments to come through. I currently make $245/month off of a general assistance program that's meant to "help" while you're waiting for those payments.

I needed, at the time, $900/month for my studio apartment, because I was on a month-to-month lease, and could not re-new it, as I was the secondary renter, and my abusive ex whom I could not contact was the primary renter. They needed his signature to renew the lease, or else I was on month-to-month status, which meant they could increase my rent to whatever price they saw fit at any point.

I was struggling to stay alive. I had a bunch of kandi supplies I had gathered over the years, pony beads, string, all that kind of stuff. So i accrued some extra supplies to make other types of necklaces and chokers. Keep in mind my level of poverty, and the level of inflation in 2022. I was having to accrue supplies secondhand, from thrift stores. Everything I bought and sold was upcycled, save for the few times I could afford things to fill in the gaps from craft stores.

After I gathered supplies, I went to work. I spent countless hours making all types of jewelry. Not really sleeping. Just countless hours of stringing beads, if I woke up in the middle of the night from a bad dream or stress about homelessness, I would go back to work. I've been homeless before. Several times. Never lived on the street or in a shelter, but I have lived in hotels, cars, crashed on couches and have run from getting kicked out for making little money endless times.

I drank a lot of coffee and ate very little. Eating consumed time, time that I didn't have. Once I was done making things, it was time to photograph every. single. item., then edit them, and upload them to Etsy. I had to create listings for each individual item, all of which cost $0.20 to create, and again to renew when it ran out in 3 months if not purchased. There was already a start-up cost.

Shipping made my life a nightmare. Etsy charged me for each and every single label. I tried free shipping at first, as it's a huge draw for customers, but labels were around $3.69 from my state to the mainland United States at the time, creeping ever closer to $4. For anywhere else it would easily come to $10 or more, international shipping was easily $20 - $40. Even if the customer paid for shipping I still had to go through the process of purchasing a label.

This didn't account for the fact that I had to purchase printer, ink and paper at some point to keep printing these labels. Ink is wildly expensive and your cartridges run out faster than they should. They are rigged to flag as empty when they're not. This also does not account for ink and paper lost when the printer does something in error, which is often. The office at my apartment complex was willing to print labels and packing slips for me for a while, but they cut me off after a few months.

The biggest kick in the teeth was the processing time for my payments. Because I shipped my first few orders without tracking labels. Etsy put a hold on my money for the next 3 months. They would take a random amount of time to process each payment. I could never figure out the schedule. My money would sometimes take days or weeks to arrive when I set Etsy to a "daily" payment schedule. It was torture. I was sweating over not having money constantly, and missing payment deadlines left and right.

I was getting orders at every hour of the day. I didn't "clock out" of this job. I had to change the notification sound of the Etsy Seller app on my phone because when I heard it, I would panic. I wasn't excited, I was filled with dread. It was never ending, and I was constantly stressed about getting orders out on time. I never had time to rest. I didn't get days off. I was on the job 24/7. Unless you completely uninstall the Etsy app and refuse to check it fora while, you can't really clock out of this job.

This isn't even touching the fact that Etsy also takes a cut out of every single sale you make, meaning you have to jack up your prices wildly either to make free shipping reasonable so you're not losing money on each sale, or you have to play a dance of figuring out what the best balance between shipping and item costs are, which is time consuming. It's a lot of math and comparing against your niche's market.

Etsy has an ads feature, which you must again pay for, where they will run ads for your products in random banner ads and whatnot. You are charged if one customer clicks the ad, not purchases something, meaning this is a complete fucking scam. The minimum is $1/day and you are forced to subscribe monthly. You can cancel at any point, but sometimes it takes a full day for this to cancellation to go through. The Etsy Ads feature sucks ass. I received exactly 2 orders through their service and kept it on for a few weeks here and there. It's horrid. You do not receive a significant enough boost in traffic to make the investment worth it. Also consider how many people use adblockers these days. This isn't hard to see.

The amount of time you have to spend promoting and boosting your own shop, buying supplies, creating and photographic products, uploading them to the website, and everything else in between is not worth the amount of money you make. You do not turn a profit unless you are selling very high end products like fine jewelry and antiques. Anyone else in the bottom rungs loses money through one avenue or another, Etsy finds ways to make the entire process draining and expensive for the seller.

The also will not provide you a 1099 document to file your taxes for your earned income unless you have made over $25,000 in one year on Etsy, which is literally impossible unless you make, as I said, fine jewelry. The average Etsy seller does not make this much in one year. We do not make a liveable wage, yet Etsy pretends like we do.

I didn't realize how draining it was to run this store until I put it in vacation mode. I'm shutting it down as soon as I'm able to. I could not handle the pressure of orders coming in in the middle of the night. I could not handle the pressure of not being able to remember which bracelets I could wear, and which ones were up on the store. Or which ones I could give to friends freely without having to issue someone a refund because I made a mistake. The worry of sending the wrong customer the wrong product was constantly on my mind. Every review that came in made me scared I had fucked up or provided an inferior product. I was distraught, broken and scared.

Now I'm much more free. The piddly jackshit amount of income I made was not worth it at all. I don't think I made back the cost of supplies and I definitely was never compensated for the sheer amount of labor I put into my products and orders. Etsy just kept kicking me while I was down and now that they have made it so that you are unable to file a class action lawsuit against them, they are only becoming more tyrannical.

Etsy does not care about their small sellers. They only care about the big cash cows who bring in big views and line Etsy's pockets with the Etsy Ads program. If you're too poor too keep up they'll chew you up and spit you out. Fuck Etsy. Fuck the lack of respect for their sellers. Fuck them for holding my money randomly for 3 months because I didn't know tracking labels were REQUIRED in their eyes. Fuck Etsy for never letting me know when I was getting paid, and for paying me on such an irregular schedule. Fuck Etsy for the fucked up fees and expensive shipping labels.

Fuck Etsy for everything. Let them go. Cut the cord. Navigate to Ko-Fi or somewhere else. Let this horrid site fucking die.

#our writing #our shop #our store #etsy

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someplace-darker · 2 years

Text

Kinktober Day 7: Costumes | Matt Murdock

Pairing: Matt Murdock x reader (no y/n)

Wordcount: 1.7k (this is going to be the longest one)

Warnings: 18+, PWP, costumes, a lot of sacrilegious activities, party sex, dirty talk, no protection (wrap it!!), afab reader but no pronouns are used, maybe slightly ooc matt but i am too tired to care. it's porn.

Summary: You may have fucked up on picking costumes for Marci's Halloween party, but at least Matt looks hot, right? Surely this won't awaken anything in the two of you- right?

A/N: Hi! I kind of got carried away on this one, there's probably a lot off repeat phrases, but this is the late day 7 and the late day 8 should be coming tonight as well but if not: oops. Also cmon, i had to make it a priest costime.

It had taken months of begging and persuasion to get Matt to even consider putting on a costume for halloween. Much less a shitty priest costume that you had snagged from the local party shop two hours before Marci’s ‘ghoul gala’ party. You’re not exactly sure how to tell Matt what the two of you will be going as, the ‘hot nun’ costume you snagged alongside his currently laying on his bed in front of you as you contemplate your options.

“It could be worse,” you nearly jump out of your skin, having forgotten you called Karen for help, her slightly glitched voice coming through your phone. Sighing, you pick up your costume and open the packaging, allowing the spandex like material to fall out onto the sheets. It’s incredibly skimpy considering what it’s portraying, the slats on the long skirt allowing most of your legs to be visible. Obviously the holy grail of it all, the wimple cutting off at your collarbones to allow a deep V to run down your chest “how can it be worse than this Karen, truly. I mean I could spit on a bible, maybe then-”

“You’re being dramatic, I’m sure Matt will love it.”

“I think Matt is going to have a stroke, but I appreciate your enthusiasm,” you remark dryly, biting back a smile when Karen snorts.

“Well he just left the office not too long ago so he should be back to you soon. Marci’s thing starts in about an hour, Foggy left the office in costume so I assume he’s more than stressed about it.”

“Oh i’m sure he’ll feel better when we get there,” you laugh, perking up when you hear the door click shut “Matt just got home, i’ll see you at the party okay bye!”

“Was that Karen?” Matt asks, stepping behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, chin coming to rest on your shoulder. “Yeah,” you speak, voice tight as you prepare yourself to tell him about your outfits for the night. He notices immediately, concerned questions spilling from his mouth and you brush off each one, assuring him that you’re okay before pulling from his hold to grab his packaged costume. You turn back and hold it out in front of him, biting your lip when he takes it from you, squeezing the plastic that encloses it.

You take the chance as soon as he begins to open it “don’t be mad at me.”

Matt pauses, sunglasses turning in your direction as he sighs “what did you do?”

The venue was huge, and you suddenly understood why Marci had spent so much money on it. You had been correct about Foggy’s mood improving when you showed up, the neutral look on his expression immediately turning into one of disbelief and elation. “You’re kidding me,” Foggy laughs, walking directly to Matt and pulling him into a hug before holding him back at arm's length. Matt is tense, you can feel it, but god he looks so hot, so you can’t find it in yourself to be that worried. The clerical collar accentuates the muscle and veins in his neck, adam's apple bobbing against it when he leans toward you to speak. “At least act like you’re not getting wet right now,” Matt grits his teeth, his volume dropped low enough so only you can hear.

Foggy’s voice is immediately drowned out by the rush in your ears, your thighs clenching together, his words like a warm rush through your body. “I need a drink,” you manage to spit out, weaving through the group of people until you reach the cooler on the opposite side of the room, pulling a seagram and beer from the ice. You’re half tempted to climb in, just to cool the heat that is spreading to the end of all your limbs and maybe clear your head. The beating in your chest is rapid, heavy thumps against your ribcage as your heart repeats what Matt has just said to you over and over and over, and you know for a fact that he’s listening to it purely because of the smirk that tugs his lips as you walk back towards him.

“Fancy a drink, father?” you raise your voice over the music to tease, handing the bottle to him with a bit more force than intended. Matt doesn’t know what he expects to feel when father slips off your tongue with such carnality, but lust was not one of them. It burns fiery in his chest, everything he has ever been taught about Thou shall not covet suddenly thrown out the window. You see the dilemma in the shape of the sharp inhale Matt takes, jaw clenching tight enough to see the muscle work.

“You’re treading an incredibly thin line here, sweetheart,” Matt warns, hand going to rest on the base of your spine before pulling you flush to his . The open slats of your costume causes your legs to brush against his pants, the thin fabric not doing much to cover the feeling of his hardening cock against you. “What?” you say breathlessly, hoping the thumping of music will drown out everything you say “you can’t handle it father? Do you need me to confess my sins?” The pressure against your lower back increases, as does your heart rate.

“You don’t need to confess them,” Matt replies smoothly “I’ll fuck them out of you.”

There’s a moment of pause as you gasp and Matt’s head cocks to the side as he focuses on something, bottle being taken from your hand and set on a table, his glasses nearly black mixed with the deep red lighting of the room. Grabbing your hand, Matt begins to tug you to the back of the venue, passing by people with ease and you hope that it’s too dark for anyone to notice the blind man leading you instead of the other way around. Soon enough he’s at a door, twisting the handle and pulling you inside. It’s a washroom, also bled in the same crimson lighting as if a bloodied glass was placed in front of your eyes. It’s giving you a headache.

“Is this what you wanted? Play a game of blasphemy until I get fed up and make you feel good?” Matt twists the lock on the door and presses you forward until your thighs hit the sink, his breathing ragged and heavy against your back. The costumes may have been unplanned, but your choice of words throughout the night had not. This is what you wanted, but the admittance of it out loud seemed more like desecration than anything else. You do it anyway.

“Yes,” you grin, pressing your ass back into him. Pride blooms in your chest when he chokes out a moan, fingers frantically pulling the skirt up to bunch at your waist before undoing his belt and pants. Matt’s hand rests between your shoulder blades, pressing you forward to bend over the porcelain. You blink back the haze in your eyes glancing up at the mirror inches in front of your face to peek at him, the sight of the clergy shirt ridden up his stomach revealing his hand fisting his cock enough to make you whimper.

You’ve never seen Matt so worked up before, and something tells you this is a subject you’ll have to tap into again at a later time. Right now though, he’s pressing into you slowly, lip caught between his teeth as he focuses on the feeling of your cunt taking him in. “Made for me,” he murmurs before pulling his hips back just the slightest to press in further than before.

The counter digs into your legs with each roll of his hips, moans tumbling past your lips with no hesitation, your body responding to him as it always does. “Oh my god Matty, so good,” you whimper, eyes pinching shut. No one has ever made you feel like Matt has, romantically or physically, the call of his body always pulling a response from yours. Your hands press against the tiled wall, eyes blinking open and glancing over him in the reflection catching the quick dip of his head, his hips stalling momentarily.

One hand leaves your hips to grip the white collar, pulling on it “gotta be quiet now sweetheart, someone’s waiting outside.The music is loud, but so are you.” Once it tugs free he reaches around to your face, holding it in front of your mouth. “Bite,” he instructs, voice ragged and terse. You do, clenching your teeth onto it to keep from crying out when his hips slam back against you. Your pussy clenches around him as your knees shake, the only thing keeping you from falling being the sink you’re bent over.

“Being so good sweetheart, need you to cum for me,” Matt moans, almost unheard through the ringing in your ears and hum of the outside music. Small shocks spark along your skin when his fingers find your clit, rubbing and applying pressure that has you keening, face falling forward to press against the cool metal of the faucet. He knows exactly how to play you like an instrument, knows how to make you sing the prettiest songs for him like this, and he knows it. You can hear his cocky chuckle when your legs begin to shiver, hands slipping from their spot on the wall.

Everything seems to slow except for your breathing, your orgasm racking up your spine and down your legs, inching through to your fingers and it takes everything in you to keep the collar clenched in your mouth as to not alert whoever may be lurking by the door. Matt praises you through it, slowing his thrusts but not stopping, waiting until he knows you’re coherent enough to hear him to speak.

“That’s it, baby, you did so amazing,” Matt leans forward to press a kiss to the back of your head, pulling the white fabric from your lips “think you can do another?” He rolls his hips into yours once more, hitting something inside you that makes the red lighting of the room turn to white. You hum, pushing back against him.

“Yes, father.”

#kinktober #my writing #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock fic #daredevil x reader #daredevil x you #daredevil fic #daredevil smut #priest!Matt murdock #not really but kind of #it's a costume #i am so exhausted

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afictionaladventure16 · 1 year

Note

bb I'm feeling the angst and hurt/comfort hyperfixation choking me out. what about... Pedro's daughter is incredibly stressed out. She doesn't ask for help because she doesn't want to be a bother. It comes to a head and she breaks down crying when he asks how her day is. Being the amazing dad he is, he cares for his baby and makes sure she takes a break and gets extensions for assignments

Stressed Out (Pedro Pascal x Daughter!Reader)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

Word Count: 1,712

A/N: I got you, bb!!! <3 I hope this isn't too short btw!! I hope you like it!!

Warnings: mentions of burn out.

Pedro had been keeping a close eye on your door, watching the small glow of light coming from underneath. It had been over two hours since you last came out and when you did, you barely said a word. He didn’t want to seem like an overbearing father going in to check on you 24/7, but he also didn’t want you to think he didn’t care.

Maybe this was all his anxiety getting to him.

“What is she doing?” He asked himself as he got up from the position on the couch. He hesitates walking over to your room, and eventually, he allows himself to go cook dinner. “I’ll cook dinner and then if she doesn’t come out, then I’ll check on her,” he tells himself.

You, on the other hand, were stressing out about all the assignments that somehow your teachers had due in the same week. You had no idea how it all came crashing down on you, as a well-organized person, you always had everything done on time and never dealt with things being due all in the same week, until now.

You had not had a good night's rest since Thursday night. It is Tuesday. Most of your weekend was spent trying to figure out what assignment you could do the quickest and which one needed your most attention. Then you spent a good amount of your weekend researching and crying and then doing more research and some more crying.

Part of you was glad that your dad had to be away for most of the day because you didn’t have to deal with him coming in every hour to check on you. Also, you didn’t have to bother him for help. Even if he had offered, you’d still refused because you didn’t want to be a bother. It wasn’t his mess, but yours.

“Focus, Y/N,” you said to yourself, it was hard to keep your eyes open. They were closing every other minute, stinging with any little breeze that came from the A.C. Growing heavy with every waking moment, you wanted so badly to just close them for a few minutes, but you knew it wouldn’t just be a few minutes.

Naps were a no-go, there wasn’t any time in your schedule for them. You slapped your face, hoping that the stinging of your cheek would distract you from the stinging of your eyes, and for a moment it worked. Only a moment. Then it was both your cheek and eyes stinging and no work getting done.

You groaned to yourself, resting your head on your desk, “Fuck me,” you muttered.

Your current subject was Chemistry and boy did you hate chemistry. Yes, the concept and the way it works are interesting, and the experiments you did were cool and interesting, but the work? Difficult. You hated it. You weren’t a chemistry type of person. Nor were you a math person.

You sat at your desk, staring at the word problem in front of you for about thirty minutes. The longer you stared at it, the less sense it made. You moved the paper to the other side of your desk, maybe if you looked at it from a different angle it would make more sense. You knew it wouldn’t work, but at this point you were desperate.

A knock at your door disrupted your thoughts, “Come in,” you said softly.

Your dad walked in, a smile on his face, “Hey, not sure if you smelled it, but dinner is just about ready.”

You hadn’t. You were so focused on your homework that you didn’t even smell dinner and you didn’t notice how hungry you were. Maybe some food in your system would help.

“Thank god,” you muttered as you got up from your desk, following your dad out into the kitchen.

“Mind setting up the table?” He asked as he gestured towards the small mess of miscellaneous items on the kitchen table.

You groaned at the sight, “Can’t we just eat at the counter like we always do?”

He chuckled, “Alright, but I swear, we keep putting it off.” You didn’t say anything else, your mind lingered back over to the assignments that were waiting for you at your desk. You could be finishing them right now. Your dad noticed how you got quiet, “you okay, hon?”

You hummed a response, sitting down on the stool next to the counter. “Looks like something is on your mind.”

“It’s nothing,” you said with a smile.

He sighed, placing one of the plates down, “Mija, I know you too well to know when you’re lying to me.” He walked over to you, leaning against the counter. “What’s on your mind?”

You let out a shaky breath, “School,” you said as tears began to well up in your eyes.

Your dad's face instantly softened, “Oh, Cariño, what’s wrong?”

You took in a deep breath, “I’m just stressed out,” you began, “I have two assignments for chem due on Thursday, Two Essays due Friday, Three assignments for Calculus, and an art project all due Friday too.”

Your dad wouldn’t say it to your face, but you were fucked. It was a lot of assignments and so little time. “Oh, Mija,” he cooed. “No wonder you’ve been locked up in your room!”

You let out a small sob, and your dad pulled you in for a hug, “I don’t know what to do,” you sobbed. “I’ve been working nonstop on my assignments since Thursday, I barely got any sleep over the weekend. I’m so tired, Dad.”

“Mija, how come you didn’t tell me?” he asked.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you sobbed into his shirt.

He let out a disappointed sigh, rubbing your back gently. “Mija, you’re never bothering me when it comes to these things, you know I’d rather you tell me than you be all stressed out.”

You let go of the embrace, wiping your nose with the sleeve of your shirt, “I didn’t want you to feel stressed. I know you had a long weekend with all the press you had to do.”

“Just because I have to stand in front of a camera and answer a few questions for a duration of time, doesn’t mean you can’t tell me these things. You come first in my life, if there is something you need help with I want you to tell me. I’ll make arrangements,” he gently wiped away the tears on your face with his thumbs.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

It was beginning to all make sense, why you hadn’t come out of your room and why you were always yawning around him. He was slowly starting to believe that you thought he was boring.

“It’s okay, but from now on you tell me if you need help, okay?” You gave him a small nod, and he placed a kiss on your forehead. “Alright,” he began, “this is what we’re going to do. I’m going to go to your school tomorrow and ask for extensions on your assignments, you are also going to take the night off. That means no more working on these assignments for the night, okay?”

“But-”

“No buts or ifs about it, senorita!” He said sternly but with a smile on his face. “Tomorrow when you get home from school we’re going to work on your assignments together, Okay?” You nodded, “Now go change into your pajamas and hop into bed and wait for me.”

“What about dinner?”

“Go!”

You rolled your eyes and jumped off the stool, your dad placed a quick kiss on your cheek before you walked off.

“Aye esta nina,” he muttered to himself as he watched you walk down the hall. He couldn’t believe that you tried to hide this from him, especially since you told him almost everything. But it was okay, he was going to make sure you got the help you needed for your assignments.

After a few minutes, Pedro carried two plates with him to your room. You were already laying down under the covers when he walked in, “thought you were going to send me to bed without dinner,” you commented.

He chuckled, “Nope, we’re having dinner in bed,” he stated, placing one of the plates on the bedside table before handing you the other plate. He laid down beside you, grabbing his plate. Your dad grabbed the remote that was on the bedside table, “alright, what are we watching?” You shrugged, “Paddington 2?”

You groaned in annoyance, “Not Paddington 2, I already feel shitty, I don’t wanna feel shitty and sad.”

“Alright, alright, no Paddington 2. Even though it’s a masterpiece.” You rolled your eyes at his comment, “I know!” He exclaimed.

You watched as he began to put in the letters in the search bar, “Bridesmaids?”

“It’s a classic!”

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, “alright, I can agree with that.”

You were quick to finish your dinner, laying your head on your dad's shoulder as the sound of his laughter slowly drifted you to sleep.

Pedro wasn’t sure when you had fallen asleep and he wouldn’t have noticed if it wasn’t for your snores. He smiled to himself as he gently moved you so you were in a better position on the bed. He grabbed the plate from your lap before attempting to leave the bed, but he felt a tug on his sleeve.

“Don’t leave,” you muttered in your sleep.

He sighed, “I’ll be right back,” he whispered. He was quick to go place the dishes in the sink and get into his pajamas before heading back to your bedroom.

He got back into the bed, “Cuddle, por fav.” (please)

He chuckled, you hadn’t asked to cuddle since you were little and he had missed it if he was honest. “Alright,” he said as he lifted his arm so you could lay beside him. He placed another kiss on your forehead, “Go mimis, mija, I’ll be right here.” That was all you needed. You were safe in his arms and you knew that you could get a good night's rest now. Your assignments could wait one day. Your dad moved a strand of hair out of your face, “my stubborn girl,” he whispered.

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