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sykostyles · 2 months

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subject to change 1.0

wc: 6.4k summary: in which Y/N is a fairly inexperienced romance author, and Harry is a bookstore owner who happens to be a big fan. What happens when he offers her one night to experience some of the things she’s written about? part two

a/n: hi there! can you tell I'm ovulating? that is the only explanation I have for this one. big shouts to my mootite patootie @celestie0 for being a real girls girl and being my beta reader and personal hype woman! she read the whole thing and she doesn't even like Harry like that! Ellie is a real one. (check out her story kickoff rn!🔪)

cw: bdsm dynamics, impact play, breath play, spit play, cum play, anal, anal creampie, p in v, facefucking, mild shibari, bondage, use of sir, degradation, edging, spanking, choking, toy usage (vibrator, butt plug), overstimulation, there’s a lot okay reader be warned.

“Hey, Jenny!” Your voice echoed through the phone. Your publicist had a habit of calling when you were trying to get your daily rough drafting and editing done. Currently you’re staring at a manuscript of the follow up to your latest release, still unsure what to name it.

“Y/N, I’m glad I caught you! I had something come up for you to start the press tour for your newest release!” Jenny, your publicist excitedly squeals through the phone. Her tone makes you peel the phone away from your ear for a split second. You glance over to your right to look at the book in question. “Little Freak” was your latest release. Another smutty romance novel full of things you’d never actually experienced; only dreamed about. You were experienced enough, but always craved more. But your books were a hit and people were snatching them up left and right.

“A press tour? I’ve never done anything like that.” You respond, balancing the phone between your cheek and shoulder, tapping away at your computer

“I know, but it’s a signing! At this local shop downtown.” She explains, “The owner says they’d love to host in exchange for the publicity.”

“A signing?” you question. Never did you think a signing would be an event you’d have. ”People want to meet me?”

“Oh yeah, girl. Loads of people.” She chuckles. “Do you know how many people have sent you fan mail saying you gave them a sexual awakening with your books? So many people want to meet you.” Her response makes you physically laugh.

“Wow, I'm just writing about fantasies I have.” you chuckle, “But I’m so glad people are finding themselves.”

“But about this signing!” She continues. “It’s booked for next weekend, but I’ll be going this weekend to meet with the owner and talk about the setup. You can be there if you want or you can just leave that to me.” She continues rambling about anything and everything pertaining to the signing. Ending the call she gives you the address and you tell her you’d meet her there on saturday.

You loathed taking public transportation, and requesting a car for a short trip seemed pointless to you. So hoofing it, it was. Weaving your way through the city sidewalk, you’d located the shop rather easily. You were shocked you’d never heard of this place before. You’d been through here many times.

“Y/N, over here!” You hear Jenny yell from the corner of the store. It was really nice. Big floor to ceiling windows. Full mahogany bookshelves lining the walls and aisles. A giant seating area with plush chairs, couches and bean bags. A coffee and tea bar near the windows. String lights hang from the exposed rafters. The aroma of the store wafting scents of natural wood, patchouli and vanilla. There’s plants everywhere. The cash register tucked in the corner with a “Owners Picks” section right in front. Harry’s House in big yellow bubble letters on the wall.

Your eyes just scan everywhere before they fall on Jenny, standing next to a man. A man with emerald eyes, dark chestnut curls, glasses pushed atop his head, and a smile plastered on his face.

“I can’t believe this place has been hiding here,” you state, walking towards her and the man. “Hi, I’m Y/N,” you’re holding your hand out to him. He eyes you before slipping his hand in yours and giving you a delicate shake. Your skin heats up at his touch.

“M’ Harry. S’nice to meet you,” he claims, “I haven’t opened yet. Your signing will be my grand opening.” He states, letting your hand go. What was that?

“That explains why I’ve never seen it before. It’s beautiful in here,” you gesture all around. “It’s so cozy.” Why do you want him to touch you again?

“That was the vision when I was planning everything. When I heard your team was looking for a place to host a signing, I knew it would be perfect for a grand opening as well.” Keep talking.

“You’ve heard of me?” you ask in disbelief with your eyebrow raised. He’s looking at you as if he’s ready to eat you alive. Please do.

“I’m quite a big fan, actually.” he chuckles, “I’ve read all of your releases so far. But, we can discuss that after. Jenny, do show us what your plan is.” He says, leading you both over to the seating area.

After your sit down meeting with Harry and Jenny, Jenny says she’s heading back to the office to send out the email to your team with the plan. Harry asked you if you’d stay to continue your conversation from earlier and go over more specifics, to which you happily obliged although you felt a tinge of nervousness once you were left alone with him.

You eye him as he prepares some tea for the both of you, getting a really good look this time. Glancing at the furrow in his eyebrows as he focuses on the task at hand. The fabric of his white dress shirt pulled taught across his shoulders as he moves around the space; the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The skin you can see is littered with black ink. The way the veins in his arms start to give you unholy thoughts about how they’d feel wrapped around your neck–

“You’ll have to forgive my shortness earlier, I’m not used to men telling me they’re a fan of my work,” you chuckle, trying to steer your thoughts in a different direction.

“Ah, not to worry. It takes more than that to offend me,” he says, walking back to the couch you’re settled on; tea cups in hand. “But, indeed I am a huge fan,” he hands you one of the cups as he takes a seat on the other end of the couch. “I believe the first book of yours I read was Lingering Smoke,” he ponders for a moment, “Or no, it actually was Whipped & Chained,” his recall of your titles make you squirm.

“T-those are my two most popular titles,” you start to speak, praying he didn’t notice the way he made you stutter. He did. You clear your throat before continuing, “but my latest release is wiping the floor with both of those at this rate,” you say, regaining your composure. He offers you a smile. A salacious smile.

“I’m not surprised,” he says, eyeing the pink tinge on your cheeks, “I have read them all though,” he says, shifting his seating position on the couch to now fully face you, “they often give me,” his gaze boring into yours, “ideas,” he’s lifting his tea cup to his lips. You swear you feel a chill down your spine.

“Ideas?” you question, your eyes searching his. Are they darker?

“Ideas.” He affirms. “You should know though. You write about them.” He chuckles.

“I mean, I guess,” you shrug your shoulders, “I’m just writing fantasies I have,” you laugh, but he doesn’t.

“Fantasies? You mean you’ve never done those things? Felt those things?” He asks in disbelief.

You shake your head with a light laugh. “I seriously find that so hard to believe.”

“Please, my college boyfriend could never,” you chuckle, setting your tea cup on the coffee table. “I just drum up some ideas–as you so call them–and put it into a story. Nothing special.” He stares at you in disbelief again.

“I jus–wow. I honestly expected you to be super well versed in those aspects. Pardon my assumption,” he says, holding his hands up.

“I mean, I guess it’s a pretty fair assumption, so no offense taken. Apparently I’ve given people sexual awakenings according to Jenny,” you laugh making him laugh this time.

The awkward tension seems to dissipate with the shared laughter, but a different tension seems to linger. He seems so stone-like; like he only has one goal; and that goal is you. Truth be told, you’d happily oblige.

“Would you like to?” He asks, repositioning himself on the couch again, slightly closer to you.

“Like to?” you’re feigning ignorance. You know what he wants, but you're playing dumb.

“Experience those things.” He leans his arm over the back of the couch, taking in the obvious look of desire in your eyes.

“I mean, sure. Who wouldn’t?” You snort, looking over to him but he’s just staring at you. “Oh, you mean like, with you?” you ask slowly, still playing dumb.

He smiles that smile again, “Sure, why not?” He asks. “I’m game if you are.”

“Harry. Do you hear how crazy that sounds? We’ve known each other for half an hour.”

“So? We don’t have to see each other after. I don’t really do ‘feelings’ anyways.” he’s gesturing air quotes around feelings, his tone rather repulsed sounding. “This could be a one time thing. You get to experience some of the things you’ve written about, and I get my rocks off. A win/win situation if you ask me.” He says, gathering the tea cups and sauntering back over to the coffee station.

“You sound so romantic, Harry,” you chuckle. Maybe this wouldn’t be a terrible idea. The last hookup you had was less than thrilling. And here you have a very attractive man offering exactly what you’ve been looking for. Regardless if it’s for one night, you’re willing to try.

“Interested?” He asks, leaning against the counter behind him.

“Sure. Why not,” You respond, mimicking his words back to him.

You make a mutual agreement to meet up and converse every day over the next week to discuss specifics, what each other's limits are—Harry all but told you he had none—and to remind you that this was all about you and what you wanted to experience. He gave you homework of coming up with what exactly you wanted. Your mind races as you think about what you’d want to experience first. There are so many options!

He adored the look of mixed emotions on your face; the excitement, the apprehension. The enthusiasm in your voice but also the way you shied away when he asked you to list what you wanted, and how you wanted it. The way you sit on the couch in his bookstore with your legs crossed as you look down at the notebook in your lap. Ever the author; making a rough draft of these taboo acts you want this near stranger to do to you. Harry may not make it out of this alive if you keep looking at him with those eyes.

After your signing is when he’d bring your fantasies to life.

The spare key to his apartment was burning a hole in your hand as you made your way down the hall. You stood in front of the door a moment, contemplating one last time if this was what you wanted. He reminded you before you left the bookstore that there was no pressure. He would understand if he got home and you weren’t there. But you’re certain you want this. If nothing, you’ll get more fuel for your writing,

Once inside, you set his key on the counter before making your way to his bedroom so you could prepare for his arrival. Nerves are sneaking up on you but they’re overtaken by sheer excitement once you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror on the wall on the opposite side of his bed. You begin to undress, watching yourself in the mirror as you pull your dress down your shoulders, revealing the dark red lingerie set you wore for the occasion.

The sound of his front door opening causes your breath to catch in your throat. Finding your spot near the bed, your hands find the tops of your thighs as you kneel on the floor in anticipation of his arrival; eyes cast down like he directed. His footsteps draw closer, causing the butterflies to stir awake inside your gut. The bedroom door opens, but you keep your gaze down. The tops of his shoes come into your vision. “Eyes up.”

Your head snaps up in response, eyes meeting his dark gaze. That salacious grin being the star of the show. “Hmm,” he starts, sliding his thumb across your cheek as he takes hold of your chin, “Already so obedient,” he clicks his tongue, “I like that.” The mild praise makes you grin.

His free hand slides down to fumble with his belt buckle, the sound of the metal clinking together sending shockwaves straight between your legs. You feel the leather being slung around your neck and he sinches the sides together, tightening around your throat.

Your breath hitches.

“Open,” he says. Your tongue immediately lulled out as you open your mouth, aiming to please him. You groan as a warm stream of spit falls onto your tongue and two of his fingers press down to smear it around the surface. “So pretty like this.”

A whimper escapes you in response.

“Do you remember your safewords?” You nod. “And what are you supposed to do if you’re unable to speak?” Reaching up, you tap his thigh three times. “What about if your wrists are bound?” You snap your fingers before resting your hand against your thigh again. Gurgling sounds fall from your lips as his fingers run over the back of your tongue. “Good girl,” he pushes a little further, “That’s a good girl,” he says as his fingers make their way down your throat, brushing against your gag reflex, causing you to gag slightly. “Ooh, a little training is needed I see,” he mocks.

Your core is on fire and he’s barely touched you. A few dirty words and his fingers in your throat and you’re ready to roll over and bark like a dog, Nevermind the fact that his belt is around your neck like a leash.

Whimpers leave you at his chastisement, making him grin. Spit rolls down your chin; your hands reach up instinctively to grip the front of his thighs. “No touching,” he reminds you, making you timidly retract them. “Do I need to restrict your hands already?” You try to shake your head in his hold to say no, causing the belt to tighten.

That was one of the only rules he gave you. “No touching, no kissing, and you have to ask me permission to cum.”

Tears burn in the seams of your eyes as he continues his exploration of the inside of your mouth; fingers prodigy at your gag reflex again. You cough and gag but he presses on just a little further until he feels you instinctively pull your head back. Harry withdraws his fingers as he watches you cough and heave. “Don’t know how you’re gonna take my cock, sweets,” he mocks you again, “you’re already a crying mess from two fingers.”

His words make you audibly groan. You want more. You need more. “Need it, sir,” you smile up at him.

“I know, pup,” he’s cradling your face. He taps your cheek with those same two fingers, telling you to open again. “You’ll get it,” he spits on your tongue once more, “Now, remember to breathe through your nose this time,” he says before he slides his fingers back in your mouth.

Your ankles are secured to the posts of his headboard; wrists hooked to the leather belt around your waist, and your head hangs over the edge of his bed. Harry’s hands roam your upper body, groping your breasts and pinching your perked nipples. His cock sliding in and out of your throat at an agonizingly slow speed; savoring the feeling of your tongue gliding along the underside of his shaft. “Fuck, sweets,” he groans. A hand sliding up to lightly grip the sides of your neck, “haah, feel that?” he asks, squeezing the sides where your throat bulges, “feel me deep in your throat?”

Drool pours from the sides of your lips; the wet squelching sounds of his cock gliding in and out of your throat is like music to his ears. “This what you wanted?” he asks, pulling himself from your mouth, tapping his length on your lips. You writhe before him, trying to catch your breath. He rubs the tip of his cock over the apple of your cheek, smearing the drool and precum across the surface. “Asked you a question, pet,” he says, giving an open-palmed smack to your right breast, making you yelp.

“Y-yes, sir,” you breathe out, “T-this is what I w-wanted.” You wish you could clench your thighs together to feel some kind of friction. His condescending tone has a rush of arousal pooling between your legs.

“Yeah?” he mocks, “Wanted your throat fucked like some cheap whore?” He slides back in your mouth. A whimper escapes your lips as he reaches the back of your throat. Steadying your breathing through your nose, you focused on the task at hand; keeping your tongue flat and your cheeks hollow. You’re squeezing your fists together, creating crescent shaped indents on your palms. It’s like you can already feel him everywhere. You can’t wait to actually feel him everywhere. “Just wanted me to have my way with you?” he slides one hand down between your legs and swipes two of his fingers through your folds, “Such a dirty girl. So wet for me already,” your hips involuntarily buck at the contact with your neglected core, making him chuckle before shoving your hips back down onto the bed.

“Hold it,” he demands as he stills his hips with the tip of his cock nestled in the back of your throat. Five. Ten. The seconds tick by as he tests your breath holding ability. Fifteen. Twenty. You flex your hands before clasping them back shut; Harry keeping a close eye on them lest you need to perform a safeword act. Twenty five. Thirty. “Good,” he commends as he pulls out and you struggle to catch your breath. “Very good, Pup,” he taps your cheek with his fingertips.

Harry maneuvers himself around the bed, grabbing the spool of rope on the floor before moving to settle on his knees between your legs. He frees your left ankle before taking hold of your hips and pulling you towards him, letting your head rest on the mattress. “How’re you feeling up there?” he asks, smoothing his hands up your legs, over your hips and tummy, stopping and rubbing slow circles.

“G-good, s-sir” you stammer out, still breathing deeply; flexing your hands to get the feeling back in them. You feel his hands grip under your knee, lifting your leg into a bend; foot flat on the mattress.

“Yeah?” he smirks, “What’s your color?” He grabs the spool of rope to his right, beginning to wrap the rope around your bent leg in a frog tie; the back of your calf is flush with the back of your thigh, forcing your leg to remain bent and open.

“Green,” rushes out before you even think about what he asked, you just want more.

Harry smiles at your response, finishing up the last bit on the knots. He runs the tips of his fingers over the rope before lifting himself on his knees to lean over you. “Good,” he smirks. Leaning forward, he braces his weight on one hand near your head. “Well just look at you,” he mocks. Your mascara is running, the lipstick you wore is smeared, and half dried patches of spit and precum litter your skin.

His other hand reaches up to lightly grip the sides of your face, turning your head from side to side in his hold as he really studies his handiwork. “Seems I’ve turned you into a little throat slut, huh?” His degrading words send shockwaves to your cunt. “But, let's see what else your holes are capable of,” He says with a firm smack to your cheek, causing your head to jerk to the left and a masochistic smile to form on your lips. Harry slides off the bed before appearing above you again, a blindfold in hand.

Your vision has been taken from you as well as your mobility. He has you exactly where he wants you; pliant and ready for him.

Harry settles between your legs again; teasing touches linger up your legs towards where you want him most. You feel two fingers spread your lips apart. “Hmm, such a wet little pussy. Were you feeling neglected down here while I was fucking your face?” he teases. You whimper in response, making him grin. Ghosting his fingertips over your sensitive bundle of nerves, he slides two of his fingers between your folds before dipping them inside and curving them upwards. A strangled moan falls from your lips. “Let me hear you,” he’s scissoring his fingers in and out of you, “Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.”

“G-god, sir. S-so good,” you whimper. “N-need more, please,” your skin begins to heat up; a thin layer of sweat forming. Chills follow; goosebumps littering the surface

“Oh, I’ll give you more,” he chuckles at you, bringing his free hand down in a firm smack on your clit, making you jolt. Reaching to his left, he picks up a wand vibrator, sets it against your clit and turns it on the lowest setting; gradually turning it higher in tandem with his fingers. He’s working you up to the peak of the mountain, steadily keeping you on your toes.

“Please, please, please, can i cum, sir?”

“No,” he’s retracting his fingers and the wand as he watches you whine and writhe before him.

“Hnng, sir, please,” you beg him. “Put it back, please,” Tears begin brimming in your eyes at the loss of stimulation.

“Silence,” he slaps down on your clit again making you yelp. “You cum when I say you can,” his tone firm, “Do you not remember that part of our conversations?” his hand comes down on the bundle again. Warm tears start dampening the blindfold held against your face. You nod your head. Smack. Again. “Words,” he prompts.

“I-I r-remember, Sir,” your voice wobbly, “I’m s-sorry,”

“I’ll bet you are. Don’t worry though, I’ll make sure it sticks in your empty little head,” another smack follows.

He’s got you on your knees now, left leg still frog tied and the other reattached to the bedpost, your back in a full arch. Your hands are stretched above your head; wrists tied together with leftover rope. His hands are anchored to your hips as he drives his cock in and out of your cunt. “Sh-shit,” he grunts, “this pussy feels so good; sucking me in like there’s no tomorrow,” One of his hands glides down to tickle the bottom of your foot, causing you to jolt and squirm in his hold. He grins at your attempt to escape the sensations.

“Hnngh, sir,” you groan, turning your head against the sheets. “Feels. So. Fucking. Good,” each word sounding pointed with each thrust of his hips. Your body is addicted to the dopamine rush; still holding on to the feeling of every orgasm he ripped from you with the vibrator before he decided you were ready for his cock. But not before he nestled a dark red, heart shaped plug into your ass to prep for later. You feel so deliriously full with both holes being stretched.

Harry reaches up, gathering your hair in one of his hands before tugging you up to be flush with his front, keeping up the pace of his hips.

“Know it does, pet,” he switches his hold, gripping the front of your throat with one hand as he slides the other one down between your legs to rub fast circles on your clit. “Can feel you clenching down on me like a damn vice,” His grip tightens on your throat, his fingers speed up as you turn into a crying mess from his touch..

“G-gna cum,” you stammer, “P-please, let me cum, s-sir,”

“Cum,” he stills his hips against your ass, but continues his ministrations against your clit causing you to convulse against him’ your abdomen contracting with each wave of pleasure.

“S’too much, sir” you cry out, “Please! Too much!” you wiggle in his grasp. He squeezes the sides of your throat a little tighter as a warning.

“You know what to say to get me to stop,” he reminds you, continuing to massage the abused bundle.

You choke out a whine in response, your body trembling with red hot pleasure. He knew you didn’t want him to stop. You knew what words to use to get him to slow down.

“Dirty girl. You’ll take anything I give you, huh?” he chastises you, his words scratch an itch in your brain and send you into a second orgasm. He continues to pull delicious sounds from you; all the sounds he’s become obsessed with. Tossing you back down onto the bed, he braces himself on either side of your head as he begins to piston his hips into you, fucking you into the mattress and siphoning every ounce of your orgasm he can out of you. “Such a good little slut, creaming all over this cock.”

His hips begin to slow as you come down and he runs one of his hands down the expanse of your back, before pushing and pulling on the plug.

“Oh, f-fuck, sir. That feels s-so go–ood,” your voice muffled by the comforter. “W-want you in my ass, sir. Please,” you say, turning your face against the mattress so he could hear you.

“Yeah? Wanna feel me stretch that tiny ass open?” he starts to pull on the plug, your hips jerk in reaction.

“Mhm, need it.” you mewl. “Please, sir,”

“I’ll give it to you, pet, don’t worry,” he says as he slowly pulls himself out of you. Harry stands from the bed before pulling you towards him. Maneuvering you to lay on your side with your back and butt facing him as he stands behind you. He smooths one hand up your side, groping your breasts, sliding further along to grip your chin. “Open,” he commands, just like earlier. Opening your mouth, you invite two fingers inside. “Suck.” You happily oblige; wrapping your tongue around his appendages. His other hand reaches down between you to grasp the edges of the plug as he eases it out, toying with you in the process.

You whine at the empty feeling, but you’re too focused on his fingers in your mouth to really care. Feeling his free hand swipe between your cheeks, he pushes a finger inside, eliciting a gasp from your lips. He takes the opportunity to push his fingers further into your mouth and add a second finger into your ass; slowly pumping the two fingers in and out of the tight ring of muscles. Groans fall from you at the strange intrusion; but you’re craving more.

“M-more,” you moan, voice strained from his fingers pressing on your tongue.

“Didn’t anyone teach you not to speak with your mouth full?” He sneers at you, retracting his fingers from your mouth before colliding his fingertips with your cheek.

You smile.

“S-sorry, sir. Feels s–so good. N-need more,” you’re pushing your hips back against the thrust of his fingers.

“Are you a little anal whore now too?” He chastises, but adds a third finger anyways, stretching you as best he can.

“Mhm,” you whine. “Want your cock. Please, sir.”

“Yeah, know you do,” he says as he withdraws his fingers slowly. He spits in his hand and wraps his fingers around the head of his cock, smearing the spit over the tip. He aligns himself with your tighter hole before beginning the tight press inside. “Just breathe,”

“Ngh, fuck,” you groan as he slowly inches inside. “Sh–shit,” your body tenses at the intrusion. It hurts so good. The stretch. The fill. Your head is spinning. More. More. More!

“Mm, such a tight ass. Pulling me in so good,” he continues his shallow thrusts, easing his way inside until he’s fully sheathed. “T-there, we go.”

You’d never been comfortable enough to go beyond a plug in your ass with previous partners. Perhaps knowing you won’t see Harry after is what made you so feral for it this time around. You can’t describe the level of fullness you feel right now. His hands are gripped on your hip, thumbs digging into the supple flesh as he pulls you back to meet each thrust of his hips.

“S-sir,” you whisper out to him, your voice gone hoarse from screaming out in pleasure.

“What, pet?” he squeezes your hip, “you need something?”

“C-can you touch m-me, please?”

“This still isn’t enough for you? Such a greedy girl,” he brings his hand firmly down on your ass. Bringing his hand back, he lifts your leg from behind, tucking two fingers into your cunt; curling them to prod at that spot.

“Oh, f–uck y-es, right– right there, sir,” your sobs of pleasure are going straight to his cock. “Pl-please, please don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says with a smug grin etched onto his lips. “You want more?”

“Y-yes, please! Please, sir, more!” You aren’t sure what more he could give you but you’ll take whatever it is. You feel his fingers leave your cunt and his hips come to a halt against your ass. The sound of the wand vibrator coming to life fills your ears. He presses it against your sensitive clit, then tucks the end of the wand under the rope around your leg; keeping it firmly in place. You cry at the sensation. His fingers enter your pussy again, eliciting an animalistic like moan from your throat. “Oh–hngh–oh my god, sir, holy fuck.”

“That’s it,” he smacks down on your hip with his free hand, “Such a dirty little whore, just wants all of her holes filled like the girls she writes about in her dirty books.”

Your whimpers fill the air along with the sounds of sticky, squelching flesh and Harry’s grunts. You’ve never felt so full and empty at the same time in your life. The only thing you’re able to focus on is how good he’s making you feel. He’s kept true to his word; this was all about you and what you wanted. Every fantasy you told him over the week you met up with him at his book store, he brought to life. All of your senses are on fire, but all you can think about is how badly you want to cum.

“Sir, g’na cum! Please let me cum!” you scream. His fingers continue their assault on your g-spot, as he reaches down with his free hand to switch the vibrator to its highest setting before taking a firm grip on your throat and squeezing; sending you over the peak.

“Cum for me,” he demands, pulling the most intense orgasm you’ve ever felt in your life from you. A wet feeling forms between your legs and you hear Harry groan behind you. “Ohh, there’s a good girl. C’mon and keep squirting all over me, sweets,” his praises go straight between your legs as more moans and pleas escape from your throat. His fingers work overtime in your pussy; pulling every ounce of your arousal from you. The incessant buzzing of the wand on your clit puts stars in your vision and the feeling of his cock pounding in and out of your ass is the cherry on top. A second wave rushes over your senses, your body convulsing against Harry’s. “There she is,” he coos, “such a good, dirty girl.”

Harry eases his fingers from your core, and switches the wand off before untangling it from the rope and tosses it to the side. He grips your hip again with both hands as he pistons himself in and out of you, finally chasing his own orgasm. “Sh–shit, pet. Gonna cum. Where do you want it?” he pants out, digging his thumbs into the plush of your ass cheek.

“Pl–please cum in my ass, sir. Want it so bad,” you whine out, “Need it, please sir!”

“Calm down, gonna give you what you want, sweets.” His hips begin to stutter, grunts and groans fall from his lips along with cries of your name. He pushes in as far as he can as he empties himself into you–”Fuck, just like that, pet. S-so good”–before retracting his hips and pressing in again; fucking his release back into you.

“So, was that everything you wanted?” Harry asked as he unties the knots that were keeping your leg bent. You’re lying flat on the mattress, a warm washcloth in your hand as you wipe your face.

“Mhm, and then some,” you smile at him.

“Yeah? Happy to be of service,” he chuckles, beginning to help stretch and massage the muscles in your leg. You wince at the feeling of his fingers kneading the more tender areas. His calloused hands rub and dig the knots left behind. “I’ll take that,” he says, holding his hand out for the washcloth. He rubs it over your sensitive areas, not pressing too hard; really taking his time cleaning up his mess. “I’m going to run you a bath, and make you something to eat,” he stands from the bed, tossing the washcloth into the hamper before disappearing into the bathroom.

Your thoughts begin to take you hostage as he fiddles around in the bathroom. You’d just let basically a total stranger do unspeakable acts to you, and now you’re about to take a bath in his tub. He’s being sweet to you now, making sure you’re comfortable. But that doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t want to see you after today.

Upon his return, he catches himself smiling at your naked form laying across his bed. Clearing his throat, he strides over to you and extends his hand. “Upsie daisy, sweets,” he chuckles at the pained look on your face after you take his hand and stand at full height. “How do those legs feel?” he teases.

“Shut up,” you stick your tongue out at him, “I just went through a lot,” you laugh with him.

“Indeed you did,” he smiles sweetly at you. A completely different kind of smile than he’d ever given you before. When he looked at you at the bookstore, it was like a hunter eyeing his prey. Now he’s looking at you as if you’re the reason the sun rises and sets every day. You’re trying really hard not to think too hard into it.

“He’s just being nice after figuratively beating the shit out of me,” you think to yourself.

“Are you going to get in with me?” you ask once you reach the edge of the tub. Your big doe eyes looking up at him so sweetly as the words leave your lips. He’d never done something like that before. He doesn’t do the sweet stuff. But with the way you’re looking at him now, how could he say no?

“D-do you want me to?” he asks quietly.

You nod softly in response, “If I only get one night with you, I’d like to make the most of it,” you turn to step into the tub.

Harry’s heart pangs in his chest. He nods slowly and swallows the lump in his throat. Leaning forward, you allow him enough room to slip in behind you before you lean back against his chest. His arms warily make their way around your body as he pulls you back as close to him as possible.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” leaves you before you can even think about it.

“You’re asking if I had a good time making you bend and break at my will? Yeah I think I did,” he says, making you laugh.

“Hey, I just wanted to make sure,” you say tilting your head to the side to look up at him. “I had a great time by the way.” you chuckle before turning back around.

“I’m glad. You did a great job,” He picks up the fresh washcloth he’s gotten for you, and dunks it in the water. “May I?” he asks, gesturing towards you.

“Sure,” you whisper, your cheeks turning a soft pink at the praise. He rubs the washcloth over the expanse of your chest and tummy; up your arms and down your legs, really taking his time helping you feel relaxed. “Thank you, Harry. For today.” you feel yourself lean into his hold.

“My pleasure, Y/N," he smiles against your temple.

“You sure you have everything?” Harry asks as he helps you put your jacket on, pulling your hair from underneath for you.

“I had everything the last three times you asked,” you giggle at him, the sound is like music to his ears. He’d do anything to hear it for just a little bit longer. He said he could do just one night. He swore he could. But why does the thought of you walking out his door make him feel like his chest is going to cave in?

“Just want to be sure,” He smiles that soft smile at you again, making your cheeks heat up.

How dare he.

“Please, stop looking at me like that,” you whisper, unable to hide your discomfort anymore.

“How am I looking at you?” his voice quiet and sad.

“L-Like you actually care about me.” tears collect in your waterline, “You said so yourself, this was a one time thing. So, please, just stop looking at me like that. It’s very confusing.” The words poured out of you before you could stop them. He just stares at you with sad eyes. “T-Thank you again, Harry. I really appreciate your help.” You say, your voice shaking as you avoid eye contact. He’s studying your face; The hurt etched across your features. The same hurt he felt in his chest, but refused to show. “Good luck with your store,” you say as you pull the door shut behind you, leaving him in the silence of his empty apartment.

c/n: oh my what a ride, right? this is not the last of our brooding pair. you'll see the ending of their story soon!

please like &/or reblog if you enjoyed!

#harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry edward styles #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry x you #harry x reader #harry styles x you

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fredwkong · 3 months

Text

Alphaworld File 3: Diary of an Alpha Transformation (1 of ?)

Click here to read Alphaworld in posting order.

An undated journal. It is heavily bedazzled on the covers, though many of the gems appear to have been scraped off or stepped on. There are several stains yellowing the coloured paper of the cover, mostly sweat.

Inside the front cover, there is a space where the owner is encouraged to write their name. Two names occupy the space, one on top of the other. The lower layer is written with a purple marker, neatly spelling the name “Ronaldo Herrera.” There are multicoloured sparkles drawn around the name, and glitter has been sprinkled over it. Some of the glitter appears to have been scraped off with a knife, and there is a 3 centimetre tear at the top interior of the page, as if someone was about to rip it out. On top of the first name, the name “RONNIE H” is scrawled in crude capitals using a pencil. The pencil was applied with sufficient force that graphite scrapes are visible from where they were brushed off the page.

Journal entries flow into each other without dating, but editors have split entries based on context and labelled them “Day One, Day Two, Day Three…” despite the fact that more than one day clearly proceeds between some entries. From this point onward, journal entries are transliterated directly, with marginalia and other notes on the text rendered in square brackets [] to distinguish them from the main body.

[Day One]

OMG, I’m soooo happy to be back on campus! Staying with my parents is such a bore! They don’t let me stream any of my shows, they say drag race is of the devil, and the town is so small that I’m, like, the only twink there. I can’t even get any dl dick all holiday because country guys are all totally masc for masc. My hole is toooootally desperate.

I’m so happy that Ollie across the hall got me this journal! He made it look soooo cute with all the stones! He’s, like, okay for a fellow bottom, even tho his massive crush on me is, like, totally obvious. Sorry babe, this dick is for decoration only lmao! Maybe we could get tag teamed by a big dick boy sometime, that’d be pretty hot. I've never bottomed alongside a transmasc dude.

Anyway, I just stopped at the dorm to drop off my suitcase and get out of my het drag, there’s a whole lotta frat parties starting tonight and if I wanna end my dry spell I’ve gotta be there! I just had to live my Sex and the City fantasy by putting down a few lines in the diary first!

[a doodle of an open-faced journal with scribbly lines on the page in rainbow colours]

[Day Two]

ZOMGGGGGGG [written in double-tall bubble letters across a quarter of the page, filled in with pink highlighter]

This term is gonna be SO AWESOME.

Campus is suddenly full of massive muscle men who are totally desperate for me! I was, like, totally the target of a dominance contest at the party last night, and it was SO HOT.

So I walk in, right? And I’m dressed in my usual, my lil slutty crop and my littlest shorts. Here, I took a pic before I left so you can see how cute I was.

Anyway, I’m cute, I’m obvious, I’m ready to have any guy absolutely wreck me. Like, last night, I would have taken a bicurious frat bro fucking me raw, my hole was so neglected. So I am a blaring neon sign: I’M A FAG [written in rainbow marker colours]

And as soon as I walk in, this GOD [a doodle of a massive man is in the margin, a perfect X shape covered in cartoonishly bulging muscles] comes up to me and is all, “Hey boy, I’m Nate.” He. Is. PERFECT. Gorgeous grey eyes, windswept dirty blond hair, a tank top hugging pecs the size of my HEAD. And his voice gets me tooootally weak in the knees. I can't believe he's LOOKING at lil ol me, even if I do look like a twinky slut.

But before I can even say anything to Nate, there’s another MASSIVE arm draped over my shoulder, and ANOTHER massive guy is whispering in my ear, like, “Name’s Lee. Want a drink?” I look over, and he’s just as hot as Nate, with shiny black hair and this perfect sexy smile like a J-pop star. But, like, if a J-pop star was 250 pounds of pure muscle and sex.

I swear all the air went out of the room. Suddenly, Nate and Lee were glaring at each other over me, and all these frat bros were staring.

BTW, when did all the frat bros get so cuuuute? Like, not as sexy as Nate and Lee, but they’re all totally cut this term and I think they’ve got some skincare going? Like I wanna go back sometime lmao.

Lee, like, GROWLED as he glared across me. I felt a li-ter-al rumble from his chest. Nate started totally flexing his big pecs, I thought his shirt was gonna shred in the middle. They didn’t even SAY anything, it was so totally primal. I think I got a whiff of Lee as he tucked me closer to his chest, and I realised he totally doesn’t use deodorant. He smelled totally HAWT.

Anyway, I have two perfect men fighting over me, and I’m not letting either of them go, so I go, “Boys, I promise my holes are big enough to share.” I totes flashed my dimples at them. [doodle of a smiley face]

They kept glaring at each other, but finally Lee was like, “I get his hole.” Maybe he, like, won the contest or whatever? Because Nate looked down at the floor and said, “Fine.” And I mean, fine with me! I love getting stuffed from both ends! What a way to come back from vacay!

We didn’t stay at the party long, just long enough for Lee to get me a drink and Nate to carry me around the dance floor a bit. I checked on Lee while we were dancing, and he was, like, totally making out with one of the frat bros. Like, a guy I knew was straight. I blew him freshman year when his gf was away. I guess Lee’s just like that, lmao.

We ended up upstairs. I think Lee’s in the frat? But we weren’t in his room, which was kinda hot. Lee and Nate sandwiched me between them as soon as we were through the door. I was tooootally surrounded by massive muscle as Nate made out with me and Lee sucked on my neck. I felt, like, high, with Nate’s big cock grinding into my belly through his jeans while Lee felt up my cute ass.

“You guys kissing would be so hot,” I gasped as Nate pulled off my shirt and Lee took off my shorts.

They both hesitated, I could feel it. “Oh c’mon,” I moaned, “you’re both tooootally hot, and you haven’t touched at allllll.”

Suddenly, Lee picked me up and threw me on a random frat bro’s bed. “I guess your mouth IS gonna be busy,” he said, which was SOOO hot, and then he started slicking up my hole.

Pretty soon, both hunks were balls deep in me. They were SOOOOOO big [doodles of massive, soft cocks cover the margins of this page] and I took ALL of them. Lee filled me up SO good, rubbing my prostate like he was fingering me. And Nate tasted, like, perfect. And the whole time, Nate kept pulling back just far enough that I could watch him and Lee kissing over me.

FUCK, they made me look like a little doll between them! I think once they were in me, all the dominance stuff went away, because they were TOTALLY making out. Nate’s, like, SO noisy, and Lee kept on doing that growl thing like he’d done before, which made me moan around Nate’s cock, which made him even noisier.

I came handsfree right before Lee flooded my ass and Nate filled my mouth with cum.

By the time our clothes were back on, Lee and Nate were back to playing their weird dick measuring game, keeping me between them as we went back to the party. I think Nate left pretty soon, but I danced for a bit longer and made out with a few frat bros. They really ARE super cute now, and they all seemed totally into me. Guess they finally got over being raging fucking homophobes lmao.

Anyway, I got home and crashed as soon as I’d cleaned all the cum and sweat off. Now my hand’s all crampy from writing for so long lol. Oooh, I should go tell Ollie all about it!

[Day Three]

I was, like, SO right.

The last few days have been AWESOME!!!! [jagged star doodles all around the word] I swear there are soooo many hunks on campus all of a sudden! One of my profs this term is a tooootal musclestud.

So I’m taking this class on fashion history, and when I looked it up, this Prof. Romano guy was listed for it. He was cute, one of those cute tweed aesthetic guys. You know, a fag who studies fashion. Like, OMG, that picture must be SO OLD.

I show up for class all ready to sit in the back row, but then I see this MAN standing at the podium. Like, total Italian stallion, with the dark waves and the stubbly jaw. He was, like, BURSTING out of his blazer. I could watch his pec bounce through three layers of fabric.

So obv I run down and sit in the front row. I’m not the first fag to have the idea, there’s already like 3 other twinks down there, but I’m totally the cutest. As the rest of the class comes in and sits down, these two GORGEOUS boys walk in and go up to the prof. They’re totally shredded, and dressed in complementary button-ups. And the muscle-god prof pats each of them on the head! Then they go sit down in some chairs behind the podium, and I can see their boners in their cute slacks.

The prof clears his throat, and it’s this DEEP, RESONANT sound. I got a total eargasm just listening to the rumble. “Good morning, class,” he says. And then his next words are TOTALLY burned into my brain:

[written in shaky block letters across a whole page] “You will call me Alpha Mario.”

And then he says, “I am your professor, and I will see you all for extra credit,” while rubbing himself through his pants, like half the class isn’t ready to have his babies. My cock was ROCK FUCKING HARD in my jeans. [doodle of a leaking penis]

He introduces his TAs as Beta Max and Beta Owen. IDK, maybe it’s a kink thing? He’s clearly their dom or something, they were totally devoted to him all class. I’d happily be Alpha Mario’s Beta if he’s hiring, lmao! [hearts are doodled around “Alpha Mario”]

Anyway, that’s just one ep in the PORN SHOW that is my life these days! Ollie’s room has been, like, a revolving door of cock since we got back, and I usually take two or three loads a day out on campus. This group of straight computer science geeks actually begged to fuck me yesterday, so I was dripping all the way home.

They were surprisingly buff for nerds, too! I should point out to Ollie that we gotta hit the gym if we wanna keep up with all the boys on campus this term. Can you imagine? Us at the gym! [The rest of the page is covered in stickers of the laughing emoji]

[Day Four]

Went to the gym today! Not to workout, but I had this new outfit idea and I thought it might get me noticed if I just hung out in the locker room. OH BOY, was I right!

Last few days all my clothes have been feeling super tight, so I’ve been doing a lot of [scribbled in rainbow marker] SHOPPING. It’s too bad, all my old clothes were suuuuper cute, but I’ve started giving some of my old faves to repeat fuckbuddies. One of the guys who used to push me around for being faggy, this guy called Brendan, has been coming over for the last few nights. I never realised how cute he is before!

Anyway, the first night Brendan came over he throatfucked me, but last night he told me he really wanted to feel my fingers in his hole, so I started fingering him! It was soooo hot that my cock ended up totally hard and before I knew it HE was blowing ME while I rubbed his prostate. He’s been texting me all day, begging to service my cock again. Lol, he just sent a voice message all like, “Please, Ronaldo, I’ll do anything to make you cum again!”

My point is I gave him a pair of my old booty shorts. They fit him perfectly, even though he NEVER had an ass as nice as mine before. He’s been wearing them all day today, just like I told him. It’s so hot, knowing he’s showing off like a fag even though he used to be a straight homophobe.

Fuck, I was writing about MY clothes! I’ve been so distracted by hot beta boys the last few days. I thought it was kinda time to change up my style, plus I looked super hot trying on some more dude-type clothes, so here’s the pic of me I took while I was hanging out at the gym.

I had guys HANGING OFF OF ME after a few minutes. It was totally hot, they wanted to do anything I said. Before long, I had a bunch of hot guys kissing me all over and all the cocks I could want to suck. Guys kept running out to grab their hot friends to join us, and all these guys were focussed on me.

At one point one of the staff came in, and I could tell it was to tell us to stop. He was a cute guy, really filled out his work polo, you know how gyms always hire swole dudes and curvy gurls to work at the front desk. I just gave him this LOOK from the middle of my pile of dudes, and I could feel his straightness melt away as his cock started leaking in his preppy shorts.

But just as I was about to cum, my cap got ripped off my head and I was dragged out of the pile by Nate, the guy from that frat party. I swear, he got even BIGGER since last time, he held me up by my shoulders like I was a paperweight. He was totally growling at me, too. He said something like, “I hate when they’re half done,” whatever that means, and then he yelled at all the other boys to get back to work.

Once we were along in the locker room, Nate shook me like a doll. “All the ex-het Betas can treat my gym as neutral ground, but it’s MY territory to you and the other half-done Alphas, you got it?” [note: Alpha and Beta are capitalised in the original text, although Ronnie does not seem to have been aware of the Alpha Phenomenon]

I was like “What are you talking about?”

Nate said, “You’ll get it.” Then I started smelling this INCREDIBLE smell. It was like really sharp cedar cologne mixed with fresh sweat. There was something else too, and it made me feel totally out of it.

Next thing I knew, I was on my knees swallowing Nate’s cock again. “Yeah,” he was saying while he fucked my throat, “this’ll speed you up. You’ll probably never submit again after this, so I’m gonna enjoy it.”

I just stayed there, taking him all the way into my throat. I feel like a week ago it would’ve been totally hot, but today it felt different. Nate using me made me MAD [underlined several times]. I felt like I should do something about it, like punch him or steal one of his boys, but the smell coming off of him kept me docile.

Nate came really quietly, which made me madder. My throat is an incredible tool, okay? Any guy should be screaming when I blow him, especially a noisy top like Nate. Then he patted me on the head like I was a little boy and said, “Head home. Drop a load in that guy who lives across from you, he should be progressing well too.” Then he just. Walked away.

I was gonna stay here all night just to spite the asshole, but I’m super horny again and I don’t wanna go back out. Maybe I’ll go see if Ollie’s got any visitors tonight or if he wants me to fill his holes for him.

[Day Five]

[From this point, entries are written in a noticeably heavier hand. Lowercase Es and Os become jagged.] Fuck, last night was fucking awesome. I knocked on Ollie’s door, and he answered in nothing but a thong, showing his bottom growth right through the fabric. His legs have been getting so hairy and thick, he looked super slutty. Plus his room smelled like sex and cum. I’ve been sleeping out, but seems like Ollie’s been taking house calls.

“Ronaldo?” he said, blinking up at me in surprise. I think we used to be a matching pair of little twinks, but guess I’ve had a growth spurt.

I shoved through the door. What was he gonna do, stop me? I was like, “Where’s your lube?” It came out of my mouth so deep, in a crazy manly register. “I wanna finger you.”

Ollie fuckin’ moaned when I said that, and stumbled over to his night table to grab it. He keeps his lube right out in the open, proud of how much cock he takes. I was already dropping my jeans, my cock was getting super hard and I hate feeling it strain. It deserves to be seen anyway.

Once I grabbed Ollie’s lube, he stood against the wall and presented his ass for me. Fuck, just remembering the look of all that hair on his fat ass is making me leak again. Okay I jerked a bit, should be able to write. [there is a stain on the page here]

Ollie’s hole was still loose from his last dick appointment, so I pushed three fingers in nice and easy. Ollie was moaning, all, “When did your fingers get so thick,” and “What’s happening to us, Ronaldo?” so I roughed up his G-spot a bit until he wasn’t being so articulate anymore.

“What’s happening to us is we’re gonna rule this school,” I hissed at him. I’d realised that it wasn’t gonna be enough to finger him and make him blow me. I needed to shoot inside his ass right fucking now. “Fags are in fucking charge here now.”

Fuck, wait, I need to text Brendan and get him over here. I need him milking my cock so I can focus on writing.

[There are several crude doodles of dicks, asses, and cum splatters in various marker colours before the entry continues on the facing page]

So anyway I slammed Ollie against the wall and shoved my cock into him. My cock’s so much fucking bigger now, too. Like it’s really filling up Brendan’s mouth while he sucks on me. I had enough cock to really saw at Ollie's asshole, and I felt him cum handsfree onto the wall.

“That’s it,” I growled in his ear as I had to hold him up. “This is what you’ve wanted ever since we became neighbours, right? Ollie wanted to get Ronnie’s big alpha dick in his hole.” It felt good to call myself a

[in massive letters on its own line] ALPHA

Ollie didn’t really say words at that point, just lots of “Yes” and “More.” I could hear his voice getting deeper with every thrust, too.

By the time I was getting close, Ollie’s room reeked like ME. It wasn’t a bad smell, but I knew any boy who came in here would be able to tell that all this musk and spice wasn’t just Ollie. It would take weeks for this to be really Ollie’s territory again now that I had marked it. “Fuck, show me that man pussy,” I ordered him, and threw him down in his bed.

Switching holes felt like the most natural thing in the world. I’m fucking built for topping, I can’t believe I thought I hated it. I fucked Ollie through a couple more orgasms and then let myself fill up his man pussy with what felt like 3 loads.

I fell asleep still inside him.

FUCK. I just came in Brendan’s mouth, and it felt totally different. Like, I marked Ollie’s room, but I didn’t mark HIM. His holes are open for anyone to fill. He can own other boys for all I care. But Brendan? Brendan’s fucking MINE. He’s mine he’s mine he’s mine. MY Brendan. [scribbled hastily] I need his hole NOW.

[written later]

I took a pic of Ollie before I started fingering him. I bet he looks totally different now, like me. Gotta go, MY Brendan’s gonna show me how to do a gym session.

To Be Continued...

#alphaworld #male transformation #mental change #male tf #muscle tf #reality change #musk tf #dom tf #hairy tf #gradual change #all fwkong

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windsweptinred · 1 year

Text

Dear Mr Sandman....

(A cold December evening, in a small cozy flat above the New Inn, London.)

Hob: So... My Saturday girl, Rachel. She volunteers at the local library, helps with afterschool sessions. I... may have suggested an activity for the kids. You, Mr Sandman have mail!

Dream:.... Mail?

Hob: (Hands over a neat stack of letters and a small accompanying box). Yup! These are for you!

(Dream carefully unfolds the top letter and begins to read...)

Dear Mr Sandman

Thank you very much for all my dreams this year. My favorite was the one with the bubble rhinoceros. I have drawn a picture of him for you. I hope you like it. Mummy says if I draw anymore of my dreams she'll leave them on the kitchen table for you to collect. Sorry if our dog Charlie barks at you when you come, he likes to bark at strangers but is really friendly. You can find his ball in the top draw. He'd love to play with you. I've told him to be a good boy and you'll give him nice dreams.

Love from

Rosalie Mitchell and Charlie the dog

Dear Mr Sandman

Thank you for all your hard work this year. You must be really busy giving everyone dreams. Do you know Santa and the Tooth Fairy? We always leave Santa milk and cookies and the Tooth fairy teeth to say thank you. I didn't know what you liked so I gave Miss Feean a tub of my favorite magic sand. It's rainbow coloured so should make really good dreams. If you like it, tell Miss Feean and I'll ask Daddy to get some more for you.

Alex Southerns

Dear Mr Sandman

Thank you for letting me still see Grandma when I'm sleeping. I miss her alot. She looks very happy so I know you and the angels are taking good care of her. Tell her Amy says to give you a big hug from me. She gives the best hugs.

Thank you

Amy Haywood

Dear Mr Sandman

Thank you for my dreams. Except the one about the angry dinosaur, I don't like that one. Can you tell him to leave me alone as he is very mean and makes me upset. Are nightmares very naughty dreams? We have red and yellow cards at school. If you're a bit naughty, you get a yellow card and if you're very very naughty you get a red one. You should do that. And give gold stars to all the dreams that are really good. Tell the dinosaur I'll give him my gold star I got for my spelling test if he is good.

Big hugs

Louise Winters.

Dear Mr Sandman

Thank you for looking after me this year. I'm sad a lot, Henry Oakwell in year 6 is really mean to me. And I find school really hard. I'm not good at my school work and don't have a lot of friends. Mummy has to work a lot and I don't want her to worry about me. But you always give me really nice dreams that make me feel really happy. Being the Sandman sounds lonely, are you lonely? My Teddy really helps me when I'm lonely. I can't give you my Teddy but I've made you one out of playdough. Its ear feel off but Miss Feean says she'll put it back on with some glue. I hope he's really nice to you and is a good friend like my Teddy.

From

Tommy Brien

Dream: I don't understand?

Hob: Well, if Santa gets all that praise for one night of wish fulfillment, I reckoned you deserved a little acknowledgement for doing it since the dawn of time.

Dream....May I keep these?

Hob: They've got your name on them Duck. And I'm sure there's more where that came from.

Dream: I.... (Subtly tries to wipe a tear aside) Thank you.

Hob: (Smiles softly) Don't even mention it darling.

#dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #the sandman #mini fic #Little extra: the day the Corinthian gets a gold star for being good is lowkey the best day of his life

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sl-ut · 1 year

Text

tipsy

pairing: jake lockley x fem!reader, slight marc spector and steven grant x fem!reader (reader is in a relationship with the system)

description: y/n returns from a night out with her girls and can’t resist from how beautiful her boyfriend is.

warnings: SMUT, reader is intoxicated (just tipsy, not wasted) and kind of a bitch, mocking, oral (m receiving), shower sex, moonboys arguing

words: 3K

date posted: 18/01/23

The apartment was silent when Jake jolted awake, save for the bubbling of Gus’s fish tank and the faded roar of London’s nightlife. He groaned, neck clicking back into place as he leaned back into the desk chair, cursing at Steven for nodding off in such an uncomfortable position. His sight was fuzzy, eyes still heavy with sleep as he glanced at his surroundings; several books on Egyptology laid spread open across the top of the desk, an uncapped highlighter tossed carelessly on the floor and a series of fluorescent yellow smudges staining his fingertips. Sighing, he pushed himself away from the desk, leaving it exactly how he found it–Steven could clean up his own mess–as he reached into the cupboard for a bottle of amber whiskey.

He took three small sips from it, careful not to allow himself to feel any sort of strong effects from the alcohol, as he always did when Y/n went out with her friends, always prepared to go pick her up in the early hours of the morning if he needed. He glanced at the clock on the oven, squinting to read the bright green letters.

3:36 AM.

His eyes immediately shot over to the bed, alarmed when he found the blankets in the same haphazardly made fashion that Steven had left them in as he rushed out the door to work; the boys had quickly learned to do so in order to avoid a lecture from their girlfriend.

“Damn it Steven, you were supposed to stay awake until she got home,” He swore as he turned to meet Steven’s snarky stare in the reflection of the window.

I’m sorry, but she’s not normally out this late, Steven huffed, Usually a night out has her home and in bed by midnight.

Jake, He turned his head to find Marc in the reflection of Gus’s tank, He's right, she should be home by now.

Panic arose in his chest. Quickly, he abandoned the bottle of whiskey on the desk as he crossed the small studio apartment, forcing himself through the closed bathroom door. He called her name frantically, catching Steven once again in the bathroom mirror.

I’m sure she’s alright, maybe she called after I nodded off.

Jake nodded, turning into the bedroom and pausing. The personal cell phone that they all shared was not in its usual place on the bedside table, nor was it in the pants that Steven had worn to work that day, or small pocket inside his satchel. Jake ignored the Brit’s yelling of discontent as he watched him dump the contents of his brown leather bag on the floor, searching through the mess of papers and granola bar wrappers.

“Where the hell did you leave it, Steven?”

He stopped in his tracks at the sound of a key shakily being jammed into the lock, trained eyes watching as the lock began to turn and the door slowly creaked open, and finally letting out a breath of air as he watched his girlfriend stumble over the threshold of the apartment.

“Helloooooo,” She sang out, jumbled giggled falling from her lips, “I’m here, somebody come love me, please!”

Jake shook his head as he stifled his chuckle, stepping forward and into the dim lighting provided by Steven’s desk lamp. His eyes did a quick scan over her body, searching for any sign of blood or injury, though the only sign of a struggle was the long run in her tights and her lack of shoes.

Her eyes lit up at the sight of him, though a mischievous grin spread across her cheeks as she leaned across the back of the couch, “Well hey there, big boy.”

He smirked, copying her posture as he rested his shoulder against one of the many vertical beams. He could tell by the way that she was looking at him that she was attempting to figure out exactly who she was talking to. Her eyes flickered over to the desk, taking in the dishevelled appearance of the books and the man who had once been sitting there.

“Are you just gonna stand there?”

He nodded at her, refusing to speak so that she would need to guess which one of the three it was. On a regular day, it would be easy for her, but in her state it might have been more difficult.

“Well,” she slid forward to stand in front of the desk, “These are all Steven’s books here, but from the looks of them,” she fingered at the crumpled and folded pages before glancing over her shoulder at him, “And you, he fell asleep.” She turned, pushing the books back so that she could boost herself onto the edge of the wooden desk, “But Steven doesn’t drink whiskey.”

Jake nodded once more as she gazed at him through hooded eyes, slowly fluttering her lashes in a manner that she knew would have any of them weak in the knees. He shifted, crossing his arms over his chest to mock the way that Marc might stand.

“Hi Jake.”

He scoffed, dropping his arms as he crossed the room to stand right in front of her. He allowed her to tug him closer, wrapping her legs around his waist and sliding her hands over his arms to knead his biceps gently.

“How’d you know it wasn’t Marc?”

She smirked up at him, leaning closer to whisper into his ear, “You didn’t look grumpy enough.”

His head rolled back as a hearty laugh rumbled out of his chest, growing even deeper as Marc shouted in protest and Steven agreed with her.

“Oh,” He rested his hand on his belly, “He didn’t like that, princesa.”

She shrugged, leaning forward to nudge his nose with her own, “He can punish me for it later. But for now…” Her hands slid down his arms, around his back and landed just above his bum as she tightened her legs around him, “I’m all yours.”

He allowed her to press a warm, sloppy kiss to his awaiting lips, but didn’t allow it go any further as she began to wiggle against him.

“We were worried about you,” He told her, “You’re usually home a lot earlier.”

“I know,” She shrugged, “I called and texted.”

“I couldn’t find the phone,” He admitted.

She raised a brow as she glanced down, nodding in the direction of where the phone was almost entirely covered in scattered paper, save for the corner.

“Well apparently I didn’t look quite as hard as I could have.”

“Apparently not.”

Where are her shoes?

“What happened to your shoes?” He asked, both genuinely concerned and hoping to change the subject from his failure to find a scarcely hidden cell phone.

“I took them off.” She shrugged, “I think Jenny has them.”

Now what if she had stepped on a needle or-or a sharp rock?

Check her feet, they might be bleeding.

Jake did as Marc instructed, stepping away and unwrapping himself from her limbs so that he could inspect her feet. They were dirty, of course, and the sheer fabric around the bottoms of her feet was torn up. There appeared to have been a few scrapes from the sidewalk, but the worst of the injuries were the two large busted blisters on each of her heels, oozing blood and various other fluids.

“Shit, cariño.” Jake rushed to the bathroom, returning a moment later with the first aid kit.

“That’s why I took ‘em off.” She shrugged, leaning back on her palms and allowing him to care for her feet, flinching as his fingers touched the swollen areas around the blisters.

He sat in the unsteady office chair, carefully pulling her feet into his lap and tugging at the tights, “Can I rip these?”

She barked out a laugh, “Now you’re asking? You’ve ripped a lot of my nicer things off of me without any notice.”

He grinned up at her, ignoring the heat that grew in the tips of his ears at her lewdness. One thing that he always appreciated about these nights out was that she always lost all shyness and reservation the moment that a single drop of alcohol touched her tongue.

“You certainly didn’t mind all those other times.”

“That’s because you rocked my world right afterwards. You gonna do that now?”

He glanced down, not ignorant to the way that his pants grew tighter at her words.

She’s drunk, Steven argued, Don’t take advantage of her.

“You’re drunk,” He noted, tearing the material away from her feet and beginning to dab at the open sores.

“Tipsy,” She corrected, “And horny. Please?”

He shook his head softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her kneecap, “Tomorrow, cariño.”

Y/n groaned, “I don’t want it tomorrow.”

He raised his brow as he finished cleaning her heels, “Oh really? I’ll keep that in mind. Now come on, let’s go to bed.”

She shook her head, pushing past him–making sure to bump his shoulder as she did so–and pausing in the bathroom doorway, “I need to shower.”

He sighed, carefully packing the first-aid kit back up and leaving it on the desk before making his way over to the bed. He leaned back against the headboard, glancing over to the partially closed bathroom door, only allowing him to see the vanity, though the mirror allowed him to see the figure he’d been longing for.

He watched the reflection as she carefully peeled herself free of the ruined tights before reaching for the zipper on the side of her dress. His breathing became laboured as he watched each article to fall away, leaving her bare to the world as the mirror began to gloss over with steam.

Go for it, Marc advised, If she’s really that mad about it then she’s definitely not that drunk. She’s never this unreasonable when she’s drunk.

Don’t, Steven argued, She’ll get over it.

Jake groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly as the two argued in his mind, “Shut up, both of you. I can’t even hear myself think.”

He pondered for a moment, then finally made his decision.

The bathroom was frosted in steam, Jake’s body temperature skyrocketing as he stepped inside. He glanced down at the pile of discarded clothing on the floor, withholding a groan as he recognized the familiar pair of pink lace panties that had been thrown on top, carefully dropping his own clothes on top.

The curtain prevented him from spotting any details, but he could faintly make out her figure as she stood beneath the pounding stream of hot water. She did not seem surprised to hear the curtain run quietly along the track as he stepped in, refusing to turn to face him as he stepped into the stream as well, wrapping his arms carefully around her waist and holding her back to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” He murmured into her neck, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake, “I don’t wanna take advantage of you, mi amor.”

She was frustrated with him, but she simply couldn’t avoid the way that she slumped into his embrace so easily. She sighed, tilting her head back to rest against his shoulder as their eyes met, a silent understanding.

“You wouldn’t be,” She argued softly, “But it’s okay.”

He kissed her lips softly, one hand coming up to grasp at her hair and help her to remove the remaining suds of shampoo. He pushed her gently to stand a bit further from him, allowing him to run a generous amount of conditioner through the ends of her hair. When he was finished, she turned, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist and pressing herself against him.

“I love you,” She whispered into his shoulder, but he heard nonetheless.

“Yo también te amo angel.”

He felt the corners of her lips turn up against his flesh as she glanced up at him, wickedness clear in her eyes.

“What are you–oh!”

He gasped as her hand moved down, wrapping firmly around his length, which had been unabashedly erect against her thigh as they embraced, proving to her that he truly did want her.

“Let me do you,” She whispered to him, beginning to administer slow pumps, “That’s all. Please, Jakey.”

NO!

Looks like she’s going to either way, bud. May as well enjoy it.

She kissed him softly, taking his eager response to her as permission. Cautious not to slip, she lowered herself to kneel in front of him, gazing up at him through her lashes as she carefully dragged her tongue up the bottom of him, cupping his sack in her slick palm.

He groaned, leaning back against the wall in submission to her. She giggled, pressing the softest of kisses to his flesh before finally taking as much of him into her mouth as she could manage. Jake choked on his own spit, one hand carefully finding the nape of her neck to support her movements while the other ran through his own locks, smoothing the wet curls out of his face so they couldn’t obstruct his view.

“Baby-shit,” His hips stuttered forward, his tip grazing the back of her throat.

Her mouth curved around him, though she did not pause or slow her movements to respond with some witty comment, as he knew she had wanted to.

Hey!

His eyes snapped up, finding Steven staring back at him in the reflection of the stainless steel shower head.

“W-what now?” He stammered out, not noticing the way that she glanced up at him, but didn’t stop; she was more than accustomed to the boys talking and arguing with one another while she was having sex with one of them.

Shut the water off! I don’t even wanna look at the bill we’re gonna get this month.

Jake almost laughed, hell, he probably would have if he hadn’t been balls-deep in his girlfriend’s mouth. Reaching over, he grasped the handle and turned the water off before turning back to watching her. She raised a brow, a silent question.

“Steven complained about the water bill,” He explained, groaning as she choked slightly around him as a small laugh vibrated around her body.

He pressed on the back of her neck, prolonging the feeling of her choking around him for a few moments before pulling her back and hauling her up to her feet. His lips met hers in a furious kiss, tongues intertwining and teeth gnashing as he grasped at her thighs, carrying her out of the shower and dropping her onto the countertop as if she were a doll.

Eagerly, she spread her legs, grinding against him. He pulled away, moving down her body in hopes of returning the favour, though he was stopped by her, grasping his chin tightly and pulling him back up.

“No, no,” She gasped, “I need you. Please, I just need–”

“It’s okay,” He soothed, pulling her to the edge of the counter and lining himself up, “I got you, I got you.”

He slid into her easily, her folds sopping with arousal. Another perk of these nights out was that she was always so ready for him, and was always so responsive to his touch. He laughed as she squirmed against him, crying out louder than she normally would as his tip kissed her cervix.

Y/n rocked against him, meeting his every thrust without fail and shivering as her clit continued to be tickled by the dark curls on his pubis. Her arms wound around him, nails leaving crescent-shaped indents in his muscular back as she gripped him for dear-life.

“Jake,” she gasped, “I’m not gonna last long.”

“I know,” He grunted, hands grasping her bum to pull her into his thrusts even more, “Me neither, princesa.”

“I love you,” She cried out over and over as if it were some spell that she might have been using to bewitch him–that was the only way that Jake could explain how he was so easily manipulated by her every whim and became so enthralled by her simple presence.

“I love you,” He panted, “I fucking love you.”

His mouth took her lips, absorbing every sigh and moan that dared escape and committing them to memory. He wanted to encase every little bit of her being within himself, consume anything that she was willing to offer, especially her jerking movements and desperate whines as she tightened around him, spilling her release all over his member as he struggled to hold on.

“Come on,” She urged him, eyes hooded and hazy as she came down from her high, “Jake, come on. Please give it to me.”

Her words were enough, his hips stuttering through his final few thrusts before white-hot pleasure exploded within him. He groaned out loudly, following through with a few gentle movements to work himself through it before he slipped out.

They remained there for a few moments, wrapped in each other’s arms as they both came down, melting into one another and whispering sweet nothings. She kissed his shoulder softly, then reached up to meet his lips once more, allowing herself to force every ounce of love she had for him to flow through the embrace.

He chuckled when she pulled away, “Aren’t you glad I said no now?”

She shook her head, “You only made yourself suffer, I could have woken up Marc or Steven to do me the second you fell asleep. I was getting it one way or another.”

He frowned at her, pinching her thigh in retaliation, “You think that either of them could do what I just did?”

Watch it, amigo. I could have done her twice as hard as you did.

Jake grinned at his reflection over her shoulder turning back to his girlfriend, “By the way, Marc called you unreasonable.”

HEY!

#jake lockely imagine #jake lockely smut #jake lockely x reader #marc spector #marc spector fic #steven grant #steven grant x reader #moon knight #jake lockely fic #marvel #mcu #moon knight x reader #moon knight imagine

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wmarximoff · 1 year

Text

𝐩𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐞𝐚 | 𝐰. 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟

summary: because only you can make Wanda feel at home.

warnings (18+): smut, strap-on sex (r receiving), name-calling, spanking, daddy kink, slight breeding kink, choking, weed consumption, mental health issues. MINORS DNI.

pairing: stoner!emo!Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 5k

masterlist|

༺ᱬ༻

In the light of Wanda Maximoff's gaze the stars did not twinkle in flashes of silver that night – but neither they did during the night before that, or even the other night before that, one colder on the skin than the other, the light slowly fading into the dull, aged silver of the big city sky. There was no sparkle in those eyes that stared at the dark sky above her head.

The noise from the street below, the cars and passers-by and that sound of life, didn't reach up there on the seventh floor – everything blended into an amalgamation just down there, a distant and reserved experience. The sky vault was vast and absconding like a black hole that swallows everything that orbits it, and the apartment was closer to the sky than to the earth. The stars were there as they always were, but each twilight was duller than the previous one.

Not that Wanda wasn't used to a kind of internal calluses, but even the unlit night sky reflected the mood of those dead eyes in a somber emerald green, which didn't see the brightness of the world around her – eyes that didn't see anything else, as in a kind of trance, a willful blindness of blurred faces.

Even if the night had been serene and peaceful, a veil of moonlight draped over the metal of the rings spread across the lengths of her fingers, there would still be no glow that could pierce the shrouded bubble around Wanda's hunched silhouette, who smoked a long, white cigarette with a yellow filter, placidly seated in a chair with withered legs made of dark and solid plastic – the apartment's balcony was as modest as a boat that can only hold two or three people, and a group of four people would not fit there even squeezed against each other, with their elbows and shoulders touching as if inside a crowded elevator.

The Bronx apartment was small, the best a couple of college students with a part-time job could afford on the lowest paycheck. For a pair of twins like that, it was almost like sharing the visceral walls of the same uterus again.

Sokovian literature accompanied her open just above her pale thighs joined together, who was only wearing light denim shorts on that tragic New York summer night, warm and dry. This one, however, was a small book in a soft cream cover, scarcely more than a hundred bound pages—a crowded metric of Cyrillic letters in uniform stanzas; poems in a language reminiscent of her native tongue, her mother's favorites. Wanda hated poems and she hated her mother as well.

But sometimes, as if in a sardonic torture, it was necessary to conjure up that ghost of the past, foreboding and restless, struggling at its core, because the shroud of monotony was too much in the bosom of the newfound adult life in the big city, so far from home as Wanda was. She had gone to study, away from war and famine and her mother – but poverty has to be a constant specter in a young immigrant's life, like a hidden tumor, sucking little by little.

Sometimes homesickness visited her at night, when the world was too much to bear outside her comfort zone. And then came the urge, the chest pulsing hard, crackling under her skin, seeking refuge in the idea of that creature who primarily should offer her some kind of comfort, however Wanda did not actually taste that source of support as primigenous as Pietro Maximoff, her twin brother, had done, drinking it straight from the fountain.

Pietro was sweet, a good boy and a fine son, but their mother hated her as much as only a mother can love a daughter. And Wanda loved her as much as a daughter can hate a mother.

And so she read, traced with the tip of her peeling black-painted fingernail each line of that little set of Sokovian poems, looking for comfort where she thought she could find it in those withered lines. But it didn't do any good, not when Wanda hated poems, thought they were boring and pointless. And even the cigarettes didn't help her enjoy them with an active air of a condemned intellectual, despite the fact that she loved the sweet, harsh death that smoked down her throat, quieting her since the beginning of the immature nerves of adolescence.

But it wasn't the infuriating poems or the countless cigarette butts pressed against the hollow bottom of a metal ashtray one after the other like a handful of unlit candles stuffed into the top of a birthday cake, or the memory of a monotone childhood in the Sokovian province that would fill the void in her chest, and that Wanda had always known.

Poems were boring, cigarettes were rotting her insides, and from the bosom of youth she'd yearned to pack up her things and leave Sokovia behind for good, without a kiss or a goodbye. But the dream died still in the womb – there was, far from home, a certain depressing monotony, so different from the monotony of living a life in a place where you don't want to be, imbued in the action that was occasionally crossed by long sleepless nights, in the company of stress and intrusive thoughts.

She didn't feel at home in New York, but Sokovia had never been her home either. But finding a certain degree of depressed boredom within her dream seemed worse to Wanda than the monotony of living in a house where everything looked the same. There was something wistful for her to discover that everything she'd ever wanted could be just as depressing.

There was just something wrong, something wrong with her spirits, like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle that didn't quite fit together. Maybe the world didn't spin for her the way it did for others. Maybe she just expected too much from a world that always offered so little.

“Are you smoking on the balcony again, Wanda?”

The voice came rumbling from within the walls of the small apartment, from the back of her head – a high, masculine tone and charged with that hard-talking rhythm of south-eastern European accent still limiting the pronunciation of the English words, sanding them harshly, as in a solid chant.

“I am,” was her reply, the dull tone of a corpse still harboring a soul that struggles to shed its shell, her accent sounding just as strong as his, “I kind of needed this right now.”

“Dude, you know you need to stop doing it.”

Towards Wanda then, from the profuse darkness of a living room with lights out and gushing dimness that swallowed the hand-me-down furniture placed there, the figure of a young boy halfway to finish performing the thrusting motion his elbow into the right hole of a dark blue denim jacket, new and clean, freshly pressed and still smelling of lavender fabric softener.

Wanda looked at him with emerald irises tired by poetry, from under her long lepidopterous lashes laden with smoke – Pietro, tall and strong, had tresses of his poorly bleached hair cut short, a mane of unruly hair soft to the touch, and a beard with wisps of unmade dark threads carpeting his square jaw and around his thin lips. There was something herculean about the boy; he had always been something of an athletic, if even dour, type, a hit with the young ladies their age, the twins. The Fast Jock and the Weird Girl.

“You smoke all the time too, don't be a hypocrite now, Piet. Isn’t fair.”

“It's not because of that,” snapped her twin brother in bad manner, creasing a patch of fur between his bushy brows, then adjusting the cut of the jacket to his broad shoulders as he grabbed her by the lapels in his big hands, pulling the garment forward.

Although not so close to her brother, separated by the distance of an outstretched arm, Wanda was quite capable of distinguishing the aroma of woody cologne and fresh and striking deodorant, like a walk through the men's cosmetics section in a corner pharmacy.

“The neighbors will complain about the smell again and you know we don't have the money to pay another fine. Miss Harkness will be the first to complain, you know she always does. I'm not going to pay anything now, I don't have a penny left in my pocket. You'll have to manage to pay that fine if she complains again. And you’re the one doing the talking this time, not me.”

“Miss Harkness hates me,” Jadish eyes rolled in their sockets, a twirl of scorn, “She will complain about me every chance she gets.”

“Just put this shit off, c’mon.”

“No.”

“Wanda.”

But Wanda yielded to the stern blue gaze of her older twin brother, and with a single flick of her right wrist, she pressed the burning end of her cigarette against the bottom of a red tin ashtray placed just above the small table next to her, imagining that that piece of metal blurred by ember ash and toasted smoke was the pointed face of the middle-aged landlady, owner of profuse brown locks and a big pearly smile, who was always carrying in her arm a white rabbit, old and fat, almost similar to a puffy domestic cat.

“Okay, are you happy now?”

“My pocket certainly is, yeah,” the boy with the unnaturally pale hair muttered under his breath, before turning on heels shoved in white sneakers and turning his back on his sister, sitting in the high chair on the balcony.

“And why is this house so dark, eh? Turn on some lights every now and then, Wanda. We’re not animals living in a cave. This looks like one of those vampire movies... you're in your vampire phase again, is that it?”

The single lamp on the ceiling of the room had been turned on by Pietro's indicator pushing the plastic switch up, a beam of pearly white light coming from inside the house, passing through the tall sliding glass doors and bothering Wanda's irises, acclimated to the darkness of a dull night, in a corrosive ardor that incited her to squint her eyelids and crease her brow like a nocturnal animal exposed to the artificial light of a car lantern on the road, hiding her face behind a curtain of thick long, dark hair in a back-necked motion.

Then Wanda, her pale face exposed to the plastic light of the ceiling lamp, suddenly became aware of her brother's state – the newly acquired jacket still smelling of the clothing store, the sneakers clean with soapy water, the collar of the shirt all perfumed and his hair well combed, the ends of his beard well trimmed, he all spotless and smelling good. And a crease of curiosity crept between her dark brows, because Pietro's usual state consisted of basketball shorts and an alternation or two between a pair of baggy shirts that he didn't wash all that often.

“Why are you so dressed up like that? That jacket is new,” she got to her feet then, the soles of her bare dusty feet hitting the cold balcony floor before stepping onto the warm floorboards inside the house, “Are you going to some job interview or something?”

“Job interview on a Saturday night, сестричко? Pff, yeah, I'm going out with a girl. You know, like actual normal people do on their free weekends.”

Pietro looked at her with a mischievous little smile broken at the corner of his thin lips, calling her “little sister” in his native language as he always did when he was purposely teasing her, treating her like a little girl, a silly girl and so ignorant of the lives of adults they should have at the end of that time in life, in a youth encapsulated in the advent of adulthood, which in all its layer of social shyness could never have considered the fact that the brother was going on a date.

And Wanda's brows furrowed for a bit, a thin squeegee of embarrassing embarrassment tugging at the pit of her stomach, her ego vaguely insulted by that childishness insinuated by Pietro – because indeed it was Saturday night, a hot and sultry night of summer in the Big Apple, and the young twin had organized no program for herself but reading pages of Sokovian poetry until her brain became an overworked illiterate while she smoked the ashes of her meager existence, interspersing the two actions between sips here and there of red tea that would eventually cool down and spill all over into her cup. College life hadn't been as kind to Wanda as it had been to Pietro, after all.

“But,” she muttered in a tight voice, brows still pinched together, “But I thought today we were going to—”

“Man, to tell you the truth I'm already well short of time,” the guy then pressed the pad of his right thumb against the side of the cell phone he fished out of the back pocket of his dark jeans, unlocking the device's screen in a flash of white glow next to his apollonian nose, which kind of hinted at the structure of her own.

“Damn it, it's almost half past eight – Monica will kill me if I'm late again. Just... you don't have to wait up for me, right Wanda? If anything, just give me a call,” and Wanda followed him with her eyes, her mouth still half open in a dead sentence, when Pietro's right fingers closed around the tin handle of the front door.

“Побачимось.”

And so Pietro was gone, the door closing with a metallic click behind him without the real expectation of a not really necessary answer from his sister, the parting word already echoing from the corridor outside. He never expected a comeback, it's true. And once again Wanda found herself alone, prostrate like a dead plant in a red clay pot in the heart of that apartment with its withered bare walls and warm floor, sulky and damp during the sticky seasons of heat and cold and bitter in the seasonal blows of winter.

Before the height of her stomach, her right fingers fit into the crooks of her left fingers, her fingertips fidgeting with the handful of silver rings dotted there, twirling them, pressing and pulling them around the spans of her fingers. The dark nail polish on her thumbnail was scratched, but she didn't care about it that much.

Pietro didn't come back for something he hadn't forgotten, but Wanda continued to stand at the door like the most faithful of dogs, as if he were going to open the door and say he'd changed his mind, opting for an evening washed down with salty buckets of popcorn and classic American sitcom along with his little sister's company. But there wasn't that. Nothing happened minutes later. From the kitchen faucet, dripping water trickled into the aluminum sink at a broken, faintly vertiginous rhythm. A fly tinkled its little fluttering wings around the lamp above her head of dark hair.

And then isolation took hold in Wanda who caged the oxygen inside her lungs, as if that house and its walls were nothing more than a bulwark that segregated her from the outside world to that door through which her brother had left her, as if the small apartment in the Bronx was her own cocoon of the social, an abode that harbored a being unworthy of sunlight, a being similar to her.

Wanda found herself trapped in a dilemma as much as she was trapped inside her own home, her body and her mind. She was tired of being hemmed in by the ceiling and floor of the apartment, and she could no longer bear the thought that with Pietro far away, as far away as he was now, being the social animal he always was, Wanda would have to be haunted by the company itself.

Without him there was just her, alone and aimless, like a shipwrecked man floating on an old, swollen piece of wood in a vast ocean where sky and sea met on the horizon, no sign of life nearby, the water so deep and dismal that you couldn't see the sand at the bottom. Just her, floating alone in the dark.

And, together from the pillars of their maternal womb, that primary cradle shared between the two twin children, Wanda did not feel that in fact she had been born to be just her, to live a life as reclusive as the experiences of today's hermit that were available before her, and despite her assertion to her brother that solitude was good for her reclusive spirit, the caliber of her involuntary anthropophobia gave an anxious squeeze to the core of young Wanda Maximoff's chest.

Solitude pleased her, but she only evoked a profuse disgust at the idea of loneliness, of isolation. Wanda feared being alone with her own thoughts.

“Fuck it.” Her peach lips curled into a long thin, taut line.

With the fingers of her right hand, Wanda searched for something in the pocket of her thin burgundy knit jacket, her black nails cut short, then slipping lightly over the half-dented pack of cigarettes also placed inside to, finally, hook against the material of her phone with which cigarettes shared space inside the cut in her pocket. She picked up the device with a certainty born of the anxious restlessness that gushed in the walls of her pharynx.

Wanda then reached for it with a movement of her elbow, bringing her phone close to the round tip of her button nose, unlocking the device's screen with the help of her right thumb. And, without hesitating to dive into that cluster of digital apps, she did what she had to do – what everything in that pitifully withdrawn situation in which she found herself in her own social exile compelled her to do, the digits of her fingers pressing the glass screen, typing on the digital keyboard.

hey can you come over?

piet is out

And then, after a second or two, a new message typed by her quick fingers flashed.

i don't wanna be alone tonight

The emerald eyes, profuse and dull in their clear irises, screwed up in anticipation of the answer like a faithful waiting for a sign from their god, staring at that little speech bubble as long as she could.

The folds of Wanda's fingers pressed against the edges of the poor phone, the loops of her rings scraping against the dark plastic. Just waiting, anticipating, fingers curled, anxiety bubbling in scarlet bubbles inside her stomach. And then, a prompt response popped up in the chat shared with that other number.

Of course I can go.

I'll be there soon, Wands .

She took a long, deep gulp of oxygen that rushed in and inflated her lungs in a refreshing release, excarcerating it right away. The muscles in both her shoulders softened into the red hooded jacket she wore – there would be no more loneliness to swallow or tears to shed. Soon you would be there for her. And it only took an interval of fifteen minutes for Wanda to open inwards the door that Pietro had closed behind him twenty-five minutes before, with a hard movement of her right elbow taut against her ribs.

That was how her gaze moved in midair so that, in such a way, it clung to your expectant eyes, which intuitively sought her greenish irises as soon as the door was opened to the inside of the apartment – and there you were, you, standing in front of her door, standing in the long, deserted hallway, staring in mutual care at Wanda's grim-faced face; the chiseled arch of her brows, the delicate lines of her button nose, the well-defined arch of her mouth and high cheekbones.

Opening the door at that moment was like opening the way for all loneliness to go away, because then you were there, there for her.

“Hey,” your lips curled into a chaste smile, “Hey, Wands.”

“Thank you.”

And then, desperate, tormented by a ghostly worry, Wanda, speechless from any verbal response to her affable greeting, walked towards you with a long-winded expression on her pretty, lightly made-up, cigarette-scented face, wanting nothing more than her girl in her own arms.

And she cupped both sides of your face between the warm palms of her hands, bringing her lips to you which she padded with her own mouth in a necessary clash, feeling you uplifted against her body, overwhelmed with her own miseries, just trying to feel nothing but you.

Your lips collided then, her hands holding you close, her rings feeling like little cool spots on the skin of your cheeks, such a disparate awareness of Wanda's warm, caring touch. There would be no better touch in the world for you than the one that displayed all the affection you knew Wanda had for you – a symbolic pair of hands on your cheeks, not only to feel you, but also to hold you and worship her. To prove she knew you were there for her like no one else would be.

“Thank you.”

Wanda muttered in a breath of hot air brushing against the pulps of your lips, still feeling the ghost of your warm lips against hers, a delicious tingle running across her tongue, tasting of ecstasy – lids closed, your foreheads touching almost shyly.

“Thank you, Y/n.”

“I'm here now, Wanda. I am here for you.”

Her warm fingers caressed the skin of your cheeks, instilling a placid serenity in her body. Short nails, coated in black nail polish, traced invisible lines across your cheekbones. Wanda reeked of melancholy and fear like the back of Marlboro cigarettes. And she kissed you once more, and then again and again, interspersing the kisses between little whispers of thanks, declarations for the void to hear. She continued until the automatic lights in the hallway went out.

ᗢ

Puddles of fabric were the pieces of clothing abandoned on the bare wooden floor like helpless stray animals. When Wanda looked up, the movement was conducive to her becoming aware of the erratic pattern where one fold of wallpaper stuck to another on the wall in front of her. It was a rather threadbare wallpaper, derived in the most accurate sense of the word from a faded red wine red that had been there before she moved into that apartment. Her orientation perspective was choked and restrained at that point – her fingertips seemed to enjoy the feel of warm flesh pressed against them, soft and firm at the same time.

Even though her vision was clouded, splattered on her lepidopterous eyelashes by drowsy droplets of a soft intoxication, she saw herself, as if able to smile to herself, lightheaded, her eyes dark green like moss – she was high because you had smoked a joint together some time ago, on the balcony (your elbows brushing and she looking at your glow under the starry sky, because no star would shine brighter than the twinkle inside your irises when Wanda looked at you, hiding the world around you two behind a foggy layer of smoke).

A thick bead of sweat formed above her temple, in her dark hairline, pouring down the length of her pale face until it dripped from her chin, just past the sharp bulge of her left cheekbone. A drop that landed on the arched back below her.

“F–fuck, daddy! Daddy!”

A high-pitched sound vibrated through the room's four red walls—the crack of a slap delivered against your skin, a smack that Wanda made sure to mark on your bottom in euphoric readiness, her fingers in pink welts on your skin, because something in her always delighted to press the bruises with which she bestowed you, ever making your flesh her possession. She loved to mark you, to make your body her perfect picture, the masterpiece of those hands that yearned for her warm skin.

“You're a fucking bitch,” she snorted in a hint of a harsh accent, “My bitch. My favorite bitch.”

“Daddy's favorite,” you repeated in a voice choked with weed and pleasure, and an electric shiver runs down Wanda's spine.

The shudder cost her a break in her rhythm and roughness and rhythm, that long scarlet silicone strap sliding to reach inside the wet folds of your pussy, but you didn't realize it, not how she did it – after all, your face plunged into the pillowcase that emanated the sweet aroma of Wanda's shampoo, the folds of your fingers hooking on the sheets that reeked of her woody perfume, as if submerging in a red mist that she referred to so much, you wouldn't have noticed that her hips wobbled once.

It was like being swallowed by her everywhere, and so you screamed, howled like a bitch in heat – and Wanda appreciated how loud you could be. Claiming her name, how good she, only she, was able to make you feel, and that you were close. Definitely close. In muffled pleas begging daddy to go faster and stronger, deeper and harder towards your womb – and behind the strap she felt her own clit every time the tip of the toy thrust into your cervix.

An indecency was arranged in your closed eyelashes when Wanda looked at you from behind, both of you being without any clothing to cover the length of your bodies as you were, as naked as the day you were born as she fucked you from behind. And at that moment, a welcoming warmth radiated from your broad-shouldered body, and for Wanda, it was like seeing herself integrated into a puddle of torrid sunlight, fulfilling her need to have you close; her arms wrapped around you from behind, her bare breasts pressed against the pale skin of your back, her feeling you there, belonging to her, moving with her.

“Daddy– please! Please wanna cum– I wanna–”

Entranced in a flash of wild desire, feeling Wanda's deft hand move across the skin of your abdomen, being smoothed by the eager digits of her left hand's clever fingers wandering southward down your body, into your tasteless hips, your mouth throbbed lewdly.

“Daddy!”

Her face was hidden in the contour of your neck, in the shoulder joint sprinkled with sloppy bruises, so that Wanda would be able to nibble, from there, a fresh patch of warm skin, easing the burning and tingling that came from the act with the tip of her tongue; her greedy nose tangled in a few profuse locks of your sweaty hair.

Your throat flexed, spilling out a breathy needy moan that pulsed against the line of your teeth. In sync your bodies moved on top of the mattress of her bed, back and forth.

“I wanna come on you,” she gasped, “I wanna mark you as mine. I'll paint your fucking womb white with my load, baby. I’ll break you until no one can use you but me. You're my fuck hole – mine, mine, and nobody else's.”

“Y– yours! I’m yours, daddy, yours!” But there was a hitch in your speech, words squeezing into your throat when Wanda's five right fingers closed against the outline of your neck, screwing into your skin like a thick rope. Saliva seeped from the corner of your lips, down into your chin.

The roar that bloomed through a crack in her lips had been a husky murmur. As her right hand was busy squeezing your neck, her left was busy plucking the pulsing nerve between your legs—so needy, an urgency growing in your bones and flesh, yearning for the ardor of her figure. Wanda, who unfolded to you with such care and mastery, her inhuman touch burning over your skin.

Her fingertips brushed your fine wet, rough pubic hair, and Wanda took a deep breath, her chest rising heavily and falling lightly, snorting a breath of warm air against the hollow of your ear—the scorching skin of her torso girding itself against your spine, who saw yourself as being able to feel the two swollen nipples pressed against your stinging shoulder blades, her thick her cock still straining your insides in a continuous, harsh back-and-forth.

“Fuck,” her tongue flicked against the roof of her mouth, followed by a curse in her native language, “You are mine, Y/n, you’ll always be mine. Mine. No one else is going to have you but me, fuck, I– I'll make sure of it, I, I'll come on you. I'm going to stuff you so everyone knows you're my bitch walking around with my cum leaking out of you.”

Your ecstasy compelled you to choke on a groan coiled in your throat, and at Wanda's speech you rolled your hips back, fucking yourself in her cock, begging for more, as debilitating when against something as simple as a touch, a simple touch of ethereal fingers, despite the strap that widened you from the inside. Wanda was the only one capable of tearing your brittle body to pieces if she wanted to, and even the vaguest idea made her blood boil in her veins.

“W-Wanna cum,” was a moan from you, your brows meeting furrowed across your peach flushed face; you sounded a little dizzy in your rambling speech, pressing your fingers against the sheet.

“Wanna cum around daddy's cock, wanna–”

“Fuck, I'm gonna come inside your greedy little cunt, gonna– fuck, Y/n!”

Before her you came in a rush of nasal groaning – harsh and confused. Screaming for Wanda, pressing your ass against her hips, shaking. But she buried herself back in you one or two more times before she did it on her own – your walls quivering and tight, familiar and pleasant enough before Wanda plunged her orgasm inside you. And in such a way that she did it, as if just being inside you was what was needed to untie the knot at her primordial apex, then a hand below her navel.

“I'm fucking coming inside you!”

She couldn't actually do it, not the way she really wanted to, but it was enough to feel that familiar tightening in the pit of her stomach when she was there, in that position, that characteristic sting of orgasm digging in her belly. Wanda withdrew from you, your glittering liquid glistening around the strap that the dark harness fastened to her waist, and, with her head seeming to weigh more than the rest of her body, Wanda toppled forward, landing on the slats bed next to you panting, in which the chest rose and fell with an impressive weight.

“Fuck… fuck.”

Her lids squint over the heavy gaze, the world dimming for a second, awareness slipping away. Eyes closed, the room immersed in a puddle of accentuated silence. Then a minute passed. And two and three. There was a click of the spark wheel of a lighter rolling against the stone, gas coming out and paper burning. Wanda's nostrils were filled with a hissing odor of burning grass, smoke reaching her. Her eyelids fluttered open.

With your spine leaning against the wallpaper behind the bed, you, sitting there, were lost in the red – the remnants of the summit ascended in a moment of pleasure smeared the inner sides of your thighs, like a ghost of what was once the climax of the carnal act in which they were so vividly engaged. Swallowing a lit joint between your fingers, Wanda never found you as beautiful as she did at that moment, high and fucked, light for the orgasm and the weed.

“You… are really mine, aren't you?” she asked in a grim voice thread, that accent rolling between the words she alluded to.

You looked at her, “Of course I'm yours. Just as you are mine, silly.”

She just looked at you, silent as she could be.

“Give me a hit,” one hand reached out, reaching for what you held. To disconnect from the world and just feel you.

But, holding the rolled cigarette between the extension of your fingers, Wanda realized that an idea took place behind your empty eyes. You then pressed the commission of your lips around the joint, inhaling that dense smoke to the core of your lungs before, then, reclining your face in front of Wanda, who was still lying down.

The ends of your hair grazed her left nipple as your wet lips met, and you let the smoke trapped in your lungs slip into her open mouth before finally kissing her, her tongue slipping between your teeth, her left fingers tangling in the hair above the nape of your neck, holding you close. When you broke apart, Wanda blinked in ecstasy – your noses were almost touching again.

“You're not going to leave me, are you?” was a sigh against your lips, “You won't abandon me, Y/n.”

“I won't,” you smiled, “Because I love you, Wands. I love you. You know I'll always come when you call.”

And then Wanda looked at you. She looked at you as if it were the first time she had seen you in her life – as if she were discovering you again, understanding you once more, realizing that with you there was no loneliness. In the same way she did every time you surprised her. Wanda understood that as long as she had you, you to indulge her, you to love her, there would be no homesickness left to feel.

“I love you too,” she whispered, “I love you too, Y/n.”

She knew she loved you, in that moment, because she didn't belong in New York or Sokovia - in that moment, she just belonged in your arms.

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mlmxreader · 4 months

Text

The Royal Ranger | Legolas x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Legolas

16 "I know you're watching me" ❞

: ̗̀➛ there is another ranger in Legolas' life, one who happens to be his favourite.

: ̗̀➛ mentions of violence

↳ @thesnowurzikdjinn @arthurmorgansballsack

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

The forest was quiet. The trees barren of leaves as the cold chill of winter began to creep up to its worst, but still bursting with life as the birds fluttered amongst the branches; in a few months, the branches would be adorned with thousands of nests ready for thousands of little lives.

The bushes were scattered with ripe berries protected by small and fat spiders of brown and yellow; they stood guard so loyally and so bravely, using their webs to tell when friend or foe or food was approaching.

Amongst the dark green and harsh yellow grasses, foxes and hares ran and dug through the thick black dirt; bursting and bubbling with life amongst the cold and damp weather. In the night, wolves would howl amongst themselves as they got lost in the dark and separated from one another; their harsh jaws gnashing and gnawing as they chased down deer and foxes alike.

The forest was always bursting with life. It was home, as much as it could be.

True home still lied to the West; across a short sea, there laid a large island made up of three kingdoms.

One, and the furthest to the West, was ruled by a fair and just king who had been chosen by his people; with a red dragon at his side, he saw that his people were always looked after and comfortable.

The King saw that his rangers were trained by the best in Middle Earth; he sent them to the Rangers of the North for training and always saw that they were treated well upon their return.

The King's dragon, Drygyn, was a pleasant creature, too; towering, with legs like thick branches and jaws big enough to swallow a house in one gulp, was always happy to allow the children of the kingdom to climb upon his great armoured back, and always protected his people when called to do so.

To the East of that Kingdom was another; ruled by an arrogant and ill-tempered king, it was a horrid place. Filled with greed and destruction; the people and their unelected king despised those to the West, and if it had not been for Rohan and the Elves, they would have destroyed it and stolen it for themselves.

So greedy they were, that not even dragon sickness could describe their conditions. Not even the most selfish and covetous of dragons could match them.

But the kingdom that sat the most North was kind; ruled by a king who rode a horse with a singular horn, he was a pleasant man who saw that his people were well off and looked over.

He held elections once a year, and always won them; he had the hearts of his people, and he always aided the kingdom in the West.

The West and North were brothers, as much as they could be without sharing blood; they shared it on the battlefield, and would for ever be close.

Originally part of the King of The West's royal guard, you had been asked if you wanted to become a ranger; the king himself had recognised your skills and talents, and had asked you personally. He would see to it that you would be well looked after during your training, and wanted you to expand your horizons as much as you could.

Six years, he said, and then you would be able to come home; but if you wished to stay in Middle Earth, he would also understand. He would send gold across the short sea to give you your pension; once a month, eighty gold coins. Six years later, when he had written to you to ask, you admitted that you wished to stay.

Your mentor, Aragorn, who was only four years older than you, treated you well and through him, you had met an Elf Prince and fallen in love with him. The King was overjoyed, so much so, that his letter in response was written with shaky hands and littered with constant praise and congratulations.

It made you laugh when you read it to Legolas and Aragorn, and they had smiled and laughed along with you just as much; Thranduil was also the recipient of a letter from the king, and found it amusing how a king could sound so much like a commoner.

He didn't realise that, once upon a time, the king was a commoner.

Within the forest, though, you heard familiar footsteps approaching; you tilted your head, listening closely as you closed your eyes for a moment and inhaled the scents.

Aragorn and Legolas.

You smiled, quick to climb up a tree with efficency and silence; burying yourself amongst the empty branches as you tried not to laugh. They passed beneath you, calling your name loudly; you furrowed your brows as they looked around, unable to pick up your trail as much as they had tried.

Aragorn had taught you well, and your service to the King of The West had taught you even more beforehand. You were a soldier at heart, yet took to a Ranger's life more easily than a dragon to gold. You heard Aragorn sigh as he turned to Legolas, who didn't seem convinced as he raised a brow and called out loudly.

"I know you're watching me! Show yourself!"

You huffed, making your way down and through the trees until you stood beside him. "Is this any better?"

"You were stalking me," Legolas hummed.

"We've been together for half a mortal's life," you pointed out. "Hardly stalking."

"Hunting, then," he argued with a smile on his lips.

"We need your assistance," Aragorn started, "all three of us have been summoned to Lord Elrond."

"So?" You shrugged. "I'm sure whatever it is, you can deal with it."

"No," he shook his head. "Arwen and I took four hobbits to Rivendell. One of them bears the Ring."

"A hobbit? With a ring of power?" You asked with a scoff. "Impossible."

"It's true," Legolas admitted. "I saw them all myself."

"And what are we to do?" You asked.

"I cannot tell you here," Aragorn admitted. "Please. Come with us."

You grumbled as you whistled for your horse. "Fine."

He was a big, towering beast with a short cut and trimmed mane so that it couldn't be snagged upon branches or grabbed by enemy hands either; with his tail short and trimmed as well, he was easy to ride through forests. His massive hooves adorned with a red and green and white painted flag on them, he was easy to spot.

A dragon birthmark sat on his left shoulder, bright red and almost glowing; all horses born in the West Kingdom had that birthmark. Just as all the dogs had it on their chests, all the sheep and goats and cows had it on their left thigh, and all the people had it on their left shoulders. All bright red, and all treated as a mark of pride.

The royal guard, however, were all born with the dragon upon their right forearms; their armour was always engraved with bright red dragons on a half white background that stopped halfway down and was white the rest of the way.

They fought with swords that had triangular tips like spears, mimicking the dragon's tongue and tail, all made with bright red steel; upon their helmets, they always wore leeks of beautiful green and daffodils of bright gold.

They were awed by everyone from every kingdom, and were some of the best fighters in all of the world; they were revered for their just and kind nature, and sought after for their impeccable skills on the battlefield. Seasoned fighters, they could take giants down with just a sweep of their swords.

You got upon your horse, looking at Legolas and Aragorn with a raised brow as you tilted your head; Aragorn gave a whistle, and his horse came trotting along, but Legolas made no such sound and no horse came looking for him either. He looked up at you, smiling as he offered his hand.

"Well?" You hummed. "Get walking, green boy."

Legolas scowled at you, trying not to laugh but failing so miserably. "Let me up."

"Do I have to?" You asked, grabbing his hand and hoisting him up behind you. "You may want to hold on, pointy ears."

"Quiet," he grumbled, his arms around your waist as he drew close to your body. Smiling to himself.

At the Council of Elrond, however, there was an unexpected surprise; sitting honourably near the other men, sat your king.

With his dark skin and dark eyes, he looked absolutely gorgeous bathed in the soft golden light of the council; his white and green armour shimmered, the red dragon on his breastplate shining brightly and the one upon his face seemingly glowing.

The pointed tail rested on his neck, whilst the rest of the four legged beast trailed to the side of his mouth, its head just below his eye.

Beside him sat the King of The North; proud, his armour was thick, and deep blue with a bright white X painted across the breastplate. His brown skin seemed to glisten in the light and he smiled softly as he nodded at you; you nodded back, tears in your eyes and your vision slowly beginning to blur as you felt your bottom lip tremble.

Across from them, however, and distanced from the rest of the council, was the King of The East. His pale white skin seemed dull and slimy as he leaned back; with his bright blue eyes, he scowled at everyone, his lip turned upwards and exposing a few of his white teeth. His fingers were thick and grubby, unwashed for years, and red at the tips. He seemed to sneer as you walked past.

The Queen of the island that sat to the West of all three kingdoms, however, sat beside the West and North kings; she was beautiful, dark skin so gently touched by the golden lights of the council, around her neck sat beautiful light green jewels, dazzling the same way that stars did.

Her dress was orange and white and green, bringing out the shades of green within her hair and painted upon her nails. They called her the Emerald Queen, and she was known to be just and kind as well as firm and strong; she was gorgeous, and her dark green, almost black, eyes caught yours as she smiled.

You smiled back, bowing and bending your knee.

"My Lady," you said softly. "It is an honour to meet you."

She pulled you up, shaking her head. "No one bows to me, nor I to them. We are all equals here, Ranger."

"Ranger, indeed," your king grinned, coming to stand beside you as he patted your back gently. The red dragon upon his face seemed to glow. "My finest. Once my best royal guard, now my best ranger."

The King of The East sneered as he scoffed, turning to Legolas. "This is an insult to me. I have been assaulted."

Legolas raised a brow as he looked at him; his lips were thin, almost nonexistent, and his thin grey hair and his thin grew brows were no distraction from his ghastly looking face.

He seemed to be rotting from the inside, and even his red, white and blue robes would not distract from such a heinous smell; his voice sounded sickly, and made Legolas' stomach churn. He put his hand on the King's shoulder, shaking his head in warning.

"That ranger is under my protection, and under the protection of my father," he hissed. "You shall not look if you are not told directly."

"Legolas, come come!" Your king beamed. "Emerald, my Queen, you must meet Legolas!"

Legolas laughed softly as he walked over, shaking her hand and letting his arm rest upon your waist. "It is an honour, my Lady."

"Your ranger here is lovely," she complimented. "And I must admit that, if you had not caught such a heart, I might have."

"It's a shame we have to meet under such circumstances," you told her.

"Perhaps," Legolas hummed. "One day, we will meet again."

The Emerald Queen nodded as she leaned back into her seat. "Whatever your fellowship requires of me, of my people, know that you have it... but be warned."

The King of The North nodded as he stole a look at her. "Oh, aye. The East Kingdom cannae be trusted with the Ring."

"Agreed," your king agreed, glaring at Legolas in certainty. "They cannot."

"Tell Elrond," the Emerald Queen insisted. "He cannot trust the East King."

"Eva," the North agreed. "They cannae eva be trusted."

"No, never," your king concluded. "They will use the ring to commit terrible acts, they can never have it."

Legolas pulled you aside while the formalities continued; he kept you close, hiding behind one of the many white pillars as he smiled, sighing heavily.

You both knew what would be asked of you, and you knew what would come if you were to fall; you didn't mind, gently placing your hands against his chest as you dared to smile.

"You're almost as warm as a dragon," you whispered. "I fell asleep against him many times whilst on guard duty... Legolas?"

"Yes?"

You licked your lips, sighing as you swallowed thickly. "If I should fall... please, return me to my kingdom."

"Of course," he agreed quietly, nodding curtly. "But I cannot allow that to happen. If you fall, I will, too."

"No-"

"Yes."

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soft-for-them · 2 years

Text

The feeling of anger and the letter that caused it - Pride and Prejudice x plus size reader

Summary: You've known Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley since your were a little girl, so it's only normal for them to offer you a ride home when they spot you sad and angry at the side of the road in such cold conditions. (Can be seen as any version of Pride and Prejudice.)

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.

A/N: I hoping people like this like I love this for I have a whole idea for a series where you the reader get to pick who you end up with.

“I despise that filth.” You don’t even use the word man as you start to boil over into a bubbling fury of fire and flames. Your hands are clutched to your side as you walk without a chaperone, down a lovely path were the trees haven’t been effect by the sudden cold of the afternoon yet just so you can rant and mumble to you hearts content without your mother hearing.

Wearing a long black warm coat, one you’d normally wear in winter but the dreary weather calls for it, a very fashionable coat to suits the regency times without making you look bulky and wide, you stomp down the pathway leaving imprints of your worn shoes onto the frosted over dirt. The high collar of your coat tickles your rounder face, the warmth it gives no match for the fiery anger that sets you face aflame with warmth.

“How dare he ever contact me with such familiarity, after all he’s done!” you roar on with a hint of sadness cracking in your voice.

The bonnet you wear on top of your head, a quiet plain but big one with a nice yellow lace ribbon holding it on your head, narrows your view to the side so you do not see a carriage riding down a road off onto the path you stand on. The path, really an old dirt road farmers use to traverse between fields, is long and winding however you could see every inch of it if you just turn your head a little to the side and see the many little roads and intersections that connect onto it.

“If I were a man then I’d challenge him to a dual.”

You’re standing well to the side of the road, brambles and old man's beard catching onto your coat along with tiny drops of last night’s rain. Any carriage can get by just fine though you’re so blinded in fury that you do not notice as a carriage pulled by two fair horses traverses by.

The reticule clutched in your left hand swings side to side as you finally see the carriage now just a bit off in the distance, you eyebrows knitting together in slight confusion as you walk on only to see that it has stopped.

You steps are slows as you ascend upon the carriage, the horses huffing out cold foggy air as they patiently wait to trot on.

As you walk up to the side you see that the ruffled thick curtains, often seen in all carriages for privacy and to block out any unwanted sunlight, are open and two faces look out at you.

One face, all happy and puppy like, leans in more his eyes wide with worry despite still having a smile on his handsome face, whilst the other man sits stoic with a look of disdain on his face (though still handsome none the less.)

Of course you know of these men, how could you not, you grew up around them even if you’re not partially good friends with them.

“Mr Bingley, Mr Darcy.” You greet in the most polite way you can.

“Miss (L/n), I beg your pardon, but may I ask why you’re out walking alone on such chilly day?” Mr Bingley asks with the most concerned voice you’ve ever heard from him, gosh, you think you see his bottom lip tremble as he asks you it.

“Just heading home.” you half lie.

Yes, you’ll ultimately have to go home but right now you’re out walking venting out your anger and sadness, it’s better to do that then to brood at home until you explode into an angry fit of hatful, but untrue, words that would hurt the feelings of you dear family.

“Why don’t we give you a lift? It is unwise to leave such kind friend out here alone.”

For a moment you contemplate arguing back to Mr Bingley, make up a proper lie to deter the ball of sunshine from insisting. But you look up into his big round eyes and reconsider, really you do.

“Mr Bingley, that is very kind but…“ you talk before you figure out a good lie to tell him.

“It's unlady like to be out alone.” Mr Darcy pipes up making you turn your head to the shadowy man.

“I think it’s more unlady like to be seen unchaperoned in the carriage of two unmarried men, Mr Darcy.”

Mr Darcy like he always is just looks at you with his long boring gaze, no more words said, only the small door to the ornate carriage opened by his hand. You let out a ghastly ‘gah’ sound mumbling ‘fine!’ to the two men before hauling yourself up into the carriage.

Mr Bingley, ever the gentleman moves over so you can sit next to him for Mr Darcy seems to be frozen in place, his eyes still lingering on you.

With all your might your try to sit closest to the window so not to bump knees or squish thighs with Mr Bingley but after the carriage starts moving again your legs start to ache from being so tensed up that your legs knock with Bingley’s. The awkwardness inside the small quarter is visible like a thick fog in the air as you smooth down your dress over your round tummy. You try to sit up as straight as you can whilst the sharp stare of Mr Darcy still stares on at you.

It takes a good fifteen minutes for a conversation to start.

“I thank you both for this ride.” You say hoping it will clear the air and thankfully it gets Mr Bingley yapping.

“No ‘thank you’ needed dear friend-“ there it is again, him calling you his friend, “- I wouldn’t wish anyone to be walking out when it’s so cold out, let alone you Miss (y/n).”

“Well-“ your cheeks warm once more but not with anger, Mr Bingley always knows how to fluster you with his kindness even though you believe he does not realise he’s doing it, “- It is rather nippy out today.”

Before Bingley can speak up once more Mr Darcy speaks up.

“What were you doing out?” for a moment it sounds like Mr Darcy cares for you, his voice wavering just a bit to sound more kind.

“I-well-I-“

Your stutter of a response gets both men looking at you with concern on their faces.

They’re a few years older than you but your mother was always friends with Mr Bingley’s mother so you’ve always known the man, thus also knowing Mr Darcy. With knowing them, with befriending Mr Darcy’s younger sister, you’ve still never really been proper friends with them, not really. But from knowing them, knowing Darcy mostly, you’ve been rolled up in scandal and sadness.

You see when you were younger, more gullible, more effected by bullies who talked about your round body like it was a bad thing, a dashing young man by the name of George Wickham came into your life only to break your heart. Years later he came back but he wasn’t interested in you, no, he was interested in the younger Georgiana Darcy. It still makes you sick to think that you so young fell for him, that you hid away and told no one of the fleeting love only for Georgiana Darcy, a friend and honorary younger sister to you, to get hurt.

Now you sit among Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley angry at the man you haven’t thought about for so long, well until today.

With wobbly hands you dig into your reticule to pull out a letter. You look at Bingley, his face sweet and kind, before shoving the letter into Darcy’s hands.

“I got this. I got it just after luncheon, I have been walking off my disdain ever since.”

Darcy’s gaze on you breaks as he uncrumples the letter which was scrunched up and shoved into you reticule like it was kindle ready for the fire. The paper is flimsy and plain, the seal most gone only leaving a red stain on the folded paper.

Darcy open it and begins to read it to himself.

“To my (Y/n),

I hope that this letter is not too informal for I know we have not spoken in a while.

I regret it, how I lead you on for so long making you think I was to propose, for you were always such a good young girl who followed the men in uniform around so merrily, I never realised the love you had for me. I suppose this letter has come to a surprise, though I had to write it for I do wonder what kind of woman you have become.

I am currently in town and wish to see you again, you and you darling family that is.

If it isn’t too rude I wish to invite you to some afternoon tea, see the address below to send confirmation, which I hope you do.

Your dearest,

George Wickham.”

Mr Darcy’s eyes fill with a rage like no other, the flame only calmed somewhat when they flick up to see your face, to connect with your eyes on the verge of tears.

“I hope Georgiana is safe-” you say weakly, “-I have not seen her in a while.”

When Mr Darcy moved into Pemberley your family had moved into a smaller manor of only five rooms just outside Lambton for your father has long passed and many of your siblings, young and old, have been married off, the money problems rising and the network of close friends also moving with it.

“She is safe (Y/n).” Fitzwilliam Darcy says handing back the letter.

“Good, good good.” your eyes travel from Darcy’s to Bingley’s, his head cocked slightly to the side in a confused look.

“Wickham is back in town.” is all you say to the bright man, his hand goes to yours in which holds the letter but he does not take it from your hand, he rather engulfs your hand with a pleasant warmth, an act to show comfort.

You know this last week has been hard for both men; Mr Bingley having fallen for the eldest Bennet daughter to only find out that she’s been married to her childhood sweetheart for the last year (though the two of them have become fine friends none the less) and Darcy having been snubbed by another Bennet daughter.

Wickham is just the icing on the cake.

The carriage pulls up to your home surrounded by farmers’ fields and small ankle deep rivers.

“Thank you both for the ride home.” you place your free hand, reticule hanging from your wrist by its dainty strap, onto Mr Bingley hand given in to tight squeeze.

“My, (Y/n) must you feel upset again then call for me instead of freezing.” Charles Bingley says with a vigour you’ve only seen on love-struck men.

“I will, I will.”

You rise and step out of the carriage not before nodding to Darcy and saying another full ‘goodbye’ to Bingley.

The carriage does not move until you’re safely inside and waving from the front window to the two men.

#not proof read #pride and prejudice #pride & prejudice #p&p #pride and prejudice 2005 #pride and prejudice 1995 #fitzwilliam darcy #mr darcy #mr bingley #charles bingley #mr darcy x reader #mr bingley x reader #charles bingley x reader #fitzwilliam darcy x reader #plus size reader #x plus size reader #chubby reader #x chubby reader

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b4mpyre-k1zz3s · 8 months

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Anything But Clean

Y/N stops for a car wash, not realizing how dirty it’d be!

Johnny Knoxville X Fem!Reader, Chris Pontius X Fem!Reader, Bam Margera X Fem!Reader

987 Words

Warnings: Extremely suggestive content, minimal plot

An: This fic is based off of the Jackass car wash photoshoot, only with some particular liberties taken by myself (namely they’re all shirtless ;) and Chris is here because it’s a crime he wasn’t in the irl shoot)! Very steamy compared to the things I normally write, but short and sweet nonetheless! I wanted to try and see how shorter fics r received, so let me know your thoughts on this!

There were about a thousand car washes in New York City, but your eye was drawn to this one in particular for a reason you couldn’t place. The bold text on the sign read, “New! Gentle Touch Car Wash! ‘A Whale of a Wash!’” It certainly looked far from new, but as long as the bird shit and bug guts got scrubbed off of your windshield, you would be happy.

But as you pulled up a little closer, you had to do a double take at the sight before you. Most people are used to the idea of bikini car washes- girls in bikinis standing out in front of car washes, wiggling and giggling, all scantily clad and such, but you weren’t expecting what you actually saw as traffic slowed just enough for you to get a good look at the scene. Standing outside in the 60 degree fall chill was a handsome, long haired man clad in nothing but an orange mankini, sneakers, and a smile. It was a wonder he hadn’t caused a crash yet. There was something so charming about how he didn’t seem embarrassed in the slightest as he hammed it up out there, strutting around and striking poses. The sign he was holding read in bold letters, “Car Wash! 5$! Best hand job in New York!” It was impossible to keep yourself from staring and giggling, especially when he turned around, giving everyone in traffic a wonderful view of his butt and the ‘CAR’ ‘WASH’ he had sharpied on each ass cheek. Oh, you had to go there.

When you pulled in, you thought that maybe the nearly nude man you saw out front was the extent of this scantily clad car wash experience when a guy wearing one of those standard car wash uniforms started hosing down your car. He seemed semi-disinterested as he lazily wet down your vehicle, the water running down the smudgy glass.

Suddenly, everything got all Chippendales. Almost as if on cue, the blond man who was wetting down your car unzipped his uniform, tying the sleeves around his hips. Your eyes went wide. He was pretty built- maybe not a male model, but you definitely weren’t going to stop staring at him. You were tempted to say something, some joking comment about him bundling up so he wouldn't catch a cold, but you couldn’t before three other half clothed dudes came out of nowhere and oh my god they were all hot- absurdly hot and they were all over you. All over your car, sorry.

You went into this knowing that your car wasn't coming out of this spotless, but you really knew it wasn’t going to now. One of the men, the one with the sunglasses and ruggedly handsome facial hair that walked with movie star confidence, happened to catch your eye. He must’ve also caught how you were gawking at him because he decided to lean over your windshield, squishing his muscular yet soft torso against the glass. He was tanned, perfectly toned, and from how he moved he knew it. His body was so close, you could feel the heat radiating through the glass as he scrubbed it with one of those big yellow sponges, stealing grinning glances at your transfixed, nearly drooling expression. Oh, he liked this. On your side window, the mankini clad muscular gentleman that you saw with the sign out front exaggeratedly rubbed his crotch against your window, his hands folded behind his head, imitating a male stripper and doing it well. On your passenger side window, the one with the head full of dark curls was rubbing bubbly circles on the glass…with his ass. You were in heaven.

And just when you thought it couldn’t get better. “Hey! Hose-boy Dunn! Hit me!” The man to your right called out, making a gesture with his hand before the one with the hose rolled his eyes and turned it towards him, drenching him with the water. The sparkling liquid sprayed over his body, dripping down his pale torso towards the heartagram tattoo that sat low on his hips as he shook his hair out like a dog, raking a hand through it like one of those guys in those Calvin Klein ads. You were about eye level with the crotch of the one washing your window as he squeezed the water soaked fabric, feeling kind of perverted as you watched him get a hard on, dramatically groaning as he was also sprayed. But the worst was when the one you had your eye on got soaked next, making a big show of rinsing the soap bubbles off his chest, rubbing and squeezing at it teasingly with this cockiness that made your face heat up.

And just at that moment, right at the pinnacle of that whole extravaganza, that’s when you got a little tap on your window. You jumped, being shaken out of your lusty trance. Your eyes went wide as you hurriedly scrounged around in your purse, coughing up a twenty as you rolled down the window with your other hand. Just then, you were face to face with that hot guy that was just all spread out on your hood a few minutes ago, maybe six inches nose to nose. Panicking, you shoved the money towards him, red as a tomato. He chuckled, taking it graciously, his warm hand brushing against yours. His voice was sweet, charming, vaguely southern as he leaned into your window, practically halfway in your car, “Thank’y ma’am.”

Through all of it, there was one question on your mind, and you finally worked up enough guts to ask him. “Will- will you be here tomorrow?” He shook his head, smiling a little, “No ma’am. Just for today- I’m very flattered, though.” You sighed. Even if tomorrow everything got Cinderella’d back to normal, you’d always have the memories of that trip to the car wash.

#jackass #bam margera #johnny knoxville #chris pontius #ryan dunn #jackass fanfiction #jackass fanfic #fluff #jackass x reader #johnny knoxville x reader #bam margera x reader #chris pontius x reader #workin at the car wash yeah

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canineical · 1 year

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[Image Description: A zine in an 8-page layout.

The first page displays the title of the zine “Nature Where You stand” in big letters. Around it is a collage of plants— a mix of old photos and line-art of leaves and flowers. It is separated from the title text by a solid, squiggly line.

The second page reads “For my birthday, my uncle got me a book with a pretty cover: Root & Ritual”. The book’s title is written below and bigger than the rest of the text, and has a simple line-art drawing of a sprout on one side and a line-art drawing of some sort of grain on the other side. There are also four simple stars surrounding the book title.

The third page reads “I was interested, but also intimidated. Knowing the natural world intimately felt so… out of reach.” The words ‘out of reach’ surround a drawing of a hand reaching out to the top right corner of the page.

The fourth page reads “So I treaded with care through the book, hoping to explore a new language. I knew I felt connected to the land, but felt so lost on how to interact with it.” In the bottom right corner, there is a doodle of one side of a small, rocky hill.

The fifth page reads “When it talked about foraging, it reminded me that dandelions are edible, something that felt familiar and accessible. Suddenly, foraging wasn’t just hiking endlessly.” In the middle right section of the page, there is a small line-art drawing of a dandelion— the yellow kind, not the fluffy kind.

The sixth page reads “Once I tried one, a whole world opened up. I started seeing plants and wondering if they were edible or poisonous or maybe just gross. I tasted white clover and learned to avoid petty spurge.” On the bottom of the page is a line-art drawing of petty spurge leaves, and a white clover flower sticking out in front of the leaves.

The seventh page reads “I’d known that humans and ‘civilization’ aren’t separate from nature, and can’t be treated as such, but I’d never felt it. Nature is all around me, and I can engage with it all.” At the bottom of the page is line-art of a tuft of grass, some flowers, and cabbage sprouting from the ground.

The eighth page reads “Curiosity has bloomed, and there is so much more to learn. Try + let it bloom for you, too.” Below that, there is a dashed line, which has the words “by Xalli, 4 May 2023” underneath it. Underneath those words is the Instagram logo next to “desertfirelight,” the Substack logo next to “palmlungs,” and the Tumblr logo next to “baringteeth.” Best to those usernames is line-art of a little bird with a word bubble that says “Ty for reading!” /End ID]

hi there !! this is my first ever zine called Nature Where You Stand, about connecting to the earth and realizing that we are not as separate from the natural world as we feel

you’re free to turn your screen over and over to read this on your device, or you can print it out and fold it into a zine, using only one sheet of paper. linked in these words is a little visual & word-based tutorial on how to do it

it’ll look like this (though hopefully a bit better, if you have a nicer printer than i do) !

[Image Description: A photo of a hand holding a printed-out version of the zine, where the zine is slightly open so you can see the cover and a little bit inside of one of the pages. /End ID]

of course, fold where the page visually ends and not just where it should end, because i’m certainly not practiced enough at zines to get it too accurate...

you’re absolutely free to print and keep or even distribute or trade this zine-- just please don’t cut out my name or socials !

#coyo yips #art #earthly #zine #mine

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rock-dove-radio · 6 months

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Fun Fact I am affected by heavy synesthesia and decided to document a few silly things! When i read certain words / letters / numbers i see colors and taste things! As well as with listening to music i see visuals and taste things etc Feel free to ask questions i love answering!

Long post but basically i list brain associations so stuff under cut if you care to read

Anyway to the interesting stuff 😋😋

Color Flavors

🔴 - spicy and bitter with some sweetness. Makes my chest hurt

🟠 - Not sweet or sour it's like a uhh a snow cone

🟡 - frostingless sugar cookie

🟢 - butter

🔵 - steak

🟣 - those little mini cake things they have at weddings

⚫ - sweet and crunchy but has a dust residue like a handful sprinkles

⚪ - pineapple gummy bear

💗 - Walmart birthday cake

Colors / shapes i see when listening to artists

Lemon Demon - navy blue trapezoids and red triangles

Tally Hall - yellow circles and white diamonds

Will Wood - green squares and purple spiral circles (?)

Marina - pink bubbles and white sparkles

Lovejoy - light blue arrows facing downward

Penelope Scott - black semicircles

Mitski - slate colored trapezoids

TV Girl - gray rectangle

Weezer - green boing boing dog toy idk how to describe it

TMBG - orange semicircle really stretched

Oingo Boingo - green circles

Letter and Number Color Associations

A🔴 B🔵 C🟡 D🟢 E🟡 F🔴 G🟤 H🟤 I🔵 J🟣 K🟣 L🟣 M🟤 N🔵 O🔵 P🟣 Q⚫ R🔴 S🟡 T🟣 U🟣 V🔵 W🟣 X⚫ Y⚪ Z🔵 0⚪ 1🔵 2🟢 🟡 4🟡 5🔴 6🟢 7🔵 8⚫ 9🔴 10⚫

Day of the week Equations

10 x 0 = Sunday, 100 - 46 = Monday, 25 - 11 = Tuesday, 4 x 4 = Wednesday, 7 x 7 = Thursday, 5 x 5 is Friday, 10 x 5 = Saturday

Day of the Week Colors

Monday is Black Tuesday is dark blue Wednesday is dark green Thursday is dark purple Friday is yellow Saturday is lavender and Sunday is gray I don't make the rules

School Subject Colors

Math is red, Science is green, social studies is blue, literature / English is purple, art is also green

Number Flavors

0 - the chemicals you blow bubbles with when you accidentally get it in your mouth

1 - plain cracker you get in restaurant baskets

2 - gummy worm that's really old

3 - Doritos

4 - hamburger

5 - giant hot apple left in the sun 2 hours

6 - green apple

7 - steak fajita

8 - grape juice

9 - Hot Dog

10 - seat belt

Smells and Tastes regarding Music

Lemon Demon - lavender candle smell, taste like burger

Tally Hall - rusting Metal smell, taste like cold butter just taken out of the fridge

Will Wood - old church carpet smell, tastes like communion wine

Marina - tropical car refreshener smell, taste like putting a pen in your mouth

Lovejoy - smells like sea salt, tastes like sea salt chocolate

Penelope Scott - smells like rotting wood, tastes like Coca Cola

Mitski - smells like soap, tastes like Christmas cookies

TV Girl - smells like perfume drowning out body odor, tastes like ham sandwich that got ketchup on it

Weezer - smells like hamburger, taste like banana

TMBG - smells like antique store, taste like Olive Garden bread

Oingo Boingo - smells like barbecue, tastes like those big ass erasers people would poke with their pencils in elementary school

Misc

My Name - smells like vanilla perfume from bed bath and bodyworks, tastes like cheese pizza, is the color gold

Five Nights at Freddys - smells like cigarettes, tastes like burger (WHY DOES EVERYTHING TASTE/SMELL LIKE BURGER), is the color purple

Electric Dreams 1984 - smell like a city in Mississippi i went to 7 years ago, taste like red velvet cake, is the color hot pink

The number 999 tastes like watermelon

Pinterest app smells like nail polish and popcorn

Spotify taste like Gatorade

#.txt #long post #neurodivergent #synesthesia #autism #yum yum yum #can we get some purple 4s in the chat #will add more to this

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darling-rosey · 8 months

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Lost Boy

Warning!! There's references to abuse of a minor in this, along with injuries as a result of the abuse described. Please be careful reading or skip entirely!

(The title is in reference to Peter Pan and Ruth B's song! The Mc is female coded!)

Wally Darling & Reader.

You're visiting your elderly neighbor and she's found some old tapes from her cartoon collection! An old children's show called Welcome Home.

"Oh, what perfect timing you have, Dear!" Grams exclaims as you nervously peak into her apartment from the door. "Come in, come in! I'm sure this is something you'll be interested in!"

You do, quietly shutting the door behind yourself and shuffling over to the kind of smaller box your elderly neighbor is looking through.

Grams isn't your actual grandma, you've never met either of your actual grandparents from either side of your family. Though you can't say you've met too many people in your short five years on this planet to begin with. But Grams just told you to call her that, since saying her actual name was proving difficult for you. She's a sweet old lady, who lets you stay for days on end in her apartment when things in yours are getting a bit too much. Says you remind her of her own kids and grandkids in every way except personality. Mostly.

She actually enjoys having you around, unlike your parents.

"This is all from an old show that was on back in the 70s," Grams tells you, pulling some things out of the box. You lean on the arm of the couch to get a peak, seeing it's a few old VHS tapes. A lot of Grams' cartoons are recorded on VHS though, so it's not much of a surprise. "I liked watching it with my kids when they were just young babies. I'd say my oldest was even younger than you when the show first started airing. I had forgotten all about it!"

You know Grams likes cartoons, her hobby as she tells you. She has a lot of cartoons recorded on VHS tapes, which she first got into so she could record shows for her kids. She has old Winnie the Pooh cartoons, Looney Tunes, Mickey Mouse shorts and the House of Mouse, Tom and Jerry, Josie and the Pussycats, old Betty Boop cartoons, the retro My Little Pony ones, Scooby Doo, The Powerpuff Girls, and just about any oldie cartoons you can think of. She's apparently gotten some off of some network called Boomerang, the Hanna-Barbera cartoons. She's also collected some of the stuff they'd sell for them over the years, toys and mugs mostly.

She's watched some of the newer cartoons too and said she's found quite a few of them rather entertaining and good, but the oldies will always hold a special place in her old heart.

It's surprising she'd forget about a cartoon with how much she loves them.

You lean a bit closer to peak into what else is in the box, but jump back when Grams looks over at you again.

"Would you like to watch this today?" She asks. You timidly nod, Grams shakily standing up with the help of the couch's arm. You come around and climb onto the couch while she puts the VHS into the player.

You glance towards the box in curiosity, but quickly look away again while sitting up straight. Grams shuffles back to the couch, a kind grin on her face as she settles on the couch again. The VCR whirs a familiar comforting sound you've really begun to associate with this apartment that helps you relax just a bit more.

The show's title card fades onto the screen once the "snow" disappears, bright and colorful and inviting. The show's called... "Welcome Home" apparently, spelled in bright bubbly letters. The title card fades, the view then panning down to a house with eyes in the window and someone stepping out of the house.

"Hello, Neighbor," a guy with yellow skin, big blue hair, and lidded eyes greets, a warm smile on his face. His voice is soothing to you as well, helping you relax just a bit more.

You're... a bit enraptured by the colorful cast and the calm nature of the first character, watching the episode with rapt attention. This episode is about Sally, the one shaped like the sun, putting on a performance with everyone else and it not exactly going as she planned it. It's... fun!

All too soon the episode ends though, much to your disappointment. But you try not to let that show. Grams still grins at you though, chuckling just a bit.

"Did you like it?" She asks. You're hesitant to say you did, even if you know Grams wouldn't make fun of you for it or stop letting you watch the show if you did. You force yourself to nod, making Grams smile even wider. "Well, then I say we watch all the episodes I've got in my collection. Doesn't that sound fun? I think I've got some snacks we can munch on while we do. I can make some popcorn too!"

Grams gets up again and hobbles towards the adjacent kitchen, beginning to rummage through the cupboards in there. She calls your name after a second.

"Could you come in here and help me carry everything out, Dear?" She asks. You jump up to help her, taking the various bowls and bags she hands you. "What would you like to drink, Dear? I've got apple juice, lemonade, and milk. Oh, I might need to call up Ashley later to get me some more groceries."

"Apple," you answer, a little quieter than you meant to. You say it again louder, knowing that Grams' hearing isn't as good as it used to be. In her words that is.

"Alright. Apple juice it is," Grams nods, pouring a cup for you. You take the snacks out to the coffee table, setting it all down while Grams comes back in with two cups of juice. She sets the cups down, switches the VHS tape after rewinding it, and then settles down on the couch again to watch another episode.

She continuously hands you treats while watching as many episodes as you both can well into the night. But she eventually has to turn in for the night, getting you a nice soft pink quilt to cuddle underneath on the couch.

"So, who was your favorite character?" Grams asks, pulling your hair up into a bun for you before heading to bed.

"....I like Wally. He's soft," you replay, quietly. You figure you don't sound very confident in those statements, you don't think you did.

"I think you two would get along very well," Grams nods, backing up. She heads for the box, looking around inside of it. "I always liked Julie myself when I first watched it so many years ago."

She turns again when she seemingly finds whatever she was looking for. It turns out to be a toy of the titular character himself, with that soft grin and everything. Old looking, a bit worn, but still in good shape.

"Here. I'm sure he'd be happy to keep you company tonight," Grams grins, you hesitantly reaching for the doll. She doesn't pull him back and lets you pull him into your lap, hugging him tight to your chest. "There, he looks happier already. Your hugs are a lot warmer than a dusty old box."

You giggle a little, hiding your smile behind Wally's hairdo.

Grams then heads into her bedroom, leaving the kitchen light on for you. You lay down on the couch, cuddling the Wally doll under the cover of the cute white and pink quilt. Looking down at the plush, you run your fingers over the soft sweater it's wearing, looking up again at the soft cat-like smile of the character.

You let out a little squeaky hum, hugging the toy closer to yourself while nuzzling into the pillow. You fall into a pleasant, restful sleep for once. Belly full and, while you still ache all over, content.

_____

"Hey, Grandma. I got your groceries."

You jump, startled from your focus on the Welcome Home episode playing on the TV to look over at the woman walking in through the front door. She pauses just for a second at the sight of you, but then goes and puts the reusable cloth bags on the counters and starts putting things away.

"Oh, thank you, Dear. Are you going to visit for a bit?" Grams asks, turning to look at the woman.

"Yeah, I will," Ashley confirms, nodding as she slides a box into one of the cabinets. Her curly hair bounces with the motions of her head, her leather jacket squeaking before she's sliding it off and tossing it over a chair.

She finishes putting things away before she's walking over and leaning against the back of the couch.

"I see the squirt is visiting again," she comments, looking down at you. You hug the Wally toy Grams let you keep a bit tighter. Ashley just ruffles up your hair. "Nice to see you again."

She then plops down in a chair and turns her attention to the TV.

"What're you two watching this time?" She sends a confused and curious look to the TV at the completely unfamiliar characters on it.

"An old show I nearly completely forgot about. I used to watch it with your mother and uncles all the time when they were just kids," Grams replies, looking back at the TV herself. She motions to you, grinning easily. "She's been completely taken by it, and we had more episodes to watch."

"Huh, neat," Ashley hums, tilting her head a bit more. "Does the little yellow guy always stare at the screen like that?"

"He's often looking at the screen, yes," Grams nods, looking back at the TV. "He's the one that interacts with the audience the most."

"I see." Ashley still doesn't look very impressed, if anything she looks a little disturbed. You don't mind it, returning to the colorful characters on the TV.

Ashley stays for a while that night, only getting up to grab things for Grams. But later she goes into the kitchen to make dinner, Grams getting up to head into the bathroom for a moment. That leaves you with only the doll and the TV.

You look between the bathroom and kitchen for a moment to make sure the adults are out of sight, breathing a sigh of relief once you notice they are. You set the doll aside, then pull up your shirt with a bit of a wince. You carefully check the big bruise on your ribs, then the cloth you taped on your side to soak up the blood from the cut underneath it.

Your side really hurts when you move, but you're really sore all over anyway.

You quickly pull your shirt down again at the sound of footsteps, grabbing the Wally plush and looking back at the TV again. You blink when you see Wally frozen on the screen, staring, but then the episode resumes like normal.

"Oh," Ashley hums, pausing right behind the couch. "I thought the episode had stopped for some reason, since the sound disappeared. Guess it worked itself out or something."

She turns and goes back to what she was doing, Grams coming out of the bathroom a moment later. The three of you have dinner in the living room, Mac'n'Cheese with cut up hotdogs. You eat yours quickly and gratefully take seconds when Ashley offers.

She has to leave eventually though, Grams going to bed and leaving you in the living room by yourself again. You let out a breath once everything is quiet and you can hear Grams snoring in the bedroom. You curl closer to the doll in your arms burying your nose into the side of the doll's head.

Your shoulders relax a bit more, sinking into the blanket and couch.

You really like it here, though you know you can't stay forever. And you do eventually have to go back to your parents' apartment, which you do after two more days in paradise and it's the same as before you left. But that's hardly a surprise.

You're excited to be back in Grams' apartment nearly a month later. She's left the Wally doll out for you to take and cuddle with, then puts on the Welcome Home show for you again while she does something else. You're grinning, excited to see it again.

There's a pause in the beginning. It takes a moment for Wally to come out of Home and he's staring wide eyed at the screen. But then the episode is playing as normal again. Even if it's one you've already seen, it still makes you smile. It still brings you the same joy as when you first saw it.

The neighbors are so nice. It..... Home looks very nice and the neighbors all seem to care about each other. You... You think... it'd be nice to be in the neighborhood with them, to play with them and everything. Though sometimes they're a bit loud for your tastes. It still feels... like a warm place to be you think, where you wouldn't get hurt and wouldn't have to hear your parents yelling at you.

Maybe you wouldn't hurt as much there.

"I have to go out today, Dear," Grams says, making you jump. "Would you like to come along?"

You sink into the couch.

"No? Alright. I showed you how to run the VCR, didn't I?" She asks, shrugging a coat on. You nod. "And the phone?"

Another nod.

"Alright then. You can keep watching cartoons here, alright? Call if anything happens," Grams says. You nod in response. You wait a few minutes after the door closes to jump up and head towards the bathroom. You look through the cabinets for some band-aids.

You sit on the couch again, pulling off your shirt to look at the cut. You have to pull the tape and cloth off, wincing the entire time. But the bleeding's stopped, so you don't need the cloth anymore.

You find some of those wipes Grams says is for cleaning wounds in with the band-aids. You remember those hurting a lot, but Grams says they're necessary for the healing process. The cut on your side was healing before, but it's been reopened every time before it could.

Reluctantly, you open one of the packages and swipe it over the cut. No matter how much it makes you whimper and tears threaten your eyes, you do as Grams did and swipe it a few more times. Then you place a line of band-aids over the cut. It makes you feel bad to use so many, but Grams told you it was important to cover the whole thing.

You wince as you finish the job, then look over all the bruises on yourself. Your torso and arms are more black and blue than anything else, your skin nearly wrapping around your ribs. It makes you sniffle a bit. You clean up after yourself, then shakily sit back on the couch and hug the Wally doll again.

Your eyes look up at the TV again, seeing it's paused. You blink, confused for a moment. Wally's just staring at the screen, motionlessly, the other neighbors doing the exact same as him. All like you had hit pause on the remote, but...... you don't remember doing that. Nor do you remember anyone but Wally ever looking at the screen like that, like he can see straight through it at you.

There's a pause for a moment. Then....

"Hello, Neighbor," Wally says, much like he does at the beginning of an episode. You blink. "Poppy wants to know if you're alright. You look.... hurt."

You nod slowly, still confused.

"Good! If you're hurt, it's always important to have someone you trust look over it. Like we do with Poppy," Wally continues. You bury your nose into the Wally doll, but nod slowly.

The last time you showed anyone the bruises, it didn't end well though. Your parents just got even more angry.

Apparently the puppet could see some type of conflict or reluctance on your face.

"Would you like Poppy to look at your boo-boos, Neighbor? You could play with us after," Wally offers, turning to completely face the screen. He's smiling, his eyes are wider than you're used to seeing. "We can make sure you're all better and everyone would love to officially meet you."

You blink a couple of times, tilting your head.

"It'll be lots of fun," Wally assures, giving you a warm look. "The neighborhood is always safe and fun."

You look back towards the door, then at the TV again. After a moment of thinking about the offer, you nod. Wally's grin seems to widen, happy.

"Welcome Home."

_____

Grams sighs as she finds her apartment empty when she gets back. But the TV was turned off and everything's neat and tidy.

"I suppose she wasn't able to stick around for long this time," Grams says, a bit disappointed. "I do hope Ashley is able to help that poor girl before anything happens."

Grams goes about putting away the tapes and the blanket she keeps specially for when you come around. They'll be ready for you the next time you come back, whenever that'll be. She just hopes you come back soon.

#welcome home puppet show #welcome home wally #wally darling #reader insert #child!reader #tw abuse #tw child abuse #tw child neglect #darling writes

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nicoforlifetrue · 1 month

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chapter two

read part one over here

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The second Red had seen the heat haze, his heart dropped into his stomach, and that feeling only grew with each passing second, made even worse when he found a certain poster and showed the group.

She fights so you can sleep safe! The poster bragged, with Cho’s picture front and center, looking only mildly annoyed to be there instead of the normal rage that seemed to soak the hollow’s every action— Purple’s question hangs in the air between the five of them, because that's the million dollar question isn't it? Last they’d seen Cho, she had told them she was going to do some soul searching, vanish into the wilderness for a while, and Sec had been receiving letters but…

“We need to get home,” Yellow’s voice came out hushed and strained; Second needed to know about this, as soon as possible.

“Alright, come on, if we hurry we won’t have even been gone for a minute.” Purple’s clearly trying to be soothing, voice calm and collected, and Green nods at the words, collecting themselves and guiding the others to follow the stick.

Red shoves the poster into his short pocket and follows, twisting his bandana anxiously, heart feeling like it was beating out of his chest. Everything in him still screamed something was wrong , bone-deep and chilling— he waves off Yellow’s attempt to offer him a hand, chewing his lip and watching people pass by as the group all but runs to Purple’s house.

He’s not the smart one, he would never want to be, Sec and Yellow have it covered and they cover it well, but… he can't stop noticing things. The air itself feels wrong, and every once in a while he spots another poster with Cho on it.

Then he sees something that makes him stop.

Sec was glancing around across the street, then ducked into an alleyway, and it had to have been Sec— same low short pony, same hollow head, same bright almost radioactive green eyes, the same bone deep thrum-like feeling when Red laid eyes on him— the only thing weird was the fact that he was missing their crew jacket, all the patches and pins and the big design on the back that green had stitched was gone, replaced by a boring orange hoodie.

He’s darting across the street before anything else clicks. He can hear the others protest ever so briefly before they too must feel the thrum that Sec carries with him, and soon enough they're making their way over as well. Quick as rabbits, they charge into the alley Red saw Sec vanish into. It splits soon enough, but all it takes is a moment of focus before he can feel the thrum again, darting to the left— did Sec get caught in the bubble too? He had been asleep so he probably just couldn't grab his jacket, they had to tell him what happened to them too, then they could get to Purple’s place and get home before Sec’s dad woke up.

“Sec, wait up!” Green calls out as the faintest sliver of orange fabric rounds the corner. Thankfully, Sec is still standing there when they round it as well, head cocked, hands in pockets, and confusion all over his face. “Oh thank fuck that worked.”

“Uh, yeah, hi?” Ever the way with words their leader had, honestly.

“Dude did you get bubbled too?” Red asks. Purple lands above them on a fire escape, wings stretching as the elytra supporting them creaks; they’d run rather fast, that had to hurt…

“…yeah, and you guys?” There’s hesitation in his voice, and Red knows everyone else clocked it— Sec always paused for a weirdly long time before lying, or if he had to really think about something,, he was probably still half asleep actually.

“Not our fault! We were just sparing and then this weird heat bubble just showed up, and next thing we know I’ve gotta punch us to freedom and we’re in the city!” Red explains, watching Sec’s head cock even further in curiosity, nose scrunching just slightly as he thought.

“That’s… really weird, the same thing happened to me.” Sec is glancing over them now, probably scanning for injuries, eyes squinted in thought.

“And that’s not even the weirdest part! Look at this!” He pulls the poster out of his pocket, shoving it in Sec’s face; he takes it, looking at the poster.

That is the moment when this too starts feeling wrong , because Sec looks over the poster and doesn't immediately gasp, or go pale, or even widen his eyes a little— instead he regards it with curiosity, eyes scanning over it once, twice, three times before he glances at Red and then again looks at the poster— not like he’s looking for an answer, but more like he’s searching for what he’s supposed to be seeing.

“Yeah, this is… very weird,” Sec says, and something like uncanny valley sends a shiver down Red’s spine when Sec looks up again. He knows everyone else feels it too, when he hears Blue pull out a potion, and Purple’s wings flex as if to dive— because Second’s eyes had always been the most neon of green, but he can see an ever faint glow on the bridge of Second’s nose now, lighting where eyebags should rest in a sickly radioactive color.

Yellow steps forward and Sec flinches, sealing the deal for the group.

“You’re not Second, are you?” Yellow asks, bite in his tone, Red can see him reaching for the staff.

“No— well yes, but— I mean, that's, my name?” Not-Second stutters, waving his hands in mock surrender. Now that Red’s looking closer, scrutinizing this apparent doppelgänger, he notices more— where was that scar on his lip from Rubeen, and hell, where were his ear piercings? The little pencil he kept in his industrial, or the little cursor chain on his other ear? He never took those out, not even to sleep— notices dozens of small, tiny details that are fundamental to Second. “But I, I have no idea who you guys are? But you seemed to know me, so I figured I had just,, I don't know, forgotten or something? And I haven't had a normal conversation with someone in ages, so I figured I’d just, ‘yes and’? That’s how you’re meant to talk to people yeah?”

Red puts a hand to Yellow’s chest, sending him a silent request in a glance, and then smiles.

“Yeah that makes sense, sorry for the mix up man, you wouldn’t happen to be willing to help us out though would ya?” He gets a glare from Yellow, but he can feel Green relax from his position to pounce, and hears Blue put the potion away— even Purple relaxes a tiny bit, wings settling and folding back up.

“Oh uh, yeah! No problem at all! What do you need!” Not-Sec is grinning now, and Red watches his shoulders bounce back up from his sort-of half-cower, rubbing his jacket sleeves as if cold. “I love being helpful, my favorite thing even!”

“Well, like we said we kind of got teleport-kidnapped? We think we know where we are, but everything’s shifted to the left, y’know?” He leans down, picking the poster up again and gesturing with it. “Like, we swear we know this guy, but the person we know would never work with rocket.”

Not-Second tilts his head, humming, before sticking his hands in his pockets.

“Well that’s The Chosen One, she’s been working with rocket for as long as I can remember, pretty sure she was there from the start even, be weird if she wasn't…” Not-Second starts rocking on his heels, frown marring his face as yet again his eyes squint in thought. “…and I’ve never heard of anything like the bubble you guys were talking about, and I’ve heard of a lot of things most people haven’t…”

“Your name’s Second?” Green piped up before Red could prompt to keep that train of thought going. “Like that's your full name, or?”

“The Second Coming Becker! But I just go by Sec ‘cause my full name’s a mouthful, my dad calls me Orange though.” Other-Second shrugs with a grin, seeming oddly delighted by the situation. “And I’m, kinda distinct y’know? Never met anyone else I could be mistaken for, much less with my name.”

“This can’t be possible…” Yellow mutters behind him, Red taking a deep breath to try and patiently wait out their curiosity, he had questions guys! He hears Blue pat his back before Yellow steps forward. “So what you’re telling me, is that you just so happen to look exactly like Second, sound like him, even have the same name, pretended to be him, and have no bad intentions, all while telling us Cho works for rocket and always has ?”

“I guess?” Sec once more tilts his head at Yellow’s cold and demanding tone, stilling his rocking and glancing over their shoulders before returning his gaze to them. “I’m not really sure what else could be happening here, unless you've got other ideas? And like I said, I just kinda panicked and went along with it! For all I know you guys were trying to kidnap me while I was alone! Or were some hallucinating druggies and were gonna stab me, or— I don't know! You try having someone you don’t know demand for you to stop.”

“Hey no, that makes sense,” Red interrupts, jabbing Yellow in the side with a glare that gets him to shut up. “We’re just kind of lost y’know? Two people we know suddenly have dopplegangers, names included, feels sort of like a trick right?”

“Yeah…” Sec’s head cocks the other way now, eyes wide as they look each of them up and down quickly. “Hey, if you don't mind me asking something crazy, are your Sec and Cho brothers too?”

At the myriad of nods he gets, Sec looks up at the sky, rocking on his heels again.

“That’s so weird, and after that weird dream I had… maybe if I ask nice enough… I’ll have to bribe them to stay shut about it…. Yeah that’ll work.” He looks back at them from the sky, a grin on his face. “I think we’re dealing with some multiverse stuff, lucky for y’all my brother’s been looking into just that, so I might have a solution if you give me, like, a day or two?”

“And why would you do that?” Purple speaks this time, resting their chin on their hand as they lean on the fire escape balcony. “You apparently don’t know us after all.”

“Like I said I like helping! And this sounds like a fun adventure y'know? Look, if you don't want my help just go on your merry way, but if you do there's this old cafe that got shut down last year after the owner died in the fridge or something, it’s on the back end of twenty eight, right past shell’s— no ones been in there but me since it’s been boarded up, you can hang out there and I’ll meet you there tonight to talk, okay?” He’s bouncing in place now like an excited kid, eyes bright and hopeful and internally Red locks the time and place in his mind, knowing he’s going to be there. “But I do have to go now, alright? My babysitter’s looking for me and if I don’t get back soon my brother is going to have my head on a platter.”

“Fine,” Yellow huffs, stepping aside, and the five of them watch Second run off, waving to them as he does so before turning the corner and vanishing “I don’t trust anything about this and we should keep heading to Purple’s.”

“All in favor of seeing where this rabbithole leads us?” Red asks instead, raising his hand and grinning when everyone but Yellow also raises their hand. “ Outvoted , let’s go find that cafe!”

#plot swap au #avm #ava #animation vs minecraft #animation vs animator #alan becker #color crew

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