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mothhball · 3 months

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Beneath me

Pairing || professor!Jonathan Crane x student!Reader

Warnings || 18+ SMUT, NON-CON, DUB-CON, forced breeding, fingering, p in v sex, housewife kink(?), humiliation, dumbification, misogyny, unprotected sex, age gap (professor and student, everyone’s an adult), brief dacryphilia, condescending use of petnames, jon is a prick in this but gets better towards the end (if you squint hard enough)

Summary || The professor suspects you cheated on your exam, but you’re determined to prove him wrong.

Words || 3.7k

Notes || First ever fic and it’s smut because I love suffering. English isn’t my first language, so I hope everything makes sense. Please don’t read if you’re uncomfortable with anything mentioned in the warnings

Afternoon lectures. The bane of many students’ existence, yours included. You’d been on campus since 9 am, trying to catch up on homework and study material for the most dreaded class of the day. Abnormal Psychology, presented by none other than Professor Jonathan Crane. Crane with his smart suits and piercing eyes. Crane with his condescending remarks and off-handed insults. Crane with his ridiculously handsome face and –

“Are you even listening to me?” The man in question is now standing in front of you, staring you down with narrowed eyes as his lips pull down into a frown. Yes, right. It’s 5 pm now, almost the end of the lecture and time to get your exam results back. You shake yourself out of your stupor, glancing down at the paper he left on your desk. But instead of a grade, you only see a bold red question mark which takes up almost a fourth of the entire first page. Crane clears his throat impatiently, and his mood sours more and more the longer he has to stand next to your seat.

“I said, you will meet me in my office after class. Is that understood? And I’d suggest you get your head in order until then,” he hisses, icy blue eyes filled with disdain. Your heart sinks, and you can feel the blood leaving your face as you manage to nod rather stiffly.

“Of course… Professor Crane, “ you murmur in reply, and upon hearing that, the professor quickly resumes his round around the lecture hall, handing back grades to your fellow students. As the first people pack up their things and begin to file out of the room, you slowly pack up as well. Your hands are cold from anxiety as you zip up your bag and get up from your seat. Meeting Professor Crane in his office was the last thing you wanted to do right now. The plan was to go home, grab takeout on the way and curl up in bed with a movie starring this forty-something year old actor you have the hots for. But God forbit anyone in Gotham wants to have a nice time.

Soon enough, you find yourself in Crane’s office, taking the seat in front of his desk and folding your hands in your lap to keep from fidgeting. The professor runs a hand through his hair, looking you over with a skeptical glare before he straightens his posture and gets to the point.

“I’m disappointed, shocked and quite frankly, I feel personally insulted.”

Your brows furrow, but before you can speak, he pulls out two stacks of paper, smacking them down on the desk. You quickly recognize one stack as a copy of your exam, but as you look over at the other, it feels like someone froze time for a moment. It’s someone else’s exam, but they wrote down the same answers. Not word for word, but in a way and structure that’s quite obviously plagiarized. Squinting at the name, you remember the guy sitting next to you, and anger bubbles up inside of your chest.

“He cheated off of me,” you mutter, trying to stay calm.

“Brennan said the same thing. Funny how that works, huh? And in case it went over your head, I don’t find it funny at all. But I will have to fail one of you. The question is, which one will it be?”

He takes his glasses off, gingerly setting the spectacles aside before he pinches the bridge of his nose. A little dramatic, but very much expected from him.

“Look, I’m not saying you were the one cheating off of Brennan,” He starts, sounding exhausted and absent at the same time. Like this is all beneath him. Like your future in his class has as much importance as the piece of lint he’s picking off of his sweater vest. “But there’s no real proof that he cheated off of you either. It’s a case of ‘he said, she said’. And it’s not like Brennan had much reason to cheat. He has had consistently good grades, whereas you-“

“I’ll prove it, “ you interrupt him without thinking, clenching your hands so tightly that your nails dig into the skin of your palms. Crane looks visibly taken aback, perplexed that you have the gall to intercept before he could expose your rather mediocre academic history in his class. You know you’re average. A face in the crowd; one of many names on an attendance sheet he barely pays attention to.

“I’ll prove it to you,” you repeat, swallowing dryly. Your mouth suddenly feels like you ate sand, and you really want to clear your throat, but you’ve done so thrice within the past five minutes, and you can tell it’s starting to piss him off. “Give me a chance, please. Please, Professor Crane. I know the material, I swear.”

Crane’s eyes briefly dart down to your lips, and his eyebrows furrow in thought before he nods slowly, thoughtfully. He’s making a show of it. Portraying himself as the generous teacher while you’re desperate for even the smallest chance of passing this goddamn class.

“Alright,” He sighs, and the weight seems to lift off of your shoulders. A smile begins to spread on your face, and –

“Get out a pen. And paper. You’re going to write an essay.”

Eyebrows raised in confusion, you tilt your head a little. You almost feel stupid to ask.

“What, right now?”

“Of course, right now. At home, you’d get the chance to cheat again, wouldn’t you?”

Again. He’s still convinced you were the one to cheat on your exam. His tone is bitingly condescending and he doesn’t bother to elaborate further as he gets up from his chair to head over to the almost overflowing bookshelf next to his desk. You’re still sitting there, hands in your lap until he lets out an exasperated sigh, signaling for you to get a move on. Not wanting to incur even more of his wrath, you dig through your bag to get out a pen and some loose sheets of paper.

In the meantime, Crane has chosen a book from his shelf, and he’s wordlessly flipping through the pages until he lands on a fitting topic for an essay. He snaps the book shut and returns to his desk, fixing his tie as he nods to himself.

“Alright. I want 5 pages on fear conditioning. If you truly studied for the exam, this should be a piece of cake. If you didn’t, this will be an embarrassing little lecture you’re in dire need of learning.”

Your eyes widen, and you stammer for a moment, unable to find the words while staying respectful.

“That many? But it’s already –“

“Five-thirty pm? I hope you didn’t have any plans for tonight. And you should be grateful that I don’t have plans either. I’m staying late for your sake. Because you convinced me to give you a chance. I don’t have to do this, you know? I could just fail you and go home. So, I think a little gratitude would be more than appropriate.” There’s an odd expression in his eyes. Halfway between hunger and conflict. He’s usually so composed. You must really be testing his patience.

“Thank you, Prof –“ “Thank me by getting to it already.”

You nod meekly, grabbing the pen and beginning to jot down the date and your name in the corner of the first page. While you’re focused on the introduction part of your essay, you miss the way that Crane folds his hands on the desk, gripping so hard his knuckles turn white. His icy gaze is focused on every twitch of your muscles, every swoop of your handwriting, every time you softly bite your lips in thought. If only you’d look up. You’d see the way his jaw is set and his pupils expand. You’d realize the situation you’re in. A bunny with its neck in the jaws of the wolf.

You’re about two thirds done with the first page when he wheels his chair around the desk, closer to yours. Once his arm brushes against you, you pause to lift your gaze, looking at him with equal parts confusion and curiosity.

“Uhm… professor? What are you doing?”

“Checking on your progress,” Is his curt reply, but he leans in even closer, staring down at your half-baked essay. “Eyes on the paper.”

You comply, getting back to writing after a short second of sorting your thoughts. It’s more difficult to write with him basically breathing down your neck, and your heart skips a beat when he scoots even closer. Despite this, you keep on writing. Until his hand lands on your thigh.

You tense, looking up at him. Your lips part, and you’re about to say something before he speaks first.

“Eyes. On. The. Paper. We’re going to simulate a stressful, distracting environment. Not unlike a lecture hall during an exam. If you can keep your cool, I’ll know you didn’t cheat.”

You bite your lip, hesitating.

“Or I could fail you right now, and you’ll prove me and my suspicions right.”

Back to writing it is. Your hand is a little shakier during the next few sentences while the warmth of his fingers seeps through the fabric of your skirt into your skin. But you get back into the motions, almost able to ignore him until his hand flexes and begins to wander. A shiver runs down your spine as his touch slips underneath your skirt, feeling the soft flesh on the inside of your thigh.

“That’s it. Keep writing. Try to show me how smart you are.”

Crane’s voice is a snide whisper right next to your ear. His breath sends a shiver down your spine, but you keep your focus on the essay. Well, at least some of it. Once his fingers brush over the crotch of your panties, your breath hitches as heat builds in your core. But you can’t even get a word in.

“Run your mouth and your final grade drops to an F. You’re on my time now, understood? Not a fucking word to anyone or else a failed class will be the least of your worries.”

You’ve never heard him curse before. The man sitting beside you, the man with his hand under your skirt isn’t the professor you’ve known throughout the semester. No, at this point, the mask is slipping and the difference is startling. Crane pushes your skirt up with one hand and your legs apart with the other, letting out a low, appreciative hum at the sight of your wet panties.

“Fuck. You’re soaking through the lace, aren’t you? I didn’t even touch you yet… Are you always this easy? Almost adorable… Keep writing for me.”

His words make your ears burn with embarrassment, and you bite down on the inside of your cheek as you get back to your essay. It’s getting harder to think. Especially once his fingers slip underneath your panties, running between your glistening folds. Crane quickly finds your clit, rubbing circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves for a deliciously brief moment before he moves his hand further down to your entrance.

“Now you’re being grateful, hm? Is this what you were thinking about while everyone else was making an effort during my lectures? While everyone else was busy doing their work… you were getting worked up in your seat thinking about me. Thinking about me playing with your little cunt.”

The corners of his lips pull up into a self-satisfied grin as he plunges a finger inside of you, and you can’t help but let out a soft sigh of pleasure. You’re so wet that he’s not meeting any resistance from your sweet pussy, so he quickly adds a second one. The slick noises are obscene, and you duck your head in an attempt to hide your flushed face and focus on the essay, but it’s futile. You’re writing complete and utter nonsense at this point, and he knows it. Crane scoots his chair even closer, pressing up against your side as he works his fingers inside of you, caressing that spongy spot inside of you that makes your toes curl. As he looks over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of your writing, he scoffs out a laugh.

“Goodness, sweetie. That’s what your pretty little head managed to come up with so far? All this talk about wanting to prove yourself, and you deliver this? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more pathetic attempt at an essay in all my years of teaching.”

Tears well up in your eyes at the harshness of his words, and the sight of it makes Crane’s cock harden in his slacks. He licks his lips, curling his fingers inside of you with a little more urgency as he leans in to whisper into the crook of your neck.

“Let out those noises. I guarantee they’re worth more than every brainless contribution you’ve ever made in my class.”

It’s an order, not a request, and you find yourself unable to keep quiet anymore as his thumb comes up to rub your clit again. Your wetness is starting to drip down onto the seat below you while you let out a breathy moan, and you begin to doubt yourself. Maybe you really are as empty-headed as he says. To your dismay, this thought only causes the tension in your core to build up even faster.

“There we go. Close to cumming from being fingered by your professor. You’re so needy, so eager for the slightest bit of attention. A toy that needs to be played with 24/7. Aren’t you ashamed?”

You let out another moan of pleasure and humiliation, clenching around his digits as he stretches you open. When did you forget how to speak?

“Trying to play in the big leagues while you’re just a dumb little fuckpet for my enjoyment,” he hisses, before he sinks his teeth into your earlobe, causing you to squeak. It hurts. But that’s the point. You’re so close to the edge, toes curling inside of your shoes. And then suddenly, he withdraws his hand. You catch a glimpse of his glistening fingers, and you turn your head just in time to watch him lick your juices off of them. He lets out a groan, satisfied by your taste.

“Get up. Hands on the desk.”

You scramble to get up, standing on wobbly legs as you bend over Crane’s desk. The professor wastes no time, grabbing onto your sopping wet panties and ripping them off of you. The fabric shreds beneath his hands, leaving your skin stinging where it cut slightly into the soft flesh of your thighs. Your skirt is flipped up, exposing your rear to him, and he moans out another sound of appreciation. His hands come up to grab onto the meat of your ass, spreading them apart to allow him a perfect view of your dripping cunt.

“Lord knows you’re not made for higher education.”

Crane leans in, licking a stripe up between your folds, and you bite down on a knuckle to keep in the pathetic moan that hangs on your lips. Your body is desperately begging you to just let him take what he wants from you, but your mind clings onto the last shred of dignity you have. When the sound of his belt being undone tears you from your thoughts, you turn your head, looking at him from over your shoulder.

“Wait –“ You start, suddenly struck by the reality of it all.

Crane chuckles at the expression of wide-eyed apprehension on your face.

“You’re not braindead already, are you? What did you think was going to be the logical conclusion of this? Of course, I’m going to bury my dick in you. Fuck, if you were this tight around my fingers, I can’t wait to feel you squeezing my cock….”

“No, I –“

“Shh, no need to worry. Judging by your essay, you don’t have the mental capacity anyway.”

Crane roughly grabs a fistful of your hair, pushing your head down until your cheek meets the wooden surface of his desk while he hurriedly unzips his slacks. He’s painfully hard at this point, straining against the fabric of his boxers, and he lets out a relieved hiss once he’s finally freed himself. He leans over you, pressing his weight into your back and aligning himself with your tight hole before he pushes his hips forward. You’re immobilized under him, squished against the desk as he fills you with his length. Crane’s lips find your pulse, licking and nibbling at your neck as he bottoms out inside of you, shuddering from the sensation of your plush walls around his cock.

“Good girl… you’re so wet. All for me, huh? Yes… just for me.” He moans through his teeth, leaning back a little to watch as your pussy stretches around him when he begins to slowly thrust into you. You let out a soft whine in response, not quite adjusted to him yet. But if you know anything about him at this point, it’s that he doesn’t care.

“I know, sweetheart, it’s a lot. Just relax – shh, shh, that’s it. You feel so good, squeezing me like a proper toy. All obedient and sweet… you really were built for this.“

He lifts his hand, landing a smack on your ass before he pulls out all the way and pushes back in, letting out a condescending laugh at the way you shiver. You can feel how deep he reaches, hitting every spot while he stretches you out with calculated thrusts. His pace begins to speed up, and his other hand wraps around your throat to keep you close as he pounds into you. Coherent thought becomes difficult for you, and even if you did want to say something, it’s suddenly made impossible when Crane pushes two fingers into your mouth, almost making you gag.

“Needy little thing. Bent over and babbling like a whore. But you -fuuuck - you take me so well, don’t you? All tight and sopping wet for my cock to stretch you out...”

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, yanking you back by your hair to make you lift your torso up from the desk. The carefully crafted persona of a calm, reasonable Professor Dr. Jonathan Crane has completely slipped from his face now and shattered by his feet like Fine China. His hands move quickly, urgently as his rhythm begins to stutter. The fingers that are now soaked with your saliva make their way back between your legs to circle your clit while his other hand leaves your hair to tear open your blouse, sending the buttons flying everywhere.

His teeth find your neck again as he grabs at your chest, kneading your soft breasts as he marks you up. Hickeys, bruises, bite marks. He leaves them behind to claim. To own. Your climax hits you like a truck, knocking the air from your lungs as he fucks you through your orgasm, not faltering for a second. Stars fill your vision for a moment, and you’re only vaguely aware of the kisses that he’s pressing to your cheek. Your walls are clenching him tightly, causing him to curse under his breath.

Crane swallows heavily, rasping into your ear between shallow breaths.

“Tell you what… No more thinking about essays. In fact, I don’t want you to think ever again. No more exams… no more studies. As if you’d ever be someone of importance in this field to begin with. No, no… I won’t let you waste your time on a silly little Bachelor’s anymore... Fuckpets like you only need to be bred. I’m gonna be generous and fuck a child into you.”

Your eyes snap wide open, and even with your cock-drunken brain, you realize just how serious he is about this. In an attempt to get away, you begin to struggle in his grasp, but he replies by kicking your legs further apart, forcing you down against the desk again. The wooden edge digs against your thighs, keeping your hips in place for him as he plows you into the piece of furniture. Your cheek is pressed up against your unfinished essay, reminding you of your failure on all accounts as you drool onto the paper.

Your hands are clawing at the desk, trying to find purchase when his own hands find yours, linking your fingers together in a frighteningly intimate gesture. Crane continues to moan your name, pressing his face into the crook of your neck before he pushes his cock as deep as he can into your poor cunt, filling you with his hot cum. He lazily rocks his hips back and forth a few more times, trying to push in his load as far as he can before he finally stills, panting against your skin. He stays on your back for another few moments, breathing in your scent and idly squeezing your hands with his.

Once his breathing has evened out once more, he straightens up, kissing the top of your head before he pulls out. Crane watches as his seed drips out of you, a glint of amusement and possessiveness in his eyes as he pushes it back into you with two fingers. You feel completely boneless, crumpled on the desk as you try to make sense of what happened and what will happen. The silence doesn’t last long before Crane speaks up again.

“In the morning, you’ll make me breakfast, and in the evening, you’ll cream on my cock. Like a proper little housewife. And I’ll get to see your tits swell and your belly expand as our kid grows inside of you,” He muses, running his hands over your shoulders and down your back, a gesture that’s more meant to ground himself than it is meant to soothe you.

His voice is soft, yet eerily determined. A man that’s planning the future out loud. Unbeknownst to you, he’s reaching into his suit pocket behind you, pulling out a small syringe filled with a clear liquid.

“And if you get bored again and your mind starts to wander, I’ll knock you up again and again until you know your place. Face down, ass up. Beneath me.”

#jonathan crane x reader #cillian murphy x reader #cillian x reader #jonathan crane smut #jonathan crane #batman begins #nolanverse #jonathan crane x you #jonathan crane x y/n #.moth writes

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erinfern0 · 3 days

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simon "ghost" riley as a father

dad!simon spent endless hours building the tiny furniture and painting the nursery walls. Of course, all the equipment was picked by you, as he didn't really have a taste for those things. If he were to choose, the room would end up looking like shit.

dad!simon who smiled the whole time as you folded the new clothes and blankets, stealing some of them to feel the fuzzy material, so calming to his growing anxiety.

dad!simon dreamed of this day for so long, but couldn't help the knot in his stomach at the idea of actually being a father. The fear of turning out to be the same as his old man was disgusting, but never left his mind.

dad!simon who discussed every thought and decision with his therapist, making sure he was really prepared. Coming back after every session, he'd sit down with you and discuss everything, being so happy to feel your touch and reassuring words.

dad!simon who thinks it's a true miracle that he lived so long to carry his little kid home. Holding their tiny body in his arms, the love of his life beside him as he stepped into the house.

and now:

girldad!simon who is completely smitten with his little girl, those huge eyes staring at him as if he was some sort of angel.

girldad!simon spends his free time studying how to style her hair, different ponytails and braids, all depending on his princess's wishes

girldad!simon who lets her color in all of his tattoos, watching her trembly hands holding the newest set of body markers.

girldad!simon who teaches her how to defend herself from a very young age, starting with simple lessons on assertiveness and boundaries, through various self-defend practices.

girldad!simon who spoils her rotten, he just can't deny that pouty little face whenever he tells her no. He has his limits, but most of the time she gets all the dresses, toys, and ribbons she gets.

girldad!simon gets a tattoo of her favorite stuffed animal somewhere on his body.

girldad!simon who encourages her passions, especially when it comes to sports because that's one of the few he has any expertise on. He spends a lot of time getting to know others, so he always has topics to talk about.

girldad!simon who feels pity towards any possible love interest that might even think of hurting his little girl.

girldad!simon is often seen walking around the park, holding her hand at all times. All his scary mysteriousness disappears the moment she talks to him, Simon just turns into the sweetest parent in seconds.

girldad!simon always kneels down in front of her so she feels taller.

girldad!simon will watch any show or movie she wants, doesn't matter how 'girly' it is. Secretly enjoys Barbie movies.

girldad!simon watching her grow up and getting into make-up makes him feel very happy, but nostalgic. Reminding himself that not so long ago she was running around and playing with little bugs.

girldad!simon who always drives her around, a personal taxi driver whenever she wants to hang out with her friends.

and:

boydad!simon who focuses on making sure his boy doesn't pick the same field of work as him, no matter how much his boy idolizes him.

boydad!simon who spends most of his time with his son outside, running, playing soccer, or building him some DIY shelters around the house with branches, leaves, and stones. (my ass can't get this out of my head, such a stereotypical polish childhood)

boydad!simon who adores his boy's interest in the military, but like I said, always reminds him to pick something else. This doesn't stop him from spending hours talking about little details and stories.

boydad!simon spoils him by buying him little cars, wooden models, and sports equipment.

boydad!simon makes sure not to push his boy too much into the toxic masculinity he had to grow up with. His son can be as expressive and sensitive as he wants, there's no one to stop him.

boydad!simon who becomes his son's best friend and savior whenever he has nightmares.

boydad!simon tries to be on-trend with electronic devices, spending lots of time to learn how to play his son's favorite video games whenever the little one is asleep, so he can help him if he struggles with a mission/achievement.

boydad!simon who has to make sure his son is a responsible person, giving him adequate punishments so he doesn't think there are no consequences to his actions.

boydad!simon studies dinosaurs just because his son finds them oh so cool. After reading some articles, he finds himself fascinated with them too, sharing all the facts and sources for them.

overall:

dad!simon would do anything to keep his child safe. He'd let the world burn if it meant his little one was the happiest kid on the planet.

dad!simon gets anxious if his kids don't answer him immediately, so he made sure their phones have their locations turned on all the time.

dad!simon doesn't argue with you around the kids, any serious discussion is only between the two of you, so in case emotions take over they never witness it.

dad!simon thinks it's crucial to show up, so he rushes from his deployment to make it to his child's school play or graduation, just to be able to support them.

dad!simon encourages his kids to go and see a psychologist, even if they don't struggle with much. He understands that there are just things important to talk about, but the kid might not want to open up in front of their parents about everything.

dad!simon turned out to be the father his old man could never be. In his kids' eyes, he's a true hero and the best dad they could have.

masterlist | request info

#riri writes #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #gender neutral reader #cod mwii #cod mw2 #headcanons #dad!simon #dad!simon riley #dad!simon ghost riley #simon riley headanons

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svltzmans · 7 months

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take it out on me - h.m.

a/n: hi! i'm trying to get back into writing longer stuff that's not in headcanon format so let's see how that goes (also this was a requested prompt and 🫣🥵)

warnings: smut (18+), dirty talk, slight nipple play? minor overstimulation? hope is stressed :(, but not for long lmao, i accidentally deleted this whole thing and had to write it again, so sorry for any mistakes :(

hope's stress-filled lifestyle was getting to her, and she knew it.

being both a full time student and monster hunter wasn't exactly the easiest thing, but she thought she would be able to handle it with ease.

that was, until, malivore decided to bombard the salvatore school with creatures during the week of final exams.

hope was constantly getting pulled away from her studies by alaric, and although she knew she was protecting herself and those she loved, she couldn't help but be annoyed.

performing well in school had always been important to hope, and not being able to prepare had her brain in shambles.

when hope finally does get to sit down to study, she just can't focus. she has too many things to think about, and she just can't seem to organize herself.

closing her book in dismay, she throws herself onto her bed and stares at the ceiling.

she decides that if she's not going to be studying, she might as well have company. picking up her phone for the first time in what feels like hours, she sends a text to her girlfriend.

exams are stressing me out and i think i'd feel better with you here.

hope stares blankly for a few minutes, awaiting a response, until she hears the door to her bedroom open.

"hey beautiful," y/n says, plopping down on the bed next to hope.

"couldn't even get a text back?" hope teases, giving y/n a quick peck on the lips.

"i was a little busy running over here."

hope can't help but laugh, admiring the girl in front of her. she was wearing an oversized sweatshirt and joggers that made her look undeniably adorable.

when y/n speaks again, there's concern in her voice.

"so, stressed about your exams, huh?"

"i just can't focus on reading my textbooks. dr. saltzman has me running around what feels like the whole world, and i'm just exhausted."

y/n's heart twinges hearing the pain in hope's voice. she rests her hand on her girlfriend's leg, hoping to provide some comfort.

"he relies on you too much. i know you're like, a powerful force and he's just an old man, but..."

before y/n can finish her sentence, hope is laughing harder than she has in days.

"you always know how to make me feel better," hope smiles, looking into y/n's eyes.

"actually, speaking of that," y/n pauses. "i had an idea."

y/n stands up, never breaking eye contact with hope. hope stares up at her, confusion in her eyes, but her questions are answered when y/n takes her hoodie off, her joggers following shortly after.

hope is speechless when she sees her girlfriend in a set of deep red lace. the color compliments y/n's skin perfectly, the material extenuating hope's favorite parts of her.

"god, y/n," hope chokes out. "what's this all about?"

"i thought i could, help with the stress," y/n seduces, wrapping her legs around hope's waist and resting her hand on her girlfriend's face. "maybe you could take it out on me, huh?"

the second y/n finishes speaking, hope pulls her into a passionate kiss, y/n's hands still resting on her face.

"i knew you'd like this surprise," y/n teases in between kisses.

"you're so beautiful," hope responds, holding y/n's waist tightly.

"take it off, hope."

without another word, hope makes quick work of taking off y/n's lace bra and underwear, throwing them across her bedroom before doing the same to her own.

unable to help herself, hope cups y/n's chest, running her fingers lightly across her nipples. y/n lets out a guttural moan, her fingers in hope's hair.

"fuck, hope," y/n slurs before giving hope a gentle push, encouraging her to lay on her back.

"i'm gonna fuck you until you can't think of anything else but me, nevermind stress about anything," y/n whispers, lightly kissing hope's neck.

y/n continues kissing down hope's body until she lands at her inner thighs, peppering them in soft pecks.

"please, don't tease y/n. need this so bad," hope whimpers, trying to raise her hips enough to ride y/n's face.

"oh i know you need this, hope. you're so wet for me already," y/n coos, just barely running her finger up hope's pussy.

"please baby, want it so bad," hope moans, her desperation growing by the second.

"want what, pretty girl? you gotta tell me what you want, or i can't give it to you." y/n knows that bringing hope to the brink of insanity makes the entire experience more gratifying.

"i need you to eat me out, y/n," hope begs.

satisfied by hope's response, y/n's tongue finally makes contact with her, sending hope into a state of ecstacy immediately.

hope feels like she can't contain herself, not even attempting to keep her voice down. she pulls y/n closer by her hair, unable to get enough of her.

hope's moans only motivate y/n, her pace quickening with every noise out of hope's mouth.

"can't be stressed if you're busy cumming on my face, pretty girl," y/n teases, hearing hope only get louder at the sound of her words.

"you just, you feel so good y/n," hope writhes as she speaks, her voice shaking.

y/n is relentless, not wasting a second. she knows how badly hope needs this. how badly hope needs her.

luckily for hope, the feeling was mutual.

y/n was in awe of the way hope looked under her, the desperation and need vibrant in her eyes.

without hesitation, y/n thrusts a finger into hope, earning a near-scream from her girlfriend.

"oh god y/n, more," she whines, trying to coax the girl into adding another finger.

when she does, the combination of y/n's fingers and mouth are almost too much for hope, sensitivity coursing through her body.

"need to cum baby, can't take any more," hope whines, struggling to form a full sentence.

"then cum for me, beautiful. let it all out," y/n talks hope through her orgasm, enjoying every second of her reaction.

hope somewhat collapses, her legs lightly shaking and her cheeks flushed.

"i don't think i'm stressed anymore," hope laughs, y/n soon joining her.

"always here to help."

#hope mikaelson #hope mikaelson x reader #wlw #legacies #legacies x reader #hope mikaelson x fem reader #the originals x reader #hope mikaelson x fem! reader #hope mikaelson headcanons #hope mikaelson smut #hope mikaelson imagine #hope mikaelson fic

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thesandsofelsweyr · 1 year

Text

THE SUS BOY NEXT DOOR

《 PART 1/3 // READ ON AO3 // TAG 》

After coming back from a terrible blind date your asshole neighbor is the last person you want to see right now. He doesn’t have his signature scowl for you tonight, however. Tonight he seems terrified.

《WORDS》 2,809 《CHAPTERS》 1 2 3

《PAIRING》 Arkhamverse Jason Todd x Female Reader

《TROPES》 Hurt/Comfort, First Meetings, Neighbors, Pre-Relationship

《WARNINGS》 Aftermath of Torture/Violence (canon typical), Panic Attacks, Scars, Blood and Injury, Swearing

《NOTES》

This takes place immediately after Jason leaves his failed Batman confrontation and run-in with the Joker from Arkham Knight: Genesis Part 6.

Reader is a true crime addict who enjoys red wine 🍷

This is my first attempt at a reader-insert fic 🙃

Yes this is a repost. My blog is still new so Tumblr didn't allow my original post to appear in the tags. (Shout out to the 10 of you who still managed to find & like the original 🥰)

《 ALSO ON AO3 》 (comments & kudos there are very much appreciated!)

You climb the last flight of steps up to the fourth floor of your apartment building, stomping each stair into submission as you go. You’re still fuming from the blind date you just escaped. That is the absolute last time you ever let Erin set you up with one of her stock broker bro coworkers. You don’t care how hot or rich they are; you are done. Done, done, stick a fork in you. You love your bestie but by God does the woman have terrible taste in men or what.

Both of the pricks she handpicked for you were narcissistic know-it-alls with egos the size of Texas; a pair of swine in designer suits (who, to Erin’s credit, were smoking hot but that’s beside the point.) Once the pig from tonight decided that you weren’t trophy wife material he became far more interested in his phone than he was in you. And the last pig coddled you like you were a delicate, empty-headed damsel in distress who was lucky to be granted the honor of his company and conversation. You should’ve learned your lesson after that first failed date with Dalton Rockefeller-Vanderbilt (or whatever old money asshole last name he had) but you’ve been feeling lonely lately, especially after Ash introduced you to the fab guy she’s dating (an accountant with a perfectly plebeian name of Abe).

You glare down the hallway as you ascend enough to peek over the top of the stairs. Oh great, you think sourly, pursing your lips, your face hardening into a study in once I step inside that door I’m downing a shot of whiskey before turning up an overflowing glass of wine. You stare molten daggers at the tall, brawny guy in your sights. It’s the hot asshole who lives beside you; the last person you want to see tonight. He’s standing, hunched as ever, in front of his door, key poised for the deadbolt, wearing that same teal baseball cap and red hoodie that he never seems to take off. Your jaw tightens. You’ve tried to be nice to the brute—flashing him a smile, saying hello—but all you’ve ever gotten in return was a scowl, if he deigned to acknowledge you at all. Well, you’re fresh out of smiles tonight, jerk.

A flutter of unease tickles your tummy as you step onto the landing, into the narrow hallway with him, your back turned to the only exit, a six foot tall sus man between you and your apartment. You stand up straighter, squaring your shoulders, trying to make yourself look and feel taller. It’s late, and your building is eerily quiet while the city is abuzz with incessant sirens. The usual ensemble of notorious nutjobs are fighting yet another battle in their never-ending war with their rival nutjob who dresses up like a Bat.

Nutjobs like this guy…

You reach into your handbag and grab your keys in your fist, sliding the sharp ends between your fingers, ready to stab at some eyeballs. (You regrettably didn’t have room for your taser or mace in this bag so you have to improvise.) It’s your own fault that you suspect the guy’s a sociopath lying in wait to jump you. You made up a serial killer backstory for him—the result of one too many true crime podcast binges—despite not even knowing the guy’s name. You can’t help it. He gives off serious Ted Bundy vibes. Well, maybe that’s unfair to Ted. Ted would’ve at least smiled at you before bludgeoning you with a crowbar. This guy though…

This guy doesn’t have a scowl for you tonight. Actually, he seems startled by your sudden appearance in the hallway, dropping his keyring to the floor with a clatter that shatters the uneasy silence, causing you to jump. He ducks his red-hooded head between his hunched shoulders as you pass by, warily eying him, ready to stab those icy blue eyeballs of his if he tries anything.

You arrive at your door and take out your keyring, sighing with likely unnecessary relief as you slide the key into the lock. The guy’s probably a harmless weirdo incel who never learned how to talk to a woman. You steal one last peek over your shoulder at him, and watch as he stabs at his deadbolt with his key, hitting everywhere but the keyhole because, you realize with surprise, his hand is shaking too much to hit the target. This dude’s a disaster, you say to yourself as you turn the key in your own deadbolt. Then, as he misses the keyhole yet again, you hear yourself ask, “Do you need help?” in an annoyed tone. You didn’t mean to sound so bitchy but whatever. He shouldn’t be such a bitch to you.

He seems to jump at the sound of your voice, and his keyring clatters to the scuffed wood floor again. You stare back at him incredulously. Is he wasted or something? You wonder as that unsettling feeling creeps back in, prickling the hairs on the back of your neck. Your grip tightens around your doorknob as your pulse picks up speed.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles in response without sparing a glance in your direction.

“You don’t look fine,” you grumble back at him, the flames of irritation rekindled by his rudeness. Why should you care if the jerk’s too drunk or stoned to get in his apartment. Let his rude ass sleep on his doorstep. You shove open your door and take a stomped step across the threshold—you really need that glass of wine. Out of the corner of your eye you see him bend down to pick up his keys, then hear him groan like he’s in pain. You poke your head back around the doorframe, curious, and notice he’s doubled over now, clutching at his heaving chest, breathing hard and fast like he just ran a 5k or—your heart leaps inside your own chest—like he’s having a fucking heart attack. You watch, mouth agape, brows furrowed, as he sinks to his knees, a handful of red fabric still clenched in his trembling fist, then falls forward onto his free hand while he struggles to get control of his labored breathing. Crumpled on the floor like this, fighting for a breath, makes him seem so small, vulnerable, and not the least bit threatening; more like a boy who needs your help and less like an NFL quarterback who murders women on the side for fun.

Just go into your apartment, pour that extra large glass of merlot you’ve been fantasizing about since John Preston Anderson III introduced himself with his full name. Curl up on the sofa with In Cold Blood or a horde of shirtless, oiled, bronzed, and heartily-muscled Dothraki in your Game of Thrones rewatch. Who cares if the hot asshole serial killer next door has a heart attack? But you care apparently because you rush over to him instead, ignoring The Stranger Beside Me audiobook narrator inside your head warning you that this is a textbook Ted Bundy ploy, you idiot. You bend to help him, to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, and when your fingertips brush against him his entire body jerks away from you, like you zapped him with your taser. He throws up an arm to warn you off. “Don’t,” he snaps breathlessly before gulping down a lungful of air, then rasps: “Please don’t touch me.”

You bristle at his harsh rebuff but keep your temper in check since the guy’s clearly in crisis mode. “Should I call an ambulance? You look like you’re having a heart attack.”

“It’s… it’s not a heart attack… it just… feels like one.” He bites off each word, every breath precious. The fingers of his free hand dig into the hardwood floor.

“At least let me unlock your door for you,” you suggest shortly, biting your tongue before you can add: since you weren’t able to manage that yourself, then feeling guilty for even thinking that. What had the poor guy done to you tonight except happen to be standing in your shared hallway after some other asshole pissed you off?

He gives you a small, grudging nod so you retrieve his fallen keyring, wondering why a man needs so many damn keys. “The bronze one,” he grunts, as if he read your mind.

You unlock his door with the bronze key then push the door open while he drags himself to his feet behind you, huffing and groaning. The dimly lit apartment that greets you is sterile, spartan; that doesn’t help the serial killer vibes at all. One of the furnished units, you presume, since the furniture looks like it was plucked from the lobby of your building. The walls are white and bare; no art or posters or photos of him scowling beside a lover. And the place is spotless—you’d assume it was vacant if you didn’t know otherwise. A vision suddenly fills your mind, a vision of him on his knees, bright yellow dishwashing gloves pulled halfway up his muscular arms, an uncapped bottle of industrial bleach at his side as he scrubs at a puddle of blood while the lifeless corpse of the last girl who wandered in here lies wrapped up in blood-stained plastic behind him. Oh God, you even smell the bleach. But then you notice the stacks of paperback books here and there, the open sketch pad on the sofa with pencil-scribbled notes and drawings, some charging AirPods beside an iPad, another red hoodie—one that zips up the front—hanging from the back of a dining room chair, a gym bag, and atop the kitchen island, a rather happy-looking houseplant which, you have to admit, is kinda cute.

Before you can take in the rest of his place he staggers past you, bumping into your shoulder with a bruising force that knocks you sideways and nearly off your feet. Then with one last little wheeze, he topples over like an uprooted oak tree in a windstorm, smacking face first into the hardwood with a meaty thud that rattles the floor beneath you.

“Oh my God!” You squeal, covering your mouth with both hands.

A shot of adrenaline pumps through your veins, spurring you into action. You snatch your phone from your bag with rubber fingers, nearly flinging it aside in your panic, and frantically dial 9-1-1, forgetting all about the emergency shortcuts created for just such an occasion. Your stomach dips at the sight of the bulky body lying prone at your feet, still and silent as the grave. As the phone rings—the long-familiar trilling sound now seemingly drawn out as if it will stretch into eternity—you kneel beside him to check his pulse and see if he’s still breathing, praying he isn’t a corpse, when you spot something that knocks the breath from your lungs and stops your heart dead in its tracks. With a cold, trembling hand you push up the tail of his hoodie…

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” The operator asks by rote, voice booming through your phone’s speaker, but you barely hear it over the alarm bells clanging inside your head. You’re gaping at the gun tucked into the waistband of his pants, unable to form any sort of response around your heart lodged in your throat.

“Hello?” the operator asks irritably.

“Hi, uh,” you start with a squeak, eyes still fixed on the textured grip of that deadly weapon, but then smack your lips shut. What are the cops gonna think when they see that gun? And what if he’s wanted for a crime or something and you get him arrested? He said it wasn’t a heart attack, acted like this had happened to him before. You can always call back if he’s actually dead or dying…

Why the hell does it matter if he gets arrested?? Your brain shouts back at you. Why are you even here in the first place when there’s an unopened bottle of merlot waiting for you in the safety of your apartment only a few footsteps away, where there’s not an unresponsive armed man who’s built like a tank, who doesn’t even need the gun when he could snap your tiny neck with those massive hands of his? Could the universe give you any clearer signals that “you in danger, girl”? Have you learned absolutely nothing from hours upon hours of Karen and Georgia? “Stay sexy and don’t get murdered”—this guy isn’t even nice to you! Don’t you dare hang up that phone…

“Um, I’m so sorry. I thought my neighbor was having a heart attack but-but he’s fine actually. False alarm. Sorry to bother you!” Your words tumble out in a rush then you smash the “End Call” button before you can get questioned further or chewed out for wasting their time. In the back of your mind you hear the recording of this 9-1-1 call replaying on the My Favorite Murder episode starring you, before the hostess pair warns their listeners not to make the same foolish mistake you just made.

You sit back on your heels, clammy hands kneading your knees while that chunk of baleful metal glares back at you from his waistband, like a coiled rattlesnake peeking out from beneath a rock. Your mind is racing as fast as your heart through scenarios that all end with you getting shot. Then your hands are moving with minds of their own, fingers curling around the textured grip, getting your dainty fingerprints all over the murder weapon as you slip it free. It’s heavier than you expected, you note as you grip it tighter, careful not to get your finger anywhere near that trigger. Heavy, but not heavy enough for something that can end a life in an instant. The thought makes you shudder. You place the gun on the floor then give it a shove, eager to be rid of it, praying that the damn thing won’t go off automatically as it slides across the hardwood floor out of reach. You’ve never touched a gun before this moment and have zero interest in shooting yourself in the face.

Now your attention shifts back to the poor guy who's still out cold. You lay your hand on his back and feel its steady rise and fall. Still breathing, thank God. Then with a grunt of effort and a mighty heave you manage to flip him over on his back. Immediately your hand shoots back to cover your mouth and you suck in a horrified breath as his pale face, previously hidden beneath the shadow of his hat and hood, becomes visible in the lamplight.

You were expecting the weals on his chin and forehead, the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, his bottom lip swelling from where it busted when he fell flat on his face. What you weren’t expecting to find was dried blood smeared across his cheek up to his ear, or the J-shaped scar beneath his eye that you’d noticed before (it’s unfortunately hard to miss, despite his best efforts to hide it) weeping beads of fresh blood from where someone traced over it with a knife you assume, carving deep into his skin. But it wasn’t the sight of the blood or the crimson J that pulled the gasp from your throat and made your stomach nosedive like you were on a rollercoaster. Nope, that was your reaction to the angry red furrows encircling his throat around his Adam's apple, deep indentations where someone wrapped rope or wire or cable around his neck so tight that it embedded in his skin; ligature marks from where someone fucking strangled him.

You grab your phone then pause, biting at your lip. Maybe you should call 9-1-1 again. What if his windpipe is crushed? What if that’s why he was breathing so hard, why he fainted? Those marks are so deep… he could be seriously injured. But if he was seriously injured, why had he returned to his apartment instead of going to the ER? It seems like he made the choice for you.

You open your phone’s browser and type: how to treat strangulation injuries, then quickly skim over the top result. Ice. That seems simple enough, you tell yourself, noting that you can clean his J cuts with soap and water, at least until he wakes up. And if he doesn’t wake up soon? Well, then you’ll call the cops. After all, he’s probably a law abiding citizen who’s licensed to carry that gun; a guy that you just pinned as another one of the nutjobs because you always get paranoid about every stranger you see after your true crime binges. In your defense, this is Gotham-fucking-City and you’re a young single lady who lives alone. You’d be a fool not to be paranoid.

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heartfullofleeches · 2 years

Note

What if yan emperor was engaged to someone that wasn’t jester? Like his parents set up a marriage with someone else, that hates the jester for “having a affair” with the emperor???

Cold water splashes in your face, the juggling pins in your hands clatter to the floor in front of the culprit. The emperor's betrothed stands before you, shooting you a hateful glare that sends chills frostier than the one's already through you. Several gasps come from the audience, all festivities halted.

"Stay away from my king, your harlot."

Today had been the emperor's birthday; many coming from far and wide to celebrate. Unbeknownst to you, he absolutely hated the day. The year you came into this life was the first one he enjoyed as it was the day your trope came into town and you became friends.

By the next year, the day soon approached and you didn't know what to get him. You had money from chores you did around the castle, and coins the prince would sneak to you. He didn't seem too interested in material things, but you wanted to do something for him.

It was on the day before his birthday that you found what you thought would be a decent gift. It was a little pierrot doll. Lips painted with the same red as the red balls on its white and black shirt, and collar. A rosy blush tinted it's cheeks and a cone hat sat atop its head; beady little eyes and vertical lines through them making up the rest of its face. It was one of the cutest things you had ever seen, and almost reminded you of your old home. Though you didn't know all about the prince's likes, you knew he valued your friendship like no other.

"It's almost like me!" Was your excuse when you gave it to him. "I noticed you seemed kinda down when we're apart, so I bought this so you could remember me by."

The young prince just stares at the doll. You start to panic.

"Ah, I realized that makes me sound a little full of myself when I say it out loud. I'll take it back and-"

"No."

You're taken aback by the authority in his voice. "Huh?"

He hugs the doll to his chest, the first smile in days cross his face. "It's atrocious. I love it."

Every birthday after, you'd get him a new doll. As you got older, you bought other things, but the dolls were always the icing on the cake. One of your birthdays, he even had a jester doll custom made, but it spent a majority of its lifespan in your room rather than his.

This year was the same as before. The emperor was surrounded in a mountain of presents from gold to self portraits, but the only time he truly smiled was when he saw your gift; angering his betrothed to the point they could kill you.

The couple were set to be engaged when the emperor was in his early teens, much to his disappointment. It was around that time that he released his love for you. He had dreams some nights of just running away with you, and on others- killing his further spouses entire bloodline.

They were some noble who's family his father had been acquitted with. It was love at first sight, but he never noticed nor cared. They tried with all their might to get his attention, failing at every turn. It was when they saw that little pierrot and the jester on his bed that they finally realized what was going on.

"What is going on here?!"

The emperor pushes through the small crowd; eyes already full of fury. They soften as they fall upon you, the water soaking your outfit. He'd raise hell on whoever did this to you; finding the culprit rather easily - glass still in their hand.

"What did you do to them?" He roars.

They scoff. "Don't humor me. I know this one is the one you're sleeping with it. To think you'd mess around with a literal fool. Do you take me for one as well?"

"That isn't true, your majesty. " You meekly announce. "He is my closest friend..."

Your words stake daggers into the emperor's heart; a betrayal worse than physical tearing the organ out. He had a few advances in the past, but they were shut down by his parents and obvious to you. They warned that if he continued, he'd never see you again. He grabs your wrist.

"Come on.. We're leaving."

His betrothed tries to step between you. "Where are you going? We aren't done talking!"

"They need to change before they get sick. I'll deal with you later. Try to stop me again, and you won't like the consequences."

They shrink under his threatening tone. Shoving through the muttering crowd, the emperor drags you along to your room. He slams the door shut as an outlet for his rage, causing you to jump. His demeanor quickly changes as he hurts to you, pulling the cap from your head and cupping your face in his gloved palm.

"Are you alright, Y/n?"

"Yes, just cold. You should get back to the party."

He frowns. You always gave up your wellbeing for the sake of others, he couldn’t stand it. He reaches for your collar, having to stop himself before he undressed you with his own hands. He scolded himself for even thinking about it, his mind on autopilot when it came to you.

"I'll wait for you outside. Let me know when you're ready."

"Is.. it alright if I retire for the night?"

He sucks in a breath. "That's fine. I'll check on you in the morning."

You hug him, neither minding the dampness of your clothes as he hugs you back.

"I hope you repair everything with your spouse. I'd hate to end the day on such a sour note."

He places his face into the crook of your neck. You're going to kill him with how much desire you sent him. A want that's become a need he'll someday have to have or he'll perish at your feet.

You pull away, much to his sadness, sticking your fingers to the corners of his mouth and pulling them upwards.

"And smile more for God's sake. You'll get wrinkly like your old man if you don't."

You drop your joking tough voice with a laugh, warming the pits of his stomach. He holds a small smile as you drop your hands. You always knew what to do to make him shine.

"Goodnight, Y/n."

The emperor exits your room. Instead of returning to that party, or that demon, he slinks down against your door and reaches into his pocket; pulling out the newest doll in his growing collection. It's the first time in forever that he's alone on his birthday night.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere x you #male yandere #yandere insert #yandere story #yandere emperor #yandere headcanons #yandere blurb #tw yandere

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queenimmadolla · 2 years

Note

OKAY OKAY FOR PENNY AND DAD!EDDIE

So reader is baking cookies for Penny to take in her lunch and she steps out and asks them to take them out for her. Big mistake. Reader comes back to find Eddie and Penny red handed and there are like two cookies left so now she has to make a whole new batch :/

loved writing this one and hope everyone likes the new addition to the fam ;) steve’s SO is implied to be another character from (CYM) but i also like the idea of inserting readers into the scenario with him which is why no name or description is provided. happy reading, and PLEASE let me know if you like it. as always, reblogs are appreciated!!! took a little inspiration from look who’s talking :)

Cookies ‘n Clean - Fall of ‘91 (young parents!Eddie Munson x fem!reader)

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: if anyone had told you you’d be having this type of conversation with a four year old while making cookies, you definitely wouldn’t have believed them. and eddie still can’t say no to your daughter.

warnings: fluff, talk of assigned sex and gender identity (keep in mind, this conversation is with a child so it may not be as in depth as some would like, it is also based on a conversation i had with my little nephew), mentions of colic, judgement free zone

word count: 2.4k+

“Shit,” You mumbled, hurriedly wiping your hands of any dough on a kitchen towel before rushing over to where the phone rang on its holder.

“Hello?” You spoke into the receiver, shouldering the phone before you went back to mixing the chocolate chips with the dough in the large bowl over the counter.

“Hey!” Your best friend’s voice sounded a bit faraway, like she’d stepped away from the phone while she rang you and rushed back once you’d picked up. “Sorry if you’re busy—wait, are you busy?”

“Uhhh,” You glanced around at the kitchen counter, covered with baking materials and flour. The floor looked no better, the flour fall out on the floor had tiny little handprints pressed into it, baby Wayne had been working on a masterpiece before Eddie came to the rescue and hauled him off for a bath. Penny had gone with him, having given herself the title of Daddy’s Little Helper. Penny’s first day of preschool was tomorrow, and you had wanted to make her some cookies, what with how big of a fucking deal it was that your four year old was approaching her school days. It kind of scared you, actually. “No, not really. Why? What’s up?” “I’m pretty sure Winnie’s got colic, she’s down for a nap right now, but I was hoping I could borrow that book you had about it. I’m going crazy over here, I feel so bad when she’s screaming like that, and Steve starts crying whenever she cries.” Of course Harrington would, he was big softie for his newborn.

“Yeah, of course. Let me just put these cookies I’m making into the oven, and then I’ll bring it over.” You could hear the heavy sigh of relief she heaved.

“Thank you so much. I owe you one.”Once you’d hung up, you finished mixing everything together and began placing the cookie dough on the parchment covered baking sheet.

“Eddie?” You called out into the hall before returning to the kitchen to slide the cookies into the oven and setting the timer. He appeared at the hallway entrance, leaning against the wall and holding the baby coddled in a comically large towel with Penny in tow.

You snapped yourself out of your stare—God, seeing that man with kids, especially your own, would never fail to get you going—and Eddie gave you a knowing smirk.

“I’m gonna run a book over to casa de Harrington, I put the cookies in the oven already, can you just take them out when the timer goes off?”

“I think I can manage to do that. Not a hundred percent sure, but I’ll give it a go.” He teased, as you made your way over to give him a smooch, you could smell the baby shampoo he’d used on your son.

You turned your attention to your baby in his arms, just a little over a year old. Ever the grump, he didn’t appear too happy with the event he’d been recently subjected to. Though, he never looked like he enjoyed most things. He had his dad’s natural poker face. Always looked slightly intimidating until you started talking to him. “Mama will be right back, Waynie.” You cooed, pressing a kiss to his chubby cheek as your fingers danced gently against his little stomach rolls to tickle him. His grumpy face immediately split into a wide smile, you could see the four little teeth he had along with a new one that was starting to break through his gums.

He giggled and went to reach for you, face immediately dropping back into a scowl as if to say ‘why would you even tease me like that?’ when you forced yourself to step away. If you picked him up, you’d never leave.

Penny locked her arms around your legs in a quick farewell hug before she went back to asking her dad a stream of questions (her latest fad, she had to know the reason behind everything) related to why ‘Way’ got to pee in the bath and she couldn’t. The last thing you heard—and you made sure not to stick around too long after that—was, “Daddy, how come Way has a wom down thewe? I don’t go one of dose. Did I? Does it fa’ off?” Good luck, baby.

About an hour later, much longer than you had thought you’d be away, you finally made it back home.

Winnie had woken up a little into what was supposed to be your quick drop off, and boy did that baby like to scream and cry. You felt bad watching the new parents struggle so you’d attempted to help, trying to sooth her while Steve squeezed in a quick shower and your friend had disappeared to pump. Poor thing looked like her boobs were gonna pop any second, and not that there even was a good way, but it wasn’t in the good way.

They’d both returned at the same time, ready to take on their daughter as you coached them in how to position her and gave them some other new parent advice. Ironic, what with you having become a mother pretty young. You opened the front door, lips pursing at the immediate sight that greeted you, thanks to the position of the kitchen being directly in front of it.

“Seriously?” Penny beamed at you from her seat at the table, wiggling in her booster seat. “Hi, mama! Wook! Daddy and me and are eatin’ cookies!”

“I can see that,” You mused, eyeing the nearly empty baking sheet before them. Of course Eddie hadn’t bothered putting them on a plate.

Eddie at least had the decency to appear sheepish, as he finished off the cookie in his mouth. “Hi, baby, how’d it go?” An obvious attempt to distract you.

“Fine, Harrington’s got his handful over there. Remind me to ask him in a couple of months if he still wants five more of them. Hey, by the way, what the f—’’ You trailed off, eyeing your innocent four year old and the baby paying not even an ounce of attention in his highchair. “—udge, man. Where are the cookies??”

He rubbed the back of his neck, biting back a smile.

“Between me and Little bitty pretty one,” Penny giggled at the use of one of the nicknames her daddy had given her. It was her favorite, and Eddie could clearly tell, grinning over at her in response. “Gone, I’m so sorry babe. I took a bite of one, she asked for one, and then we just couldn’t stop.” Penny gave him a look that made him sigh. “Alright, fine. I couldn’t stop.” He’d cut her off after three, already not eager for how difficult it was going to be to put her to bed tonight. And the night before her first day of preschool—he knew full well he’d cry when they’d drop her off—she was just so hard to deny. Eddie blamed that on you, if she didn’t look so much like you, he’d have an easier time saying no.Obviously, you loved your husband and your family dearly. But you were incredibly annoyed, you didn’t like to use pre-made cookie dough often, yours was made out of scratch (and clearly why Eddie hadn’t been able to restrain himself or Penny) meaning you’d have to do it all over again so Penny would have them for tomorrow.

With a sigh, you grabbed your still dirty apron from the hook it was placed on and slipped it back on, tying the strings around your waist. “It’s fine, I’ll make some more.” The guilt must have been seeping in because Eddie immediately stood up and made his way to your side, “I’ll help! It’ll be faster that way, and I wouldn’t mind learning how to make them myself.”

“Me, too! I can help, too, mama!” Penny comically pushed her seat back from the table and Eddie went back over to help lower her down. “I can mix!”

He laughed as he picked her right back up and placed her back in her seat. “Then you need to be at the table to do that, sweetheart.”

“See, we got a whole little bakery going on—Hey!” Eddie managed to move aside, just barely avoiding the baby spoon flung at him. His eyes followed the direction it had come from, smirking in amusement at his son’s poker face. Wayne hadn’t appreciated seeing you upset, and being a mama’s boy, had stepped up to defend you.

Or maybe he just felt left out. He was still a mama’s boy nonetheless. You walked over, pulling him out of his high chair, “Aw, Waynie baby wants to help, too. So sweet. Can mama have a kiss?”

You raised him to your face and he immediately placed his little hands on the side of your face to give you a drooly kiss, or rather his version of a kiss. He kind of just tried to nom on your face.

“Not sure how throwing utensils at me is offering to help, but he’s cute so I’m gonna let him get away with it.” With one last kiss to his head, you ran your hands through his curls—he had fluff on the sides of his head, but most of his curly hair ran down the center of his head, giving him something of a curly mohawk which his dad adored—before handing him over to Eddie, while you raided the cabinets for more ingredients.

Eddie helped shift some of the bowls around before a realization dawned on him and he groaned. “They’re both gonna need a bath after this."

That seemed to catch Penny’s attention, she piped up from her spot at the table, “OH YEAH, DADDY! How comes I don’t have uh penis?”

You did a double take, blinking hard over at her before you turned to your husband who was already watching you with a smirk. “You still haven’t told her?”

“Oh no,” he laughed, and so did Wayne, though he only did it because he was amused with his dad laughing. “We agreed that if we had a boy I would explain it, and if we had a girl, you would explain it to her. There’s our girl, honey.”

You shoulders slumped in defeat. Damn, you did remember saying that. “I’ll remember this,” you threatened, all smiles despite the circumstances.

“She’s waiting, hon.” He kissed the top of your head, still chuckling as he moved to open the fridge and grab the butter with the arm that wasn’t holding Wayne. “You don’t have a penis, because you were born with different parts. See, mommy has the same thing as you. But daddy has a penis, just like Wayne.”

It looked like the wheels were turning in her head. “ ’S because Way is a boy and imma girl?” You could tell Eddie was trying to act like he wasn’t actively listening, but there was only so many times he could open and close the fridge when most of the ingredients are already out on the counter.

“In this case, yes. But not always, sometimes boys have penises, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes girls have vaginas—that’s what ours are called—and sometimes they don’t. What we have down there doesn’t always make us a boy or a girl. Sometimes it doesn’t make us either. It all depends on the person, and who we are.” You grabbed the little bowl containing a little bit of extra dough you had from earlier, and a bag of chocolate chips, setting them down in front of her with a wooden spoon. If anyone had told you you’d be having this type of conversation with a four year old while making cookies, you definitely wouldn’t have believed them.

Penny immediately picked up the spoon, waving it around in the air. “So I can be a boy?” “Of course, if that’s who you are, absolutely.” You poured a couple of chocolate chips into the bowl, and made a mental note to watch her while she mixed it when she began eyeing the chocolate chips with longing.

“O’ a girl?” “Yup. You can be a girl.”

“Whatuf I dunwana be a girl o’ boy?”

“Then you don’t have to.” “Whatuf I wanna be boff?” “Then you can be both.” “Okay! I few wike imma girl wight now. ’S dat okay?”

You loved her innocence so much, there wasn’t an ounce of judgment in her little body, she was so accepting. It scared you to be sending her into the real world like this, where you had no real way of keeping her away from the negativity, where she’d be exposed to it. But you and Eddie were determined to raise her to be a good person, regardless of who she turned out to be once she truly began to discover things for herself. “Yes, baby. You can be whoever you want. Just remember, no matter what, you’re always gonna be my baby.”

Penny seemed to be losing interest in the topic as she had started to mix the chocolate chips in with the spoon. “Wook, mama! Imma cook!”

“Yes, you are. And if you don’t steal out of the bowl, you can lick the spoon.” You could tell she wouldn’t be trying to eat the cookie dough with that promise having been made so you returned to your place by Eddie’s side. “Why are you looking at me like that?” He was staring at you in awe, a small smile on his face as he cradled Wayne to his chest. Apparently, he was daddy’s boy for the moment, snuggling right into Eddie.

“I just really lucked out with you. Really glad I knocked you up.” “You’re so romantic.” “I’m also stealing a lot of what you just said, by the way. It was really good and I wasn’t too sure of how I was gonna explain it when he starts asking questions. Thanks, honey. There’s a ton of butter in that, by the way, I got pretty distracted.” “That’s okay, I’m planning on getting distracted while you try to bathe the both of them later.” “That’s fair,” He grinned, leaning in for a kiss. Wayne babbled in protest as he was squished between your bodies.

Two hours later, the cookies were plated and cooling on the counter.

You and Eddie were both kneeling in front of the bath, shirts absolutely soaked due to some heavy splashing as you made sure Penny and Wayne were squeaky clean. “I knew you didn’t mean it.” His lips were curled up into a smug smirk.

“Shut up.” You laughed, squeezing your eyes shut when Wayne began to slap his hands on the surface of the water again. “God, I love you.”

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ququb444hm · 6 months

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐭, 𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝

part 31 / old man ☆

masterlist

important note!! there is the implication of a panic attack in this part so if that makes u uncomfortable, please do not continue reading! i am sorry in advance if i offend anyone by the way i write out the panic attack. i have not experienced one before and am basing the information solely on research i have done beforehand as well as the experiences of my friends. and for anyone who has experienced a panic attack, U R ONE OF THE STRONGEST PEOPLE EVER!

“geez, the school needs to start providing free umbrellas or something!” coach ukai exclaimed. he stared at his two players and team manager– tetsu, kozume, and yn were all dripping wet and shivering from the intense weather. “we’re ending practice a bit early so just grab a towel and dry yourselves up a bit or go take a quick shower in the locker room so you at least don’t catch a cold before the game next week.”

“yes, coach.” the three nodded, quickly making their way to the showers.

“yn!” mori called out, running up to his friend with a hoodie in hand. “change into this after so you’re not cold.”

yn eyed the material, smirking once she realized who it belonged to. “did rinnie give this to you?” she mused, “ohoho, so are you guys talking or what?”

“oh shut up, go take a shower. you smell like wet dog.” mori grumbled, shoving the hoodie into yn’s arms. yn giggled, thanking mori before heading into the girls locker room.

(note: guys.. i don’t actually ship mori n rin LOL js a disclaimer bc ik (or im pretty sure) they like haven’t met in the actual series…? they’re more of a sub-plot like cece n tetsu bc i love side character lore! anyways back to the storyyy)

once yn was done freshening up, she joined coach ukai and mr. takeda on the bleachers to talk about the game. "the team is looking good," coach examined. he watched as the players went up against each other in a quick match. "i just don't know what to do about kozume and keiji." he rubbed the back of his neck, deep in thought as he analyzed the papers yn gave him last practice.

"what do you mean?" yn asked. she didn't recall writing anything weird about the two.

coach ukai shrugged. "maybe it's because i've known these kids since they were freshmen, but something just feels off between the two. i compared your notes from the beginning of the semester to last week, and there's a slight decline in their abilities."

yn furrowed her brows, taking the papers from coach ukai to see the difference herself. "a decline?" her eyes scanned the data and much to her surprise, he was right. kozume's agility went down by 2.5% and keiji's been struggling to successfully set the ball up for kou which puts the team at a big disadvantage since kou is normally always on the court and has the most trust in keiji to send him the ball.

(note again: idk what i js pulled out of my ass w this one >o< i don’t play volley but wtvr! :3)

"speaking of kozume and keiji, where are they?" mr. takeda piped up. tetsurou finished showering at the same time as yn and was currently talking to a few members, assumingly giving them tips for next week, but kozume was still nowhere to be seen. there couldn’t have been only one working shower right?

"bokuto!" coach ukai called out, "where's your setter?"

"uhh-" kou looked around, "not on the court, coach!"

keishin groaned. "well, obviously.."

"keiji is in the locker room, pretty sure.” kei answered instead. he heard the setter excuse himself to grab something in the locker room, but what would he need in there when they usually dropped their things off on the bleachers? the middle blocker shrugged it off, not caring too much about his upperclassman.

“uhm i think kozume is also still in there.” shoyou added. his eyes met yn’s, both of them starting to feel a bit uneasy after talking about the two last night. “do you want me to go grab them?” keishin sighed, motioning for shoyou to retrieve the two missing players.

as shoyou neared the red-painted metal doors, his ears picked up keiji’s voice. he sounded annoyed. really annoyed. “you can’t be seriously telling me you won’t leave yn alone, right? right? kozume c’mon,” keiji laughed in mockery, his voice was getting a bit louder, but not loud enough to reach the ears of the other people on the other side of the gym. “you’re just going to keep hurting her. she doesn’t deserve that. you don’t deserve her.”

“like you have any place to talk,” kozume barked back. though not as aggravated as keiji, kozume was firm with his words. “you made yn feel unimportant the whole time the two of you were in a relationship. you were the one who had an interest in her first, yet you barely took the time to show any effort. you couldn’t even go to one of the most important events in her life! she worked so hard, she always does, for the annual art exhibition, but you forgot about it.”

“i had an important meeting that day-” keiji tried to reason.

kozume only scoffed. “oh please.”

“okay. fine.” shoyou could hear heavy footsteps. keiji was corning kozume into the lockers. he pressed an accusing finger against his chest. “missing the art exhibition was a dick move, but am i the one who’s going for their friend’s ex? am i the one who would publicly reject yn, yet give her mixed signals behind closed doors, continuously confusing her and manipulating her feelings? am i the one who can’t make up his mind, slowly declining yn’s mental and emotional well-being? no, kozume, i’m not. you are. know your place. yn doesn’t need you.”

it was quiet for a few seconds before shoyou could hear keiji’s footsteps walking toward the door he was pressing his ear against. in a quick panic, the ginger hid behind a nearby scoreboard until he saw keiji far enough to where he wouldn’t see the worried sophomore slip into the locker room.

“kozume!” shoyou cried out. the blond was in a fetal position on the floor against the lockers. he rocked back and forth, the frantic movement almost causing him to hit his head against the hard metal. his breathing was short and unstable, almost like he was choking. it was even more difficult to breathe due to his strained cries. the state of his close friend made shoyou sick to his stomach, his body trembled, not knowing what to do. “what- whats happening?!” he tried to prevent kozume from accidentally injuring himself, but once his hand made contact with kozume’s shoulder, the blond slapped his hand away.

“don’t touch me!” he cried out. his eyes grew in panic, everything around him was overwhelming him past his limit.

shoyou fell back at the sudden impact, “kozume-”

“i’m sorry,” kozume dug his head back into his arms. “i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry i’m sorry-” he repeated the same words over and over again, each apology more desperate than the last. ‘i hit shoyou? why did i hit shoyou?’ “i didn’t mean it- i didn’t i-” his voice was restless, saying the same thing over and over as his mind grew louder by the second. ‘i hurt shoyou. i hurt yn. i can’t stop. i don’t know what to do. i can’t stop. it hurts. everything hurts. i hurt yn. my heart wont shut up. it’s so loud. everything is so loud. please shut up. please shut up. shut up. shut up. shut up-’

“kozume i don’t know what to do!” shoyou sobbed. the situation was getting to much for him, he needed to call someone for help. “i’m going to get yn, she’ll know what to do-”

“SHUT UP.” shoyou stopped in his tracks, body cold at the sudden yell. kozume’s head jerked up at his own words, disbelief written across his face. was he the one who yelled that? “please don’t get yn. please- shoyou please.” he was tirelessly begging. tears constructing his vision enough to not even know if shoyou was opening the door or not. “please. please don’t call yn. i don’t- she can’t know. please. i’m sorry i yelled. i’m sorry- just. just- don’t move.”

shoyou slowly removed his hand from the door handle. his movements were slow, scared that he might suddenly alarm kozume again. he squeezed his eyes shut, breathing long and slow to calm his nerves so that he could at least provide some sort of ease to kozume. “okay…” he whispered, slowly opening his eyes. shoyou bent down to kozume’s level, leaving a foot of space between them as he tried to calm the blond’s nerves as he just did his own. “it’s okay koz. it’s okay.” continuing the breathing exercise he was previously doing, shoyou used his hands to motion each inhale, each hold of breath, and each exhale.

“i’m sorry.” kozume murmured, unable to meet shoyou’s gaze. he was slowly regaining stable breathing, the pain in his chest diminishing.

“don’t apologize!” shoyou scolded. “i’m the one who should say sorry, kozume.” the ginger choked back his tears, refraining from overwhelming his friend. “i didn’t know what to do and i couldn’t help you..”

kozume shook his head, “you did help, sho. thank you.” a small smile graced his features, reassuring his friend.

the two sat in silence for a few minutes until shoyou decided to let his curiosity flow free. “kozume, can i ask you something?” the blonde nodded. “what's happening between you and keiji? and why can’t yn know about this? why are you hiding it from her?”

kozume let out a weak laugh. “that’s more than just a something.”

“sorry, i just don’t get it!” shoyou whined. “yn likes you, a lot, and i thought you really like yn too. so why are u letting keiji get in the way and talk you down like that? why are you so afraid of letting yourself be happy?”

the familiar question rang through kozume’s mind. a previous conversation from tetsurou suddenly resurfacing.

“are you afraid of letting yourself be happy or something? look, i’m not saying you should’ve prevented keiji from asking yn out, but you’ve liked my sister since what? the second grade? and you just let some new guy sweep her off her feet? that’s just crazy, man! i know for a fact that he could never have the same connection you and her have, trust me, i’m like psychic or something. i know you’re the better person–- the only person, actually, for yn.”

“it’s not that…” kozume groaned. “i’m afraid that…if yn and i do become something more than what we are now, i’ll disappoint her more than i already do. what if, once we start dating, she realizes she doesn’t actually like me?”

shoyou frowned. keiji’s words were dug deep into kozume’s heart. nothing he could say, no amount of reassurance could ever directly change kozume’s mindset. it needed to come from her–

knock. knock. knock.

“sho? kozume? are you guys okay? i- uhm we’re getting worried…you two have been in there for a long time, is everything okay?”

there she was. the only person who could dissolve all of keiji’s cruel words from kozume’s distraught soul.

“sorry, we’ll be out in a sec, nn!” shoyou called out. he reached a hand out for kozume to take. “are you okay to go outside?”

the blonde took a deep breath. “we have a game next week, don’t we?” he placed his hand on shoyou’s, pulling himself up.

the two opened the door to reveal yn’s big doe eyes brimming with concern. “what happened? did you lose your towel? was the water too cold?” she enveloped kozume’s hands into her own, feeling the difference in temperature. “if you didn’t have any warm water, you should’ve told us! taking a cold shower after being soaked in the rain isn’t good for you!”

“hey!” coach ukai irked, already frustrated that kozume would only have less than an hour to practice. “stop feeling the boy up and let him get his ass to work!”

yn’s eye twitched at the suggestive assumption. she quipped her head at keishin and flipped him off. “shut up, old man!”

part 30 sassy man apocalypse <- | masterlist | -> part 32 nipples in a twist

note(s): hnnghghghgrfijwfmgh next part is a text msg part

✩⡱ taglist !! + @writing-for-the-hell-of-it @sherryuki-callmeyuki @anny-bah @ast4rg1rl @sukunasrealgf @dani-shitting-around @whokillednyx @vernon-dursley @limaswife @sugawara-levi @sixxze @ryoiii @literally-a-ferret @444sunarin @llearlert @lloyd4x @usermins @2baddies-1porsche @vernon-dursley @lyzisbitchingagain @h3xi2g0n3 @l0v3do11 lmk if u want to be added (msg or inbox)ヾ(･ω･`；)ﾉ

#🐈.thanksalotcupid #kozume kenma #kenma kozume #kozume kenma x reader #kozume kenma x fem!reader #kenma kozume x reader #kenma kozume x fem!reader #kenma x reader #kozume x reader #smau #kenma smau #haikyuu #haikyuu smau #haikyuu!!#haikyuu!! smau

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vodika-vibes · 8 months

Text

The Daimyo's Cyare

Summary: You get to spend some time with your favorite person in the galaxy.

Pairing: Daimyo! Boba Fett x Reader

Word Count: 1356

Warnings: Tongue in cheek teasing, there is an age gap, but Boba is only 41, and the reader is, at the youngest, 30.

Songs: None

Prompt: N/A

A/N: This is my first time writing Boba, so I'm a little unsure about it. But I think I'm happy with it? Also, 3 stories in one day! I love DND Sundays~

Divider by Saradika

When you ran away from home at 20 years old, you kind of expected your story to have a bad ending. But you ran anyway. At the time, it was the only option you had. At least, it felt like it.

Your parents always expected too much from you. “You can do better” and “you’re smarter than this”, are mantras from your childhood, said daily by your parents, sometimes even hourly.

Your parents had ambitions for you. In their mind you were going to be a doctor or a lawyer or an Imperial Officer. And they pushed, pushed, pushed…until you couldn’t take it anymore.

You ran until no one knew your family name, and then you shed their name like a second skin, and you kept running.

Eventually you found yourself on a Cruise Liner. Playing bartender to the rich and famous. People who don’t care who you were, so long as you continue to ply them with copious amounts of alcohol. While living on the cruise liner, which you did for well over ten years, you created yourself a dozen different times, until you became the person you are now.

You left the cruise liner when the Empire fell, and you found yourself on Tatooine, still as a bartender, only instead of serving drunk rich people, you were serving drunk bottom feeders.

The only real difference being the amount of credits you make in tips.

That was where you met Boba Fett for the first time.

The first time he came into your bar, he was clad in his armor, and was dripping malice. You mentally prepared yourself for a fight, and having to clean blood off the floor, but that’s not what happened.

Instead he walked over to you, and sat at the bar and ordered a drink that you hadn’t made since your time on the Cruise Liner.

You weren’t going to make it for him, originally. It’s an expensive drink, made with expensive drinks, but he swore that he could pay for it. And you decided to take him at his word.

He watched you make his drink with an intensity that made you feel like you were being interviewed. And when you finished, he pinned you in place with a stare you could feel, more than see. And then he set a handful of credits on the counter, and offered you a job.

And, well, your mama didn’t raise a fool, so you accepted the job.

That had been a year ago, and you’ve never been happier. Never felt safer. You’re happy enough, in fact, that you’ve started considering reaching out to your family to let them know you’re alive.

“Credit for your thoughts?” You don’t even start when a calloused hand slides around your hips, instead you turn your head slightly and you smile up at Boba.

“Just remembering.” You reply lightly as you turn against him.

“Remembering what?” He asks as he adjusts his grip.

“How I ended up here.”

“Here on Tatooine, or here in my arms?” Boba teases gently, “Because those are different stories.”

“Hm. Both.” You beam at him and slide your hands up the worn material of his shirt, “Have I ever thanked you for getting me out of that dive?”

“You have, repeatedly. But you can always thank me again.”

You stand on your toes and kiss the corner of his lips, “Hm. Maybe later.” You slide your hands across his broad chest again, “No armor today, love?”

“I’m on vacation.”

You nod thoughtfully, “Fennec kicked you out of the throne room, didn’t she?”

He huffed out an amused laugh, “Maybe I should name her Daimyo, and retire somewhere.”

You laugh quietly, “Oh, love. There are less painful ways to die, you know.”

You feel him chuckle, and you look up as he bumps his forehead against yours, “I suppose you have a point.” His calloused fingers drag against the thin material of your shirt, “Did you sleep well, cyare?”

“Well, my pillow seems to have abandoned me early this morning,” You say with a playful pout, “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you Boba?”

“Hm. Sounds like we should invest in a proper pillow for you,” He replies blandly. “And then I won’t wake you up when I get out of bed.”

You drape your arms over his shoulder, “Oh, but I love my pillow. Even if you get up far too early.”

“You could always wake up with me.”

“Ew. Mornings.” You scrunch up your nose, and Boba laughs.

“Well then, you’ll just have to suffer without a pillow then, I’m afraid.”

You pout and lean against him, burying your face against him. “You could always not wake up early. That’s an option too.”

He drags his fingers up your spine and you shiver against him, “That’s not an option, and we both know it.” His fingers stop at your neck, and he lightly rubs small circles against the skin there, “So. You want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Nothing?”

“You had that look on your face, cyar’ika.” Boba replies, “The one that screams that somethings bothering you and you aren’t sure what to do about it.”

“...I have a look?”

“You have a look.” He agrees.

“...I’m thinking about my parents,” You admit with a sigh, “I haven’t spoken to them since I was 18. They probably think I’m dead.”

He hums thoughtfully, “You don’t talk about them much, cyar’ika.”

You curl your fingers in his shirt, “Because I know you, Boba Fett. You’ll get all grumbly and protective.”

He raises a single brow, “Did they mistreat you?”

“My anxiety is a direct result of them.” You say with a shrug, and you smile ruefully when his grip around you tightens. Boba’s helped you through more than one anxiety attack. “They were just…they expected so much from me. Perfection was the expectation, and anything less than perfect was grounds for yelling and ridicule.”

“So that’s also where your perfectionist tendencies come from,” Boba notes mildly.

“I’m not a perfectionist!” You counter as you lean back slightly.

“You once polished my armor after I did because I didn’t do it well enough.”

Your face flames bright red, and you press your face back against his chest, “I thought we were never going to mention that again.”

“I promised not to mention it in front of other people,” Boba corrects with a laugh in his voice, “It’s just us in here.”

You huff out a breath and press your still flaming face against his chest. “Anyway,” You mumble against his chest, “They’d probably be so disappointed in me. Bartender my entire life. Never amounted to anything-”

“Hey,” He grips your shoulders and shakes you gently, “You managed to get through the Empire without getting conscripted into the Imperial Army, and you managed to live well on the Cruise Liner. Not to mention you work directly under the Daimyo of Tatooine.”

You muffle a laugh.

“That’s not remotely what I meant, cyare, and you know it.” He sounds amused though, “You were my personal chef for a year.”

“Yeah. I was a terrible cook.”

“The worst.” Boba agrees, “But how could I fire you when you were trying so hard. Plus, I liked looking at you, even then.”

You smile up at him, “That’ll be a fun letter. ‘Dear mom and dad, I’m the official eye candy for the Daimyo of Tatooine, are you proud of me yet?’”

“You’re a little more than just eye candy, cyare.”

You look up at him, a would be innocent expression on your face, “I know. I work directly under you, remember?”

He huffs out an amused noise, “You’re going to be working directly under me if you don’t watch your tongue.”

You grin at him impishly, “My tongue isn't long enough to watch, though Boba.”

His fingers twitch on your hips, and he returns your impish look with his own steady gaze. “You’re going to get yourself in trouble, cyar’ika.”

“Promise?” You ask with a grin.

His grin becomes sharp, and you squeal when he scoops you into his arms, “Oh, cyar’ika. It’s a guarantee.”

#star wars #tbobf #Boba Fett x Reader #Boba x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction

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satelliteddie · 2 years

Text

grapejuice - e.m.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: a nervous eddie tries his best to buy you flowers and wine for the first time, but can’t seem to get it right

content warnings: implied sex (but no details), neck kisses, first time saying I love you to each other <3

word count: 3.7k

author’s notes: had to write in some eddie and wayne interactions bc we were ROBBED of them; anyways, enjoy xx

Yesterday, it finally came, a sunny afternoon

I was on my way to buy some flowers for you

Thought that we could hide away in a corner of the heath

There's never been someone who's so perfect for me

Eddie is way out of his element. I don’t even know which flowers she would like. His brain is running in circles as he stares at the endless rows of floral arrangements. Half of these flowers look like weeds to him, while the other half seems like they were artificially dyed. Eddie knows you—better than he knows anyone, but when he looks at these flowers, it seems like everything he once knew goes out the window.

“Did you need some help?” A Bradley’s Big Buy employee asks. She wipes her hands on her apron and smiles at Eddie.

“Uh,” Eddie stutters. He focuses his attention on her employee badge, “Stacy, is it? I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Okay,” Stacy sighs, pressing her lips together. “Are these for a girlfriend?” Eddie nods in response, his whole body is itchy. He wants to go home and forget this entire thing. You’ve told him time and time again that you don’t need material things. However, Eddie knows you like flowers; you and Nancy always gush over the ones Jonathan sends her. You would never tell him, but you always hoped Eddie would pick up on how much you wanted to get flowers from him. Eddie had tried to get you a fancy arrangement for your first official date; he even went to a florist for them…but he panicked and told the clerk they were for a funeral and ran out of the store before he could pick any out. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to get you flowers, he did. It killed him that he wasn’t good at this couple-type stuff. So here he was, in a discount supermarket picking out week old flowers. They weren’t a personalized arrangement by any means, but it was better than nothing. “Does she have a favorite color?” Stacy suggests, as she picks up a few bouquets from the buckets on the wall

“She loves all orange and pink tones, whenever there’s a pretty sunset she always says: ‘that’s it, that’s my favorite color’. It’s one of my favorite things—” Eddie coughs and stops his rambling when he notices Stacy watching him closely. “Sorry I don’t know why I told you all of that, I’m out of my element here.”

Stacy grabs two clusters of flowers from the selection; one set of pastel pink and red colored roses and the other a mix of orange and yellow flowers with all different shaped petals. “Listen,” Stacy whispers. “I don’t know you, and I don’t know your girlfriend, but no matter what you get she’ll be happy with them—it’s the thought that counts. However, if you want to guarantee she’s more than happy, I would go with these.” She passes the two bundles to Eddie, “you can even take them out of the plastic, mix the two together and put them in a vase. She’ll never know you got them from Bradley’s.” Eddie thanks her profusely before checking out of the store. His arms ache from carrying all the bags to the van. Pasta, check. Sauce, check. Cheese, check. Random vegetables that Nancy told him would elevate the sauce, check. Wine, check. Flowers, check. Eddie went through his mental checklist a half a dozen times in his mind hoping he remembered everything. Eddie tried his best to contain his nerves as he drove from the store back home. This would be the first time he actually cooked for you; every day for the last four months, Eddie had wanted to cook for you and treat you like royalty. He was so disgustingly in love with you that he would do anything for you…yet every time he tried to wine and dine you something went amiss. He burnt the chicken the last time, undercooked the burgers the time before, and somehow overcooked a salad before that. This time would be different, he knew it would be. The last times he tried, he wasn’t sure that he was in love with you, but this time? Eddie was in love with you. Tonight he would tell you and make it official, but he needed everything to go right first. Eddie shuffles inside the trailer with the groceries and tosses them onto the counter.

“Your girl coming over tonight?” Eddie’s Uncle Wayne asks while looking over the top of his coffee mug. “Has to be the only reason you would willingly go food shopping. Haven’t helped me in years.”

“C’mon, Wayne. Now isn’t the time for this,” Eddie pulls out all of his purchases from the plastic bags. “You told me you wouldn’t be home, by the way.” Eddie points at his uncle from the kitchen. Wayne rocks back and forth in the recliner that sits in the far side of the living room. Eddie continues to take out the penne pasta, pasta sauce, red wine, vegetables, and other ingredients from the bag and lays them out on the counter. He goes through his mental checklist again and smiles down at his purchases. I remembered it all.

“You making penne vodka?” Wayne asks, moving from his seat into the kitchen. He pushes around Eddie’s collection, taking in all the ingredients. Eddie nods, while his mind races thinking about how you always order penne alla vodka when you go to Enzo’s with your family. “You bought the wrong wine, Son.”

“What?” Eddie blinks harshly at his uncle. “It’s wine, how can it be wrong?”

“You bought a cheap red wine, it’s way too acidic. You need a white wine like a Chardonnay or something.”

“First of all how do you, of all people, know that? Second, shit, shit, shit!” Eddie curses, grabbing at the roots of his hair. “What am I gonna do? She’s gonna be here any minute!”

“Look, I have an old bottle of white in the closet. It’s cheap and pretty much grapejuice, but it could work for you kids.” Wayne crouches down as he digs in the pantry looking for a bottle of wine. “I got it as a work gift, so it can’t be that bad.” He turns the label to Eddie and passes the bottle to him. Eddie releases his breath and puts the wine onto the countertop next to the pasta. He nods in appreciation at his uncle and Wayne smirks at him, “glad I was home now, huh?”

“Dick,” Eddie mutters while Wayne ruffles a hand through Eddie’s hair on his way out of the trailer.

But I got over it and I said

"Give me somethin' old and red"

I pay for it more than I did back then

There's just no gettin' through

Without you

A bottle of rouge

Just me and you

You puff out your cheeks as you put your car into park in front of the Munson trailer. I can do this, just a normal date with my boyfriend. You think as you check your makeup one last time in the rearview mirror. No, it’s not just a date. I’m gonna tell him I love him. Your devil's advocate practically screams. After another minute, you stand from your car and walk up the front steps of the trailer. Raising a fist to the door, you knock against the window pane. Muffled steps come from inside and before you know it a disheveled Eddie whips open the door. “My girl,” he smiles. “You look, God you look amazing.”

You glance down at your sundress and Keds (a favorite combination of Eddie’s), your cheeks burn from his words as you look up at him. “Hi, Eds.” Eddie runs his fingers down your arms and clasps his hands with yours. The smile on his face continues to grow as he pulls you inside his home. “Hi, sweetheart.” Eddie moves his hands from yours and plants them on the sides of your neck, bringing his mouth down to yours. He can’t help but smile into the kiss, his teeth gently scraping your lips. His smile is infectious as you break the kiss, “what’s got you all smiley today?” You ask in between giggles, Eddie continues to pepper kisses all across your face.

“I just–” he shakes his head, “I just missed you.” You can tell he’s lying, but you don’t push him. The two of you step into the kitchen and you notice the small dish towels all over the tile floor. “Uh Eddie?” You ask as you step over the mess on the floor, “what happened here?”

“We’re having pasta so I got red wine, which I now realize is wrong, thanks to Wayne,” Eddie rambles on as he picks up the towels and tosses them into the sink. He gently nudges you back from the mess as he picks up the broken shards of glass, “So Wayne gave me another bottle, but then I- I dropped it.” He shakes his head staring at the ground, “I messed it up again.”

“Eds–” you reach for him, but he doesn’t let you pass the threshold of the kitchen. Just in case the broken glass dares to touch you, Eddie steps towards you, his sneakers crunching against the shards near his feet.

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry I ruined it,” Eddie’s eyes are closed again as he runs his hands through his hair in frustration. “I can’t ever get it right. I just get so nervous, I don’t know how to do this.”

“Hey,” you bend down, trying to meet his eyes that are now focused on the floor. You run your fingers over his curls and tuck them behind his ear, “I’m so over all those white wines anyways”

“Yeah?” He asks, slowly opening his eyes. The deep brown shade of his eyes seems to be even warmer tonight as he looks right into your eyes.

“Yeah, besides I bought wine today,” you reach into your tote on your shoulder. “Figuring you wouldn’t have a clue how to pair wine.” You tease as you place the bottle on the counter behind the two of you.

“God, I love you,” the words slip from Eddie’s mouth before he can stop them.

“What?”

Sittin' in the garden, I'm a couple glasses in

I was tryna count up all the places we've been

You're always there, so don't overthink

I'm so over whites and pinks

“Nothing,” Eddie states, moving back to the kitchen. He rushes over to sweep up the rest of his mess. He turns his attention to the cooked pasta as he drains it into the strainer placed in the sink.

“Eddie–” you try to get him to look back at you.

“I didn’t say anything, nope. Nothing. I’m drunk. Yep, drunk,” Eddie rambles on. You stand behind him as he tosses the pasta in the sauce warming on the stove top.

“Fine,” you huff. “I’ll let it go, for now.” You smile at him and Eddie returns it. He nods in a silent ‘thank you’. You had a feeling that Eddie did love you, but hearing the words directly from him struck you right in the center of your chest. This night meant a lot to him and you could tell his word-vomit just threw him totally off his game. You swallow your pride, knowing you’ll bring the conversation up later and pretend it didn’t happen. “So what’s on the menu?”

“Penne alla Eddie,” he grins as he moves around the pasta, sauce, and vegetables in the pan.

You chuckle at his corny nature, “Alla Eddie? Never heard of it.”

“Yes, that's because I only make it for very special occasions.” Eddie comments as you slip into a stool behind the breakfast bar. Eddie has the sleeves of a button up shirt (presumably one of Wayne’s), rolled up to his elbows, his dark wash jeans are cleaner than you’ve ever seen them and his white sneakers have definitely been scrubbed. His fingers are tapping against his thigh to a song you can’t place, but you know it’s his nervous tick. This is a special occasion. You smile at your boyfriend and the time and effort he took to make tonight special for you both. Eddie continues to cook while you two make small talk about work, Hellfire, and how ridiculous Robin and Steve look in their new Family Video uniforms. Eventually, Eddie finishes with the pasta and flicks off the stove.

“Alright sweetheart,” he smiles at you. “I’m gonna need you to stay here for five minutes. And promise me you won’t peek outside.” Eddie knows how much you hate surprises, but this time you let it go and promise you won’t look. You keep your eyes fixed on the counter, as you hear Eddie shuffling back and forth from the small kitchen to the front door. After a few minutes, Eddie tips your chin up to meet his eye line. You raise your eyebrows at him, “ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he smiles and places a quick kiss on your lips. “C’mon.” Eddie pulls you from the stool in the kitchen, out the front door. You’re confused for only a moment before you notice the elaborate set up. Just a few steps outside of the trailer, Eddie has a wooden picnic table (that he for sure ‘borrowed’ from the communal portion of the trailer park), covered with a sheet and decorated with small tea light candles and flowers. You contain your gasp as you take in the entire scene. He cooked for me and did all of this? Eddie leads you to the table and holds your hand as you take a seat on the wooden bench. Eddie jogs around the other side and sits directly in front of you. There’s two plates of pasta made up for both of you, but you can’t even focus on it as your eyes stay fixed on the flowers. The flowers. In the center of the table sits a perfect bouquet of orange, yellow, pink and red flowers that bring the entire scene together. He bought those for me?

“Is this okay?” Eddie breaks the silence and you pull your focus back to him. He continues, “I know it’s not Enzo’s, but—are you crying?” He stops dead in his tracks. Did he read this all wrong?

“No,” you sniffle trying to hide your emotions. Eddie smiles at your lie, but you continue: “This all just, it’s too much Eds. You didn’t have to do all of this.”

“Yes, I did.” The crease between his eyebrows deepens, “you deserve so much more than this.” He reaches across the table and grabs your hand. His silver rings are cool against your skin, and cause goosebumps as he moves them back and forth over your knuckles. “I know you would never ask for this, or- or even say you like it…so I really hope I’m not getting this all wrong, but I just wanted to show you how much I care about you. About us.” Eddie emphasizes, his hands still fidgeting with yours.

“Eddie, you show me everyday,” you frown at him. You would hate for Eddie to be so worried about the material things in your relationship, when that’s not what you care most about. He releases your hand and pours the wine you brought into the glasses in front of you.

“I wanted to,” Eddie blushes, his head tilted.

“Well,” you smirk at him. “In that case, can we eat? I’m starving.” Eddie’s mushy exterior cracks, bringing forward the ‘normal’ Eddie as he lets go of your hand to grab a fork.

“Thank God you said something first,” he shoves the fork into his plate of pasta. “I didn’t want to be un-gentleman-like.”

I pay for it more than I did back then

There's just no gettin' through

Without you

A bottle of rouge

Just me and you

1982

Just me and you

There's just no gettin' through

The grape juice blues

There’s only a ¼ of the bottle of wine left on the table, two empty bowls where the pasta once was, the candles have been burnt out, and the perfect flowers still sitting in the center. The two of you have moved to the same side of the bench, swapping stories from high school and the time before you knew one another. Eddie throws his head back in a laugh, nearly falling off the picnic bench. “There’s no way,” he choked out in between laughs. “There’s no way you broke Harrington’s nose.”

“It was an accident, but it's true!” You practically yell, swatting his arm. “Do you really think so little of me?” Eddie swings his arm over your shoulders, pulling you tight to his side. He plants a kiss on your temple, “no, I think the world of you. I just also thought more of Harrington.” Your giggles die down when you look at Eddie, who’s already looking at you.

“Hi beautiful,” he smiles, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Hi handsome,” you kiss his jawline causing Eddie to crack into another smile.

“Alright I can do this,” Eddie comments more so to himself than you. You glance up at Eddie through your lashes and give his hand a tight squeeze in yours. “Y'know I went to the store today completely clueless about what flowers I should get you?” Your eyes move from his face to the collection of flowers set in the center of the table. “I was so lost, but then Stacy—”

“Stacy?” You lean up with an eyebrow raised.

“Irrelevant,” he dismisses your teasing. “She asked me what your favorite color was. And instead of giving her a simple answer like orange, yellow, red…I went on this tangent about how much you love sunsets. This poor girl was just trying to do her job and there I was talking about you.” You press another kiss to his jaw, encouraging Eddie to keep talking. “I’m just so overwhelmed by the idea that you’re mine that I have to make sure everyone knows. I love how you always look at the sky and try to find constellations. I love how you always make us stop to watch the sunset. I love how you wear outfits I casually mention I like. I love how you let me ramble on about D&D even though you don’t have a clue what’s going on,” he smirks into your hair. “I love how you bring wine because you knew I’d mess up. I love how you don’t care if our dates are here or out somewhere.” Eddie releases a big sigh into your neck before lifting his head up to look at you. He brings his hands up to the sides of your face, brushing his ring-clad fingers over your cheeks. “I love all of that stuff because I love you.” You both don’t say anything for a moment, Eddie’s confession hanging in the air. The crickets around the trailer park crip to fill the silence, but the longer you don’t say anything the longer Eddie grows restless. “Look you don’t...Fuck. You don’t have to say anything,” Eddie releases your hand and wipes his palms on his jeans. “I just wanted you to know.”

“Eddie,” you grab his wrist and trace his veins with your finger tips. “I was so nervous coming over here tonight because I wanted to tell you that I love you too. I nearly passed out climbing the three steps into the trailer.” A smile creeps onto Eddie’s face as you continue to talk, “I don’t know how long I’ve loved you, but it feels like I always have. Like it’s always been just me and you. I love you, Eddie.” His brown eyes seem clearer than ever when he reaches up and pulls your face to his. His lips catch yours effortlessly in a messy, love-filled kiss.

“Say it again,” Eddie smiles against your mouth.

“I love y—”, you are cut off Eddie’s giddy kisses again. His hands run over your sides prompting you to straddle him on the bench. “Eddie,” you giggle as he continues to kiss all over your skin. He doesn’t leave an inch of your face and neck untouched. “Baby,” you finally get his attention with a pet name.

“Yes, my love.” He answers, his mouth plump from kisses.

“Can we go inside?”

“Fuck yes,” Eddie hops up from the bench, practically dragging you with him. You both make it to the front door before you pull away from him. Quickly you hop down the stairs grabbing your array of flowers in their vase. “My flowers,” you smile back at him. Eddie’s eyes never leave you and they practically sparkle as he watches you carefully bring them inside. You set the flowers on the counter, Eddie close behind you as he plants a kiss on your collar bone. “Thank you,” he mumbles against your skin.

“Why are you thanking me?” You ask him, turning around to face Eddie properly.

“I know you heard me say that I loved you before, but you waited until I did my whole, huh…speech?” He says as if it’s more of a question. You wrap your arms around his torso and kiss his chest. Eddie rests his chin on top of your head as you both stand in the kitchen.

“How many times did you practice it?”

“So many times,” Eddie grins into your hair. “Wayne started giving me pointers. He told me to leave out the fact that ‘I love the noises you make when we—’”

Eddie is cut off by you muffling his mouth with your hand. “You did not tell Wayne that,” your eyes are wide while you release his mouth.

“Nah I didn’t, but I would love to hear those noises now…” Eddie's hands trail down your sides as he lifts you. You wrap your legs around his waist, letting him carry you to his bedroom. “Don’t press your luck, Munson.”

“Eh,” Eddie shrugs under your arms, the smile on his lips never wavering. “I’m feeling pretty lucky today.”

✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩ ✩

I’m such a sucker for the “say it again”-trope I’ll literally punch a whole thru my wall <3 anyways, I didn’t know how to end this so my apologies, but I love Eddie :””

next in the series: as it was - s.h. (coming saturday!)

✭ masterlist ✭ requests

#eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x you #eddie munson writing #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fics #st x harrys house #Grapejuice

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gffa · 2 years

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Can you believe I’ve been reading non-stop STAR WARS fic for about seven years now? And that there are still incredible writers putting out incredible stories that feel just as fresh and engaging as they would have when the source material first came out? Yeah, sure, we get a steady diet of supplementary content, but the main storyline is almost 20 years old now and we’re still going with these two dipshits and how much we desperately need them to kiss it out. With fic that is brilliantly written and emotionally satisfying and cool as hell AUs and gorgeously written porn and running such a great gamut of tropes, whether canon divergent AUs, canon compliant missing scenes, character pieces, full on modern AUs, there’s always so much amazing stuff being thought up and shared with us. And I have lost my mind over this set of recs because they’re everything I’ve ever wanted and the writers are so talented at giving me all the feelings, like, I cannot express what a joy it is to be in a fandom that is still so passionate and enthusiastic about these characters we love. There’s no corner of these two that we would not turn over if it meant a chance to write some angst or write a fix-it or have them fuck it better. And I’m just really, really glad to be a part of it with everyone. Even if you guys did make me cry more than once with these fics.

WHAT KIND OF FIC YOU’LL FIND HERE:

FRIENDSHIP WITH CANON ENDED, THIS COOL AU IS MY NEW BEST FRIEND NOW

CANON-COMPLIANT (-ISH, WHATEVER) AT LEAST UP UNTIL THE GALAXY GOES PEAR-SHAPED

FUCK THE NOISE OUT OF ANAKIN SKYWALKER’S HEAD

DARTH ASSHOLE CAT KNOCKS EVERYTHING OVER AND SCRATCHES UP THE FURNITURE BECAUSE HE NEEDS MORE ENRICHMENT

WORLD IS HARD AND COLD, OBIKIN IS SOFT AND WARM

WHEN YOU’RE IN THIS DEEP YOU JUST NEED MODERN PROFESSOR OBI-WAN OR SUGAR BABY ANAKIN AUS AND FANDOM IS SO GOOD WITH THEM

OBIKIN RECS - FRIENDSHIP WITH CANON ENDED, THIS COOL AU IS MY NEW BEST FRIEND NOW: ✦ (feel like i die) ‘til i feel your touch by decideophobia, obi-wan/anakin & yoda & mace & ahsoka & cast, 15.5k OR; Obi-Wan gets himself cursed and makes it everyone’s, but mainly Anakin’s, problem. ✦ Neutron star collision by thedunesea, obi-wan/anakin & cast, NSFW, canon divergence, 107.1k wip In the aftermath of Order 66, Anakin Skywalker’s miraculous survival after his confrontation with the new Sith Apprentice Darth Vader ignites a sparkle of hope in the remaining Jedi, in the fledgling rebellion and, above all, in his former Master, who thought he had lost everything to darkness. ✦ For He, too, is King by MayMeows, obi-wan/anakin & padme & cast, NSFW, historical au, 7.7k Obi-Wan would be impressed as Anakin’s title as God-King, born from the divine himself, often struck people with awe, terrifying or glorifying, but Queen Amidala’s voice is as strong as her shoulders are squared. ✦ cranes in flight by TheGoodDoctor, obi-wan/padme (& implications of obi-wan/anakin/padme & previous anakin/padme), depression, padme lives, 10.9k “I’ve found us rooms for tonight,” he says, voice pitched to cut through the downpour. “I’ll find something more permanent in the morning.” She just stares at him. The next five minutes are far from her reach; permanency is unthinkable. ✦ use my body to break your fall by tennessoui, obi-wan/anakin & padme & yoda & ahsoka & mace & rex & palpatine & cast, NSFW, sith!obi-wan, sex worker!anakin, 63.5k Obi-Wan Kenobi is too good at being a Sith Lord general of the Separatist army. The Jedi Council approaches Anakin with an offer he can’t refuse. These things are, actually, related. ✦ Awed by ToolMusicLover, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 16.8k Or: Obi-Wan is left awe struck when he joins Anakin on a mission and fails to be subtle about it. ✦ The fire and fume by Himboskywalker, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 9.3k On opposite ends of the Republic Anakin and Obi-Wan have fought desperately and apart for years, protected only by their men and their swords. But a much greater threat than Separatist invaders comes, a Sith dragon of old, and there is only one living knight in the Order who has faced dragon fire. Long parted master and apprentice must join forces to track down the Sith shifter, beyond the desert and across the sea, before flame and ruin befalls them all. “Lend me your light and your sword, master, one last time.” ✦ Something broken that can be fixed by ToolMusicLover, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 8.2k In the aftermath of the Rako Hardeen incident, Anakin and Obi-Wan attempt to rebuild their relationship. The only thing stopping them from reconciling is themselves. ✦ what tomorrow may bring, what tomorrow may carry away by tennessoui, obi-wan/anakin, nsfw, royalty au, a/b/o, 12.4k As weeks of negotiations in Stewjon draw to a close, King Obi-Wan Kenobi is given a gift of thanks. The gift in question: a boy with a creature’s furry ears and tail, clearly sentient and clearly enslaved. Furious beyond measure, Obi-Wan is forced to accept the gift or else be the reason the boy, Anakin, is sent back to his owners. At least he can free him and the boy can leave. But then he doesn’t leave. It takes Obi-Wan a while to figure out why. ✦ encode by loosingletters, obi-wan/anakin & padme & dooku & ahsoka & cast, 72.7k Instead of being accepted into the Jedi Order at the age of 9, Anakin Skywalker became a ward of Naboo. He figured out the Force on his own by trial-and-error, tracing its will through ancient temples and scriptures. Despite his night terrors and the Clone Wars raging through the galaxy, life was working out just fine for Anakin, thank you very much. At least, that was before Obi-Wan Kenobi crashed back into his life with unexpected ferocity. OBIKIN RECS - CANON-COMPLIANT (-ISH, WHATEVER) AT LEAST UP UNTIL THE GALAXY GOES PEAR-SHAPED: ✦ broken bones, thunder drums by maragny, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & rex & cast, 4.3k “I’ll call for a stretcher,” Rex says, but General Kenobi shakes his head. "There’s no need,” he says, and then he crouches, slides an arm under General Skywalker’s knees, and picks him up. ✦ full of silver moons by beetlesacquired, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, sith!obi-wan/jedi!anakin & jedi!obi-wan/sith!anakin, dom/sub, 17.1k The Sith resumed their position on the couch, somehow even closer to each other than before. If making Anakin uncomfortable was somehow part of their evil plot, it was working. He could hardly even look at them without feeling like he was going to explode out of his skin, and that was the most bearable part. What was unbearable was the vicious jealousy that burned in his chest. If he’d known that all he had to do to get affection from Obi-Wan was fall to the Dark side, he would’ve done it ages ago. ✦ Over and Over by obiwanobi, obi-wan/anakin, 1.4k "I love you,” he blurts out, loud and impossible to miss. Obi-Wan blinks once, twice. And freezes. The first time Anakin tells him is a mortifying experience. OBIKIN RECS - FUCK THE NOISE OUT OF ANAKIN SKYWALKER’S HEAD: ✦ on sep'rate stars by mysticmjolnir, obi-wan/anakin/padme (& obi-wan/anakin), NSFW, dom/sub, 4.4k Obi-Wan visits Coruscant for the first time, but there’s only one thing he’s interested in seeing. Anakin, after some encouragement, makes a decision about who to have dinner with. ✦ Concupiscent by LostLine, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 3k Obi-Wan can’t stop fucking Anakin. A one-shot pwp to feed your Obikin feelings. ✦ Devotion by Padraigen, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, past pregnant!anakin (force shenanigans), 4.3k Anakin’s head jerked up in bewildered indignance, a disappointed grumble already readying in the back of his throat before it was abruptly cut off at the sight of Obi-Wan. Anakin’s confused frown deepened. “What are you doing?” ✦ needs must by silianrail, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, a/b/o, 1.7k Anakin must be the neediest omega in the entire temple, if not on the entire planet. But if Anakin is needy, what does that make Obi-Wan, who, after all, bends to so many of his padawan’s desires? ✦ Use Me by kittimau, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 2.1k Anakin knows what Obi-Wan needs, even if he won’t say it. ✦ When You’re Not There by recursion_after_dark (recursion_error), obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 3k Following a mission gone well, Anakin and Obi-Wan are exhausted and at the end of their ropes. Ropes which have nothing to do with the mission and everything to do with what they’ve been both ignoring. Each in his own, special way. ✦ Mission Debrief by Lemon (lemon_sprinkles), obi-wan/anakin & cast, 5.8k Obi-Wan tries to act in a professional manner befitting of a General and a Jedi. Anakin, however, has other ideas. ✦ radiance by demi_fae, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, a/b/o, 2.8k Anakin and Obi-Wan spend some time together before Obi-Wan’s rut hits, after Anakin has fully transitioned. ✦ paddled into next taungsday by RexIsMyCopilot, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, spanking, 4.7k Anakin messes up negotiations. Obi-Wan deals with the aftermath. ✦ untitled by binaryeclipse, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, modern au, ~1k “Fuck, did you get bigger?” Anakin groaned. The burn was simultaneously exquisite and just shy of too much, especially after the admittedly hasty fingering. ✦ i’ve been waiting for you by RexIsMyCopilot, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, dom/sub, 4.2k Anakin and Obi-Wan’s relationship is relatively new and Anakin is unsure of how to ask for what he wants. ✦ Carrier by JSwander, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, a/b/o, read the tags, 3.3k Anakin Skywalker gets pulled from active duty by the Jedi Council as a punishment for reckless behavior on his most recent mission. In the resulting fight with his former master, Obi-Wan Kenobi decides to take drastic measures through his Stewjonian biology to help Anakin find peace away from the battlefield. ✦ Persistence is Key by ToolMusicLover, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 2.2k Anakin has been making suggestive remarks all day, when they’re finally alone together Obi-Wan finds himself succumbing to Anakin’s persistence. ✦ forever my master by RexIsMyCopilot, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, dom/sub, 3.6k Anakin sits on Obi-Wan’s cock while he reads mission reports. That’s it. That’s the fic. OBIKIN RECS - DARTH ASSHOLE CAT KNOCKS EVERYTHING OVER AND SCRATCHES UP THE FURNITURE BECAUSE HE NEEDS MORE ENRICHMENT: ✦ to restrain the darkness by treescape, obi-wan/darth vader, NSFW, 2k Vader wants Obi-Wan to tie him up ✦ dreams of old by treescape, obi-wan/darth vader, nsfw, canon divergence, 4.1k Or, Obi-Wan surrenders to Vader on Jabiim in exchange for everyone else’s freedom. ✦ falling up by obiwanobi & shatou, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & cast, raised as a sith!anakin, 24k wip Darth Sidious is dead, by the hand of the apprentice he raised. Anakin doesn’t want to be Vader anymore. The only person he trusts is a Jedi, and now Obi-Wan Kenobi has his hands full. ✦ untitled by obiwanobi, obi-wan/anakin, raised as a sith!anakin, 2.4k “I’m here to rescue you.” Obi-Wan blinks. “Oh. No, thank you.” ✦ to hold until brightness by treescape, obi-wan/darth vader, NSFW, 1.4k Or, Obi-Wan continues to fuck Vader back to the Light. OBIKIN RECS - WORLD IS HARD AND COLD, OBIKIN IS SOFT AND WARM: ✦ who you were does not define who you are by RexIsMyCopilot, obi-wan/anakin, nsfw, 3.3k Anakin begins skipping strategy meetings and lying to Obi-Wan about it. Obi-Wan finds out. ✦ For Breakfast by Crowgirl, obi-wan/anakin, 2.6k The house by the lake is small, primitive compared with their Academy lodgings, but it’s also quiet, blissfully quiet and far away from anything that might turn into a battle or an ambush or a skirmish or even a brawl. ✦ So I Love You Because I Know No Other Way by DontCallMeShirley, obi-wan/anakin, 3.2k Anakin and Obi-Wan just need a little push to admit their feelings. ✦ Morning Interlude by SingManyFaces, obi-wan/anakin, ~1k Obi-Wan and Anakin sleep late by accident, then stay in bed on purpose. ✦ And Then There Was One (Bed) by DontCallMeShirley, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 1.7k Obi-Wan and Anakin are on a mission gone wrong, and they have to share a very small hotel room with only one bed. ✦ the taste of fear, unforgotten by treescape, obi-wan/anakin, ~1k Or, Anakin’s been sick. Obi-Wan’s been scared. ✦ Just Resting My Eyes by hellowkatey, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka & rex, 1.2k During a war, sleep is few and far between sometimes. Especially for stubborn Jedi who think meditation is a substitute for a REM cycle. ✦ permission to speak frankly by maragny, obi-wan/anakin & bail & cast, 2.8k In which a Senate party is attended, wits are matched, and a realisation is had. OBIKIN RECS - WHEN YOU’RE IN THIS DEEP YOU JUST NEED MODERN PROFESSOR OBI-WAN OR SUGAR BABY ANAKIN AUS AND FANDOM IS SO GOOD WITH THEM: ✦ The Fundamentals of Being a Sub by RexIsMyCopilot, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, dom/sub, 7.8k Anakin had always assumed he was a Dom. That is, until he met Obi-Wan ✦ My Anankē (chapter 8) by intermundia, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, modern au, 5.4k Hello friends! It is my birthday today, and the middle of summer, and in honor of that, have some extremely self-indulgent winter smut ✦ In the Family by Das_Hazel, obi-wan/anakin & qui-gon/shmi & ahsoka & rex, NSFW, modern au, 12k The last person Anakin expected to see, standing in front of his childhood home with a bottle of wine, was his one night stand from a week prior. Anakin was here to meet his mother’s boyfriend and his son. Ben said he was invited to meet his father’s girlfriend’s family. ✦ Parry & Riposte by farawaygalexi, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka, modern au, 2.6k When Anakin encouraged Ahsoka to try out a sport, he meant like, soccer, or swimming. Not sword fighting. When Anakin envisioned Ahsoka’s new fencing instructor, he pictured an old guy with a mustache, not a walking Adonis pulled right from his own personal fantasies. ✦ Trouble by Pizzzazlut, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, modern au, ~1k Obi-Wan enjoys a lovely dinner and his lovely wine at a fancy restaurant, watching Anakin visibly struggle to keep his composure, wiping sweat off his brow and gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles turn white. ✦ May Be Found, If Sought by ghostwriterofthemachine, obi-wan/anakin & mace & quinlan, modern au, magic au, 2.3k In which Quinlan, Mace, and Obi-Wan teach Non-Traditional Magical Philosophy in an institution rampant with academic snobbery and discrimination, something dark is stirring in the nearby forest, and no one is ever prepared for Anakin Skywalker. A small story about first meetings in magical academia. ✦ Talk to me by ToolMusicLover, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 4.2k Recording an audiobook can be horribly dull, but Anakin finds that he doesn’t mind when he gets to ogle Obi-Wan Kenobi. ✦ infinitely varied by loosingletters, obi-wan/anakin & ahsoka, modern au, 2.2k Sometimes your husband decides to develop an artificial intelligence capable of free choice and something called a soul and succeeds in the middle of a Thursday night. Or, more concretely: he’s in the middle of succeeding because said intelligence first has to learn how to speak. Also known as Obi-Wan and Anakin teach a tiny program called A.H.S.O.K.A. how to be something more than lines of code via the power of linguistics.

#obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #padme amidala #obikin #obianidala #fic recs #star wars fic recs

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littlethingwithfeathers · 3 months

Text

I'm grumpy about Silent Hill again...

TW for discussions of suicide, self harm, abuse (both parent to child and amongst peers) and general spookiness. Y'know... the usual Silent Hill rigmarole of trauma and despair. Also be warned that I'm going to spoil a lot of the Silent Hill series, in particular Silent Hill 2 and the Short Message game that just came out. ***

So... one of my most popular posts out there is this one. It's about Pyramid head and the loss of subtlety in media. And I couldn't help but feel like we hadn't moved an inch from when I posted that back in... *checks date on post* hrrk. my bones... 2017. I'm going to die soon. Anyway. Today I watched Second Wind do a run of the short, free-to-play Silent Hill: Short Message. I admittedly had a good bit of trepidation going in just because of the marketing. Which, for all of you marketing majors out there, that is called "Not a good sign." Marketing should make you want to play a game... especially if you're a fan of the series already. But this... it was a bit of a wet blanket, largely due to the fact that it spoiled a lot of the focus of the game. It basically said "this is a game about how bullying and being chronically online is real bad. We're gonna be spooky about it now." And... straining to push aside how incredibly reductive that is... why give it away? Why say it out loud? Why did you tell us what you are doing? Can you imagine Silent Hill 2 if we'd known it was about James killing his wife from the jump? We didn't. We hadn't the first clue. We knew nothing other than that he was looking for her and she was maybe dead? But we didn't know how... possibly lung cancer or TB given that she had the most pointed coughing sequence since the movie Tombstone. And hey... the last game had someone looking for a loved one too. Maybe that's the deal with Silent Hill. Who knows? No one did at that point. It was still a big old mystery for the most part. And then the E3 trailer... like there's the weird pretty lady in jail? But what's she talking about? Who the fuck is Mary? Is that... his wife? Well then who the hell is Ms. Miniskirt? No wait... is that his wife in the VHS tape? What the hell is going on? Oh look gameplay! And... a little girl? And a weird guy with a gun... This soundtrack slaps. I'm gonna go see if it's up on Napster yet. (this was 2001... again... my bones etc) I remember combing over low-res copies of that video for HOURS when it came out. Why are the nurses different? It's not snowing? Who are all these people... And why do they all sound like they put ketamine in their coffee. It was like a great big puzzle to work out and we had a ball theorizing and researching so when it came out we were HYPE. And that was largely because in short... we knew SOME things at release. Fog. Nurses. Big stick. Weird people. Banger soundtrack. Dead (but probably not) wife. And we presumed or supposed more... cult activity? New beasties? Radio maybe? But we effectively knew nothing about the plot. And the best part was, while they had a solid hook (Find dead lady who we love so huggy buggy much) and instant intrigue (Angela in the cemetery being weirder than a film by David Lynch), and a very familiar setting (we may have improved draw distance on the PS2, but we don't have to use it!), we still didn't really know what was going on. The plot was essentially unfolding out of a black box. Silent Hill 2 was quite content to be a slower burn than trying to boil the Lake Superior with a signal flare. You don't even see the main "villain" Pyramid Head until a few hours in and, as I pointed out in that other post, there's no flashy cut scene to introduce him and go WOOOOOO SCARYYYYY. He's just chillin' behind some prison bars (which that totes is normal in an apartment complex) and staring at you like I stare at the inside of my fridge when I really would like some cheese to materialize.

And then... like we're not even really sure what the hell is going on for the longest time. We meet our wife's hot twin with the key to a strip club and she keeps getting killed over and over... and things keep getting increasingly rapey and lewd in a way that's just uncomfortable more than anything... But even at the end. Even with the big reveal of "You killed your wife." they still don't ever explicitly state "And you killed her because you couldn't have sex with her anymore." It wasn't until you finished the game, and talked to someone else about it, or let your brain cook on it for a bit that you went... heyyyy... he's a horndog! (In fact... if I'm going to chide SH2 for anything it's that right at the very VERY end they tried to frame James's actions as understandable because the woman who was dying and frightened and in pain was mean to him. Yes, being a caretaker is hard. But Christ... pick a topic for discussion.) But contrast all that with Short Message. The marketing and such all said out loud "THIS IS ABOUT BULLYING" so even going in... I was already like "yep. The bully is probably us, but we had reasons because we have to be complicated and you aren't allowed to make the player feel bad" And lo was I correct. There was no... intrigue. I was never curious about the character or the people around her because I knew this story. They already told me what story they were telling so I could practically sing along, especially as a millennial that had to grow up watching little videos and skits in school about the evils of bullying. And when you are going to tell a trope-ish story, and you tell the audience what the trope is, it becomes "say the line" writ large. This isn't me advocating for super twisty unexpected plot arcs (looking at you, Supernatural). Far from it. You absolutely should tell a story in such a way that the audience understands how you got from point A to point Z, even if there are some surprises along the way (See Sixth Sense for that masterclass). Rather, what I'm missing from this (and frankly a lot of the Silent Hill games and honestly... media in general these days) is a sense of restraint. A sense of trust in their audience to "get it." They can't just plonk us in the fog with a radio and a stick and say "You're here to find your best friend/dog/cousin/wife/business partner. Good luck. Here's a weirdo to prattle cryptically at you in order to unsettle you immediately. Bye!" No! They have to tell us what kind of story they're telling and what themes are important. They can't just... give us a Silent Hill Game and trust that we know what to do with it. It's... insulting frankly. Especially as a longtime fan of the franchise who remembers when they did trust us and they did have faith in their work. I will say this in compliment to Short Message. The environment design was pretty cool. Especially the sticky-note hallways... they looked like leaves... and sometimes teeth... and like tightly packed bones in an ossuary. It didn't... say anything really. But it looked cool. And you can't go wrong with Akira Yamaoka's soundtrack. But... while I'm on the subject of design. Y'all. An animate sakura tree in an oversized hoodie is not scary. But bless you for at least having the restraint to not make her Pyramid Head.

#silent hill #silent hill 2 #silent hill 4 #silent hill short message #horror #writing #story telling #suspense #video games #video game design #horror games

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rxgirlie · 6 months

Text

The Girl Next Door part II

Pairing: Jeryd Mencken x OFC

Warnings: dubious content, drug use, voyeurism, age gap, mentions of death, masturbation. Minors DNI

A/N: Look at me posting back to back! I have no clue how long this series will be, nor do I have any idea of how frequently I’ll be posting. Inspiration has been coming in waves, tbh, and I’m quite literally riding the wave. Also, if you’ve watched Scandal, I swear I didn’t steal OC’s name from their main character. It’s a name I’ve been in love with since I was a kid. Do not come for me. I am fragile.

WC: 2490

Of all the things that had changed in the time I had been away, the old wooden dock stayed the same, in its rightful place, bobbing directly in between the divide of property lines. I had imagined that when Ms. McGoven died, her children quickly went through her things. Auctioning off what they deemed unsuitable to their tastes, while quickly listing the house for sale. They seemed to be a covetous lot, so it came as a huge surprise to me when my mother informed me that the dock stayed in possession of my family and the new neighbors, The Menckens.

I had spent most of the day sprawled out on the dock, idling between sunbathing and getting lost amongst the tattered pages of an old novel. The sound of the waves lapping against the inlet across the way lulled me into a state of contentedness, so much so that I had failed to notice the bright sky change and shift above me, its cotton candy tone now reflecting against the shifting waves set out before me as the sun began its descent.

I was awestruck by the simplicity of the beauty around me. Flipping a tattered corner on the page, I snapped the book shut and deposited it down into my bag. I absentmindedly dug out my wallet, sliding my pointer finger along the ridges of the change section until I found the joint and lighter at the bottom of the compartment. I lit it up happily, lying flat down on my back for the optimal view of the ever changing sky. A few moments passed before I heard someone speak from the bank behind me.

“Are you smoking pot on my dock?”

I sat up in an instant, my cheeks flushing red as I thought of every possible lie I could float to him in an effort to get out of this.

“No,” I lied. A plume of smoke billowed from my mouth, effectively betraying me.

When I turned around, he didn’t look angry. He appeared amused. His hands were tucked in the pocket of his slacks as his simple white tee held snugly to his middle as the wind blew in our direction.

I bobbed along with the dock as he stepped down from the bank to stand beside where I was sitting. He looked down at me with a smirk.

“I think you are.” He crouched down beside me and plucked the joint from my mouth. When he brought it to his mouth and sharply inhaled, I stared at him with wonder.

“Tastes like pot.” His voice went up a few octaves as he inhaled as deeply as he could. He never took his eyes off me as he exhaled above my head. He observed the joint in his hands, hitting it again as he watched me.

I felt small under his gaze. Like he knew something I didn’t. And with the newfound intensity now occupying the space around us, I needed to move, to cut the tension I felt was due to my increasing paranoia. I surely hadn’t been this worked up a few days ago when I served him at The Marina. When he slid a twenty in my hand and asked for my name, ensuring he would be back to sit in my section again.

He watched me carefully as I leaned forward onto my knees, running my hands through the water. When he went to hand the joint back to me, I wiped my hands along the top of my swimsuit, finding myself gobsmacked when the material didn’t soak up the water on my hands the way I had intended for it to.

“I… can’t?” I held up my hands and shrugged. He laughed at me.

“Here,” he offered, and I watched as he puffed on the joint again. His free hand tilted my face upward towards his, gently cupping my jaw as he pursed his lips and blew the smoke gently at my mouth. It took me a second to register exactly what was happening and I was quick to settle on my knees in front of him, happily welcoming the smoke into my mouth.

When he did it again, I let my fingers dance across his cheek, making a home directly over his cheekbone as a way to ground myself as the dock moved back and forth with the waves.

The intimacy of the moment wasn’t lost on me as I opened my eyes to look into his. They were a violent shade of blue, the golden hour appearing to make them almost glow.

“It’s definitely pot.” He confirmed with a toothy grin, stubbing the joint out on the side of the dock. “I’m taking it with me.”

“What?!” I guffawed, mouth open wide at the audacity of this man. “You can’t just rob me like that!”

“I can and I did.” He turned around and began his trek back up the bank to his house.

“I’ll think of it as a housewarming gift.” He turned around and gave me a smirk.

I didn’t argue back, choosing to huff frustratedly instead, lying back down on the dock, thinking of how I could get even with him

——————————————————————

“No one told me she died.” I sipped at the steaming French roast as I eyed her.

“Who are you talking about?” My mother mimicked me from across the bar, blowing away the steam as she relished the decadent scent.

“Mrs. McGoven.” I nodded my head towards the bay window. The same bay window that had sat in Mrs. McGoven’s house, always open with various potted plants on its sill, now sporting closed curtains. I surmised the Mencken’s were private people, the vast opposite of Mrs. McGoven who liked to open her curtains and blinds as the sun rose each day. Oftentimes I’d catch her smiling at me as I idled around the kitchen.

“Oh, yeah.” She shrugged her shoulders, “her kids had the funeral back in New Haven.”

“It was quick, honestly. They had the house cleared out and on the market by March and it sold in April.”

“Right,” I nodded, pushing around a paper clip that had fallen off the stack of mail jammed carefully between the bread box and roll of paper towels.

“He takes our trash cans to the curb every Wednesday,” she told me, as if I was supposed to know who he is.

“Him, the new neighbor,” it’s her turn to nod her head at the Mencken’s closed window.

“He, uh, he came to The Marina the other night, right before closing,” I told her, plucking off a piece of skin from a Granny Smith apple that sat lonely in the fruit basket across from me, “he tipped me more than what his entire bill was.”

“Well, maybe he felt bad about coming in right before closing.” She offered with a shrug and I snorted, wanting to comment that he doesn’t seem like the type of person to give two shits about that sort of thing, but who am I to judge? He only stole my weed with a snarky smile and a sarcastic tone. Surely Mrs. McGoven wouldn’t have stolen my weed.

Mrs. McGoven also didn’t look like that. She definitely didn’t speak to me like that.

“Right, well,” she sighed heavily, “I’m back on night shift until I leave for my trip this weekend, so I’m taking a Xanax and sleeping until dinner time.” She looked over at me and continued, “I’m so glad you decided against being a doctor.”

——————————————————————

A familiar tap on my window jolted my attention away from The Godfather before I walked each apprehensive step towards the sound. I flung the window open, grabbing Evan’s hand, hoisting him over the sill.

“What the fuck?”

He stood up and dusted his shirt off, “been a while since I’ve done that. Wanted to know if I still had it in me.”

I was unimpressed. Chronically so, but more acutely as I stared at him.

“You don’t have to come through the window anymore. We’re literally adults.” I told him, “plus it’s just me here. Mom is pulling night call again.”

“Right, well,” he rocked awkwardly back and forth on his heels, hands shoved deeply in his pockets, “nice to see you too.” He admitted with a tone of sarcasm and I smiled at him.

“Sorry, I, uh, was busy.”

He looked at the TV and then back at me, giving me a look that signaled he saw through my bullshit.

An hour or so later, I found myself on my back, him hovering above me, my nails grazing the taut skin over his ribs as he nipped and grazed at my collarbone. Evan was familiar in a way that seasonal allergies were familiar- annoying but expected. The sex was always mediocre and the one time I had pretended to cum when we were sixteen had bonded us in the weirdest way possible. Sure, it felt good, but so did scratching a mosquito bite.

He knew me well, adjusting and flipping us over so I had full access to take over. As I began to ride him reversed, I glanced out the window. Surely I had curtains before my mother decided to switch our rooms while I was away. I hadn’t noticed the lack thereof until then, when a shadow appeared in the window across the way from mine, his silhouette glowing in the break of light beaming in from behind him.

If there had been a logical part of me bigger than the lustful, ravenous part, I would have surely climbed off of Evan and covered myself. But the hunger won and in the brink of a second, I pulled my shirt over my head and flung it away from me. I was quite literally exposed to my voyeur then, the only glimpse of him that I could make out in the darkness was the occasional reveal of his profile as he moved his face around, angling his head for the most optimal view, I supposed. Maybe he was as ravenous and lustful as me. The thought spurred me on physically as I touched myself, dragging a lone finger between the valley of my breasts to the crest of my pubic bone. Evan surely noticed the change in my enthusiasm, bringing his hands to my hips, yelping shrilly when I swatted them away. I didn’t want him to touch me. Not while he was watching.

Then, out of nowhere, I felt it. The familiar gush of heat in my lower belly. I had gotten there myself plenty of times. Never with a man. And never ever like this. I rode it out, waiting patiently for it to wash over me. I watched as his hand pressed flat against the window, his other hand, well, I figured was busy given the fluid movement of his bicep and shoulder.

Just like that, it was over. I descended back down the valley, having never fully reached the peak. At least two out of three of us got to cum, I thought to myself.

The best thing about Evan was that he didn’t linger. We redressed in silence and I waited for him in the hallway outside of my bedroom door. We exchanged a quick goodbye at the front doorstep and I waited until his headlights disappeared down the road before locking the door behind me. I meandered slowly into the kitchen for no other reason than to peruse the cabinets and refrigerator out of a place of boredom. When I came up empty, I allowed myself to sink down in one of the dining room chairs, the gravity of the situation finally raining down on me. It wasn’t every day I fucked solely for the neighbor’s pleasure.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by a constant red glow appearing at the dock. I squinted, focusing on it deeply as it brightened and dimmed over the course of fifteen seconds, never completely going out. Without thinking, I marched dutifully to the back door, across the pavement in the pool area, clasping the gate closed gently behind me, and walked carefully on bare feet down the bank.

“Are you smoking pot on my dock?” I mocked him, parroting his words from the previous day.

“No,” he turned his head to face me, a smirk pulling at his lips, “I’m smoking pot on my dock.”

“You’re on my side,” I told him, “this,” I moved to stand on the side opposite of him, “is your side.”

“You should be a land surveyor,” he remarked with a dry laugh, “if you’re half as good at dividing property lines as you are at faking orgasms, the town could definitely use your help.”

I sighed heavily, thankful that we were shrouded in darkness given the deep blush I could feel creeping up my neck.

“Oh, don’t get all shy on me now,” he chided, “it was a good show.”

I sat down beside him, our thighs touching as my feet swayed above the water.

“Not my finest moment,” I remarked, taking the joint from his slender fingers.

“No complaining from me. I thought it was weird that an old lady would live in a house that big, all alone for all those years, but now it makes sense.” He snickered.

“That’s fucking sick and twisted.” I grimaced as I handed the joint back to him. A cloud of smoke gushed out of his mouth as he laughed at me.

"Yeah, that might be true,” he countered, “but so are you.”

There was no argument there. I had enjoyed him watching me as much as he had enjoyed watching. It was a weird symbiotic episode we had shared, my curiosity piquing at him as his eyes roamed my face, wondering if this was his norm, or if, god forbid, this would be my new norm. Relegated to being The Girl Next Door who gave weekly peep shows for the price of sexual satisfaction to a man old enough to be my father.

Of course, I said none of these things. But the way he looked at me clued me into the fact that he might just be a mind reader. Either that, or maybe, just maybe, I had been running circles in his mind too.

When I handed the joint back to him, he licked his pointer finger and thumb, mashing the cherry out between his grip.

“What’s Liv short for anyway?” He asked, alluding back to the day at The Marina where he had asked my name, “Olive? Livestrong? Liver?”

“Live and let die,” I joked, “Olivia, obviously.”

He nodded, a hum of approval sliding past his lips. “You look like an Olivia.”

“Just Liv.” I corrected him.

“Well, Just Liv,” he stood, holding his hand out to me, pulling me to my feet, “buy some fucking curtains.”

With the events of the night, I wondered if we were even yet.

#jeryd mencken fic #jeryd mencken fanfiction #jeryd mencken x ofc #jeryd mencken x original female character #jeryd mencken #justin kirk

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bandgie · 5 days

Note

Can you make smut of Clayton from Tarzan (From 1999 ofc)? He’s so hot OML I need him so badly

MDNI18+ | fem!reader, age gap, pussy play, PIV, no protection, cumming inside, manhandling, ass slap (once), light choking, gun mention in the beginning, terms like 'old cock' & 'young pussy', reader says it hurts once

3.2k words

There’s absolutely no reason for you to be attracted to him. He’s rude, arrogant…older. So much older than you that you can see the streaks of gray on the sides of his head. Had you never gone on this trip for your university project, you would have never met him. You would have never felt the way you’re feeling right now.

And gosh, you’re feeling it.

Mr. Clayton’s busy shining his gun. With a soft rag, he runs the material up and down the barrel. He gets to the muzzle, dipping his fingers deeply where the bullets come out. You can’t help but stare at his fat digits fingering the muzzle. In and out, in and out. Your stomach dips, and a small whimper leaves your lips.

“I’m sorry?”

“Huh?” You turn your head to Jane. She’s staring at you with her bright, green eyes. Jane is nice, polite. The only girl here other than yourself. She tilts her head to the side, “I thought you said something.”

You nervously tuck a strand of hair behind your head. “Oh no. I was just clearing my throat.” Jane makes an ‘o’ shape with her pink lips and nods. You dust your hands on your shorts, standing. As much as you love watching Mr. Clayton getting touchy with his rifle, it’s probably better for you to be somewhere where you won’t moan out loud.

“I think I’m gonna head towards camp. Need to reapply sunblock and all that.” You wave Jane goodbye and give Clayton one last glance before you make your way.

Camp is a little walk from where you were with Jane. The Professor, Mr. Porter, stressed the importance of setting up your studies and research in a different location. We don’t want to make the natives here uncomfortable with all of our tools. He had said. But it won’t be too far!

However, you think Professor Porter must have changed the location because you can’t find where it last was. You forgot which way the sun came up and being surrounded by trees and bushes makes it seem as if you’re walking in circles. Rather than getting more lost, you turn around, going back from the way you came.

Only you don’t find the research location. You don’t see the red of Jane’s hair, but the green of leaves instead. Panic begins to set in. It creeps up your spine and takes hold of your heart, but you keep the fear at bay.

There’s still light out, you’ll be fine. You nod to yourself, running a stressed hand through your hair. You’re right, you just need to calm down. Freaking out won’t help and aimlessly wandering won’t either. You put your back against a tree, opting to stay in one place until they notice you’ve been gone and find you. There’s no way you’re that far from them, they'll find you soon enough.

But the sun moves quicker than you thought. The sounds of nature bring you more terror than peace as the sky darkens. It’s gotten cold, and your only light source is the stars and moon. You wrap your arms around your body to conserve heat, trying your best not to cry. Deep breaths. Just take deep breaths. You’re in the middle of doing your breathing exercises when you hear something move in the bushes.

Your head snaps up, eyes wide as you try and make sense of the dark scene in front of you. It’s hard to see anything five feet away, but it’s hard to miss the rustle of leaves and the sounds of heavy footsteps. Mr. Clayton had warned you of apes. Beasts that tear open humans with a mere hand. Professor Porter had told you not to worry about such animals, they’re harmless most of the time, but Clayton’s warnings ring in your ear as you stare at the dark silhouette.

Rather than an ape, it’s Mr. Clayton emerging instead. He steps into the moonlight, his hard features seeming sharper from the shadows. He looks stressed, angry, but when his eyes meet your terrified ones, relieved.

“Jesus fucking christ! We’ve got the whole camp looking for you! Do you know how long I’ve been walking around this fucking jungle?”

You mean to say something, anything, but you can’t help the sob that erupts from your throat at the sight of him.

He stops in his tracks, rolling his eyes and resuming his steps. He swoops you in his arms, letting you get snot and tears on his chest while you gasp out thank you’s and I'm sorry's.

“And you’re a crybaby. Just my luck.”

Everyone was bombarding you when you arrived at camp in Mr. Clayton’s arms. Where were you? How did you get lost? Are you hurt? Professor Porter had to calm everyone down, telling them that you must be hungry and tired. And you were. Your stomach was growling and you nearly ate Jane’s leftovers once you were back in your tents.

“Oh my! Do you want me to get another serving?” Jane innocently questioned, but you shook your head. “No, thanks. I think I’ll explode if I take another bite.” You both giggle, setting the empty plates down. The atmosphere suddenly grows serious, a little tense that you wiggle on your sleeping bag.

“He was really worried, you know,” she says suddenly. Her eyes pierce through yours, making you shiver. “Who? Professor Porter?”

She shakes her head, “My. Clayton.”

Oh. You blink. “He was?” Jane nods, “He was running around the area like a madman. Asking if anyone’s seen you at all. I think it was just because no one’s ever gotten lost on his watch. It looked like his veins were gonna burst.”

Jane is shaking her head in disapproval, but you’re in disbelief. You’ve hardly spoken to him, and even though logically anyone would have been worried, you can’t help the warm feeling bubbling in your stomach.

“He uh…he was worried?”

Jane shrugs, “I wouldn’t say worried. More like his ego got hurt or something. I can’t see that man caring about anything but himself.” Granted, a lot of people don’t like Mr. Clayton’s rough personality, but you’re still surprised to hear someone so open about their dislike. You play with the loose threads of your sleeping bag, “I don’t think he’s too bad.”

You regret those words as soon as you say them. Jane’s eyes widen and you can see her smile forming from the little lantern in the tent. “Shut up! You like him?!”

“No!” But you said it too quickly, too eagerly that it only makes her smile widen. “I don’t.” You’re still persistent. “I just…he saved me and whatever! I can’t hate him after that.”

Jane nods, but she’s still grinning. “Riiight.” She chuckles at your blushing face. “You know, I heard he stays up late in his tent. Alone. He might want to know how grateful you are to him.” You roll your eyes at her, shaking your head, but the idea isn’t too bad. There’s nothing wrong with saying thank you without crying.

You clear your throat, “That’s a stupid idea.”

“It is.” “And he’ll most likely yell at me for leaving my tent this late.” “He might.”

You look around the tent, mind racing with different scenarios of what could happen if you went to Mr. Clayton.

With a resolution, you gather the empty plates and kneel-walk to the zipper entrance. “I’m gonna put these back. Don’t wait up on me.”

The last things you hear are Jane’s laughter and a quiet go-get-'em tiger!

Mr. Clayton’s tent is further than the rest of the camps. His weapons are a hazard, so Professor Porter thought it would have been better for him to sleep further away from curious hands. Clayton seems to hardly mind the fact that he’s isolated, he lavishes on it really.

His self-care time is up though as you get closer to his tent, without getting lost of course. There’s nowhere to knock, so you awkwardly clear your throat right in front of the entrance. “Uh…Mr. Clayton?”

You can hear him rustling in the tent, steps getting closer. A large hand breaks through the cloth and pushes it to the side until you’re faced with his chest. He’s wearing a white tank top, the peak of his chest hair curling at the top. His arms widen as he crosses them over his chest, looking down at your much smaller form.

“Oh…little wanderer. Did you get lost again?”

Something in your curls. Heat flushes your cheeks and your legs tremble. “I…” you nervously laugh. “No. I just um, wanted to thank you…without crying this time.”

His lips pull back into a smile, almost threateningly. A soft chuckle vibrates from his chest, “I’m your guide. It’s my job to keep you guys safe.” He eyes you curiously, dangerously. Something foreign flicks in them, but he clears his throat. “But thank you. I don’t suppose you risked getting lost just to thank little ‘ol me?”

You laugh, “A risk I was willing to take.”

The air grows thick, a tense layer over the atmosphere that nearly makes you whine from the sheer feeling. Mr. Clayton smirks, as if sensing the shift that leaves you melting.

“Want to come in? I could give you a few tips on how to not get lost.” His teeth gleam in the moonlight, and you find yourself aimlessly nodding. He pulls the curtain back more for you to fit. A part of you expected to collapse the moment you took the first few steps, but you don’t. The first wave of arousal hits you as you enter his space. Clayton’s tent is filled with the scent of him, dominating and possessive. Your skin grows sensitive, so much so that you whimper when he puts his hand on your lower back to guide you further in.

“It might look a little scary in here at first, but I promise my things don’t bite.” Clayton puts both his hands on the dips of your hips. There’s nothing more you want to do than push back, to feel his large body encompass yours. To have his hands travel forward, to touch and grope your flesh until you're begging for something more. But he doesn't, either too focused on his objects or keeping himself in control.

You gasp when he squeezes your hips. A silent plea, an invitation he wants you to take.

“What if…” you can feel your heart racing. “What if I want them to bite?”

A low vibration comes from his chest that makes you whimper. Clayton finally pulls you closer to him until your back is fully nestled into his front, letting you get a feel of something rather large grinding against your ass. He uses a thick hand to tilt your head up, forcing you to look into his aroused eyes.

“Do you know what you’re asking from me, wanderer?” Clayton sounds gruff, murmuring. His lips are so close to your own. You open your mouth to answer, but his grip on your throat tightens so you nod.

It’s all he needs to close the gap between you two. His lips are rough and dominating. There’s a sense of urgency on the tongue he eagerly slides into your mouth. You take it. You take his bruising grip, the possessive kiss that leaves you breathless. Your hands reach back, trying to grip his hands, his hair, anything. You’ve waited so long for this, for him. If it wasn’t for Mr. Clayton holding you, your legs would have given out.

He pulls away with a groan, walking you to his table before bending you over it. A hand knots itself in your hair as your cheek is pressed against the wooden material. Your heart thuds in your chest, legs shaking as Mr. Clayton’s free hand massages the flesh of your arse.

“This ass. I don’t think you understand how much I love looking at this fucking thing.” Clayton squeezes the plumpness, earning a whine from your lips.

“Harder,” you moan, wiggling your hips. “Touch me harder.”

An amused scoff comes from behind you. Clayton opts to completely remove your bottoms and underwear, watching the string of arousal that connects to it. He takes a sharp breath at the sight of your bare cunt swollen and leaky. His fingers react before his mind does to feel how wet you are. You mewl, getting on your tippy toes so he can have more access.

Clayton laughs, “God, fuck. Look at how wet this pussy is. You’re giving it up this easy for an old man like me? You’re really a slut, aren’t you?”

You try and shake your head against his grip, but to no avail. “You’re not old. Not at all. I…I never do this type of thing. I…I just want you.” Mr. Clayton hums, “Want me? How?”

Of course he’s going to make you say it. “In me. Wanna feel your cock in my pussy. I’m so wet, can’t you feel it? Mr. Clayton, I’m going to die if you don’t fuck me.” You’re restless now. Wiggling your hips pathetically to have a finger slip in. He lets you hump his hand for mere seconds before pulling away. You whine, opening your mouth enough for him to slip his other fingers into your mouth. It subdues you, sucking and licking on his salty digits.

A grin appears on his face. “You don’t do this? Seems like a dirty lie to me. Look at you, trying to fuck yourself on my hand and sucking my fingers like a cock. Tell me the truth, wanderer. You are a slut.”

You whimper against his fingers, but the excitement quickly replaces the embarrassment. The sound of a zipper and the ruffling of clothes has you anticipating. You moan and suck on Clayton’s digits harder. Drool seeps from the corner of your mouth onto your cheek, leaving a mess.

Finally, you feel it. The hot, thick flesh bumping on your pussy. He feels huge, the tip easily covers your clit. Clayton rocks his hips against you, letting your bodies grind with a grip on your hip. You feel him lean his weight down on you, the pressure against your body adds to the pleasure.

“You feel that, wanderer? Feel that dick on your pussy?” You nod, you whine, you moan. It’s so close to the place you need him most. Truthfully, you could cum from the pussy play, but you want to cream with his cock in you.

“I feel it. Please, Mr. Clayton. Please,” you’re desperate. A part of you thinks he’ll laugh again, but he groans. Clayton straightens and adjusts his grip until one hand is on your waist and the other holds the base of his cock. Slowly, he drags his tip upwards until it catches your entrance. The excitement gets the best of you, cunt clenching so hard before he puts it in that he can’t even fit his tip.

“Fuck! Don’t tighten up like that,” Clayton lands a hand on your ass. You yelp from the impact, lurching forward and whimpering apologies. You relax your muscles, trying your best to stay still until the first feeling of pressure overcomes you. You welcome it, widening your legs and moaning as he slides in. It far from hurts, far from feeling even slightly uncomfortable. You've wanted this moment since you first arrived at this shit jungle, since you laid eyes on Mr. Clayton.

The stretch is so pleasurable that you think you’ll cum already. He said not to squeeze so much, but you truly can’t help the pulsing of your walls the moment he’s fully seated in you.

“ ‘m cumming. Mr. Clayton, you’re making me cum.”

Now he laughs. “I could tell. Got so much cream on my cock already.” You didn’t think he would give you a second to process your orgasm but still let out a surprised squeal when he pulls nearly all the way out and slams back in. Your cheek slides against the desk as he does it again and again, pulling out enough so he can see the white strings of your arousal on his pelvis. It’s an addicting sight: the bouncing of your hips, the opening of your cunt, and the little pucker of your ass.

Clayton moans, a deep sound that makes you whimper in reply. He’s feeling good. He’s feeling good because of you. The fact does things to your mind and you wish you could see his face screwed up in pleasure. Yet, there’s a weird sense of arousal not being able to see him. He can pound into as fast and hard as he wants, he can touch any part of you without you knowing which part is next. It fills you with pleasure knowing your body is at his whim, and that alone can make you finish again.

“Shit. Haven’t had young pussy in so long. You know how good you feel on my cock?” He slips his hand from your hip to your clit. “Shit, a little slut like you probably knows. You like my old cock, huh?”

You can’t even answer if you wanted to. His fingers are like magic on your cunt. Clayton is superb at multitasking, easily rubbing his rough fingers on your sensitive clit while maintaining a ruthless pace. You clench around him repeatedly, enough until he pinches your clit in defiance.

“Mmm- Mr. Clayton! That- oh fuck- that hurts.” You all but whine into the desk. Clayton uses two digits to have you slide against while he pounds into you. It’s unbearable, it makes you want to scream with overwhelming pleasure. Still, you take it. He hears how your whines turn into mewls. The pliant state you’re in makes his cock twitch.

“Hurts? Don’t lie, wanderer. Sluts like you always take what’s given to them.” You whimper in reply, trying to dig further into the table as if it will help with the immense pleasure.

“God, fuck. I’mma cum in you. Fill your young pussy up with my cum. You want it?”

Tears prick your eyes, happy tears. What a dream it is, to have Mr. Clayton fuck you raw, but to finish inside you? You never want to wake up. “So bad,” you babble. “So, so, so bad. Please cum in my young pussy. I want it.”

Clayton groans, steading both his hands on your hips so he can properly chase his impending orgasm. “Why? Tell me why.”

“Because I’m a slut. I’m such a slut. Please fuck me with your old cock, sir.”

That does it for him. Hot ropes of arousal shoot into your cunt. It fills you easily, little bits seeping from your cunt from the sheer amount. You gasp and moan, feeling how Mr. Clayton fucks his cum deeper into you while riding out his high. His shallow thrusts feel good in your abused pussy and you gladly let him use you to his fill.

The slide out makes both of you moan. A slick pop is soon followed by the oozing of cum down your thigh. Your upper body completely relaxes on the table while your legs tremble from keeping you upright. Clayton has yet to take his hands off you. His harsh grip turns soft as he tries to steady his breathing.

He looks down at you, your shirt slightly up so he can see your lower back. His thumb grazes the skin there and you shiver.

He smiles. Hopefully, your tent-mate won’t mind you spending the night elsewhere.

#smut #tarzan fanfic #tarzan smut #tarzan 1999 #tarzan #tarzan and his mate #tarzan clayton #clayton #what the fuck do I tag this shit bro

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noellawrites · 2 years

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Competition - Yandere!Cobra Kai x fem!reader

summary: you’re new to the valley and all three dojos are willing to fight for your membership.

It was the first day of school, and Miguel was already in a bad mood. Last night at practice, Johnny yelled at the Eagle Fang team for not knowing any recruitable girls to compete for them in the All-Valley.

As Miguel walked down the second floor hallway, he stared at the numbers in search for his locker number. 2816, he thought, near the end of the hallway. He found his locker and opened it, grabbing the small AVT and Star Wars posters from his bag.

When he looked up, he realized he was staring at a girl. A real life girl wearing a Carmel City Karate Tournament t-shirt.

“Hey, looks like you’re my new locker buddy!” she grinned, “The name’s (y/n).”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Miguel. So, you do karate?”

“Oh, the shirt! Yeah, I’m actually a brown belt. I went to a dojo back home but but when we moved my parents said I had to find a new one. Know any good ones?”

This girl must be a mirage. Or an angel. A karate-angel-mirage-girl. That must be it. Not only was she a brown belt, but she was also incredibly attractive. Miguel saw them as the future king and queen of Eagle Fang. Maybe he was getting too ahead of himself, though. He still had to recruit her.

“Actually, it just so happens that my sensei opened a new dojo and we’re looking for some new recruits to train for the All-Valley!” Miguel explained, watching the girl’s eyes light up.

“You do karate too? That’s so awesome! I’d love to check it out, what’s the name?”

“It’s called Eagle Fang Karate, my sensei is the best in town. If you give me your number I can text you with the time and day of our next practice,” Miguel explained.

“That sounds great!” she grinned as Miguel handed his phone to her. She laughed, snapping a silly picture as her contact photo.

“It’s been cool but I gotta run, I have english class next. I’ll see you ‘round, Miguel!” she said, handing his phone back, slamming her locker and heading towards the stairs.

Miguel stood for a minute, stunned. In ten minutes he had made a new friend (hopefully future girlfriend) and pretty much recruited the girl who would win them the female division’s AVT trophy.

He was about to text Johnny when he realized that in her rush, (y/n) had left her locker door unlocked. He slyly opened it in a way that could’ve been played off as an accident. She had already thrown a few decorations in, though not many. There was a picture of younger (y/n) breaking a board, a picture with what he assumed was her family, and small purple whiteboard with the words “call CK @ 4.”

When you finally made it to your english class halfway across the building, there was only one seat left next to a friendly-looking, curly-haired brunette girl.

“Hey, mind if I sit here?” you asked, looking up to make sure the teacher hadn’t started class yet.

“No, of course not! My name’s Sam.”

“Thank you! My name’s (y/n). It’s my first day here, so I’m just looking for some new friends. And a new karate dojo, which apparently the valley has a lot of. I guess it’s a big thing here,” you laughed, setting down your book bag next to you.

Sam blinked, realizing this was the perfect chance to recruit someone capable. She also felt pulled into your eyes, mesmerized even. Sam had the sudden urge to get as close to you as possible, to know you better than anyone else.

“My dad actually runs a dojo here named Miyagi-Do. We have state-of-the-art equipment and facilities. I think you should definitely stop by and train with us, maybe see if you’re Miyagi-Do material. And of course, Miyagi-Do is completely free to all students,” she smiled, handing you a professional-looking card with Miyagi-Do’s logo, name, address and phone number.

“And my number’s on the back, in case you want to text and ask when classes are,” she added.

“Wow, this is amazing! Thanks for letting me know, I’d love to come by and check it out!”

Through the entire class, you and Sam talked and laughed like old friends. She had even invited you over to her house after if you wanted to go swimming and stay for dinner. You were torn, you had no idea there were so many dojo’s in the Valley, along with Cobra Kai, which you had still planned on checking out. This would be a tough decision for sure.

“Just remember, if this doesn’t feel like the right place for you, there’s always more dojos, sweetie,” your mother reminded you as you drove up to the strip mall where Cobra Kai was located.

Your mom pulled the car into a parking spot, and you immediately noticed a tall, older man with grey hair pulled back into a ponytail standing at the door of the dojo.

“Hello, and welcome to Cobra Kai. I spoke with your mother on the phone, but it’s very nice to meet you, (y/n). I am Sensei Terry Silver,” the man said, extending his hand towards you to shake.

You shook his hand, and he began talking about your skill level as he walked towards what looked like the dojo’s back entrance.

“Your daughter is already a prodigy. Our students also happen to be ranked first in the valley, but many of them have not had karate backgrounds before they entered Cobra Kai. That’s what makes you very special to us, (y/n). You have the opportunity to reach black belt status while leading the other students and learning our way, the right way.”

Mr. Silver unlocked the back entrance and you stepped inside. You were hit with the smell of new suede, and you noticed that all of the workout equipment was top of the line.

“We pride ourselves on student success being of the utmost importance. That’s why we supply students with Nike-sponsored training gear and Gi’s, free of charge.”

You tuned out of Mr. Silver’s words as your attention focused on the students training in the main room. They looked like cadets preparing for war, soldiers in formation. Something about it scared you, deep inside. You didn’t think you had the heart to be a part of this.

Terry sensed your hesitation, so he gestured for a time out and waved over a girl with brown-blonde hair and an intimidating face.

“I’m Tory, it’s nice to meet you,” she huffed.

“I’m (y/n) and this is my mom. I just moved here and I’m looking for a new dojo.”

“We could definitely use another competent girl on our team. If you want to be on a winning team, you’re in the right place. Here, I’ll introduce you to everyone,” she said, cracking a smile and leading you into the main training room.

You waved goodbye to your mom as she stayed with Mr. Silver, and followed Tory into the unknown.

#cobra kai x reader #cobra kai imagine #yandere cobra kai #cobra kai #miguel diaz x reader #sam larusso x reader

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jaxxsoxxn · 18 days

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Hi, first, i need to say that i love work and your AU. Second, i have some hcs if you are intrested, specificlly about Owen:

He didn't died when he was 8, he survivid, using the same tecnic that Eobard use when he got shot in the head.

Now i gonna explain how, so Owen is Digger and Meloni's son, and Meloni's father is Eobard;

Owen have a negative conection with the speed force, because Eobard have it, and Meloni have this conection as a recesive gen, and his father ( in the comics) doesn't have any kind of conection, so by genetic he get the same conection as Eobard.

In conclusion, with this such traumatic event, he became a full negative speedster, and he end up doing not so good things, and have this Black part in his eyes.

Sorry if i said some stupid shit, haven't read the comics. And inglesh is not my first lenguage, so theres sure mistakes in text. ❤

*johnny bravo voice* Woah mamma!

thank u for dat, Kaliesuriens! (noting the fact that u liked my bsing about hail/cold weather: if no-one got me, I know Kaliesuriens got me!)

Me, actively ignoring canon Owen bc he's full of time travel bs: D:

Also me, loving the idea of Owen being a speedster by blood and not the good one: :D

He was eight years old when it happened - eight years old and dead. He woke up in a bag, which was painfully slowly dragged along. Well, maybe dragged was a bit too rough of a word for it. He was carried around, but it seemed like every single step took hours. His hands reached to grab it, not fully understanding the situation, when he just went through the material.

Owen felt short of breath, his eyes moving faster than light, his whole body moving faster than light. His stomach was wet, for some reason, and the strangers around him cocked their heads in his general direction, but it felt like they took years to do so. He didn't want to be here, he couldn't understand what was happening.

So he ran.

By the time he realized how fast he was running, it was too late. He had no idea where was he or where was his dad. His stomach ached, so he finally stopped on the side of a random highway, checking it out. While the material was bloody, under it his skin was slowly coming together, healing the wound. He found himself watching it with horrid curiosity, his mind empty.

He didn't exactly feel hungry, but he felt weak. Slowly, stared to run again. It took him a very short time for a human to understand what was happening, but for a speedster? It felt like days went past. He knew of Flash, his father having "inside information" about the man, and it wasn't exactly hard to put two and two together.

But there was no excitement, only bland bitterness. Was his power the reason why he was separated from his dad? Was his power the reason for the hole in his stomach?

Was it the reason why he couldn't stop stomping on the border of Speedforce and normal time?

His mind and body were stuck in their too fast for normal humans ways. Aging took him a hundred times as long, and it seemed he couldn't be let go of. Even when he finally found his father, one single time after two years, he couldn't tell him of his body and mind still being here.

Sometimes he saw a few weird men there and there - some flashlike, some more like the reverse version of the man. He started taking advantage of his half-being by bringing hurt to people who stood in his way in any shape or form. How dare they? He tried so hard to be set free, just for them to not even cherish their freedom?

How could they?

The first time he and Reverse Flash met, he was fifteen. Godspeed just got freed from the Speedforce and Thawne, like usually, had to run - away or against Flashfamily? It didn't matter, it never did. He was just so bitter - why can he get out whenever and all he does is go back? Always, always, always-

Before he noticed, he put a foot in front of the man, with enough speed in his step to get there in a 0.0001 second, or whatever. A yellow Flash costume flew with its owner's body inside, Thawne as shocked as the Flash family standing behind him. There was a horrid, cold zap of electricity when he showed up, his whole body heaving when his lungs suddenly needed air.

He was back, or as back as he could be. There was something wrong with his body though, his arms and legs shielded by a black lightning, electricity in the air making other's hair stand. He felt twitchy, needing to move, needing to run. So he did, ignoring confused stares and the sound of footsteps after him.

He was free.

He went to find his father, who was as hard to get to as always. It took him a while. It took him too long. What he ended up finding was a group of rouges messed up and lacking a member. He was everything, but happy. Using the knowledge he acquired as a kid and mixing it with his power, he became for a while Captain Boomerang The Second, until he could find his father.

Imagine his shock, his surprise and his anger when it appeared that a woman called "Amanda Waller" got him not only collared, but also chipped. You never realize how scary is a speedster until it's too late.

Or would be if not his meeting with Kid Flash, who happened to be there. They called him Junior Revers Flash, the speedster family, like it was about them. Like it ever could be. But they also practically handed him over to the woman.

The bomb didn't do jack shit, and trying to cancel his speed with the same weapons as they cancel Flash's speed worked out as well*. But she finally figured it out, because of course she did. Now, he was paying for it, but was the deal not worth it, when few dead people could cost him his father's freedom?

He knows how it is to be stuck in one place and even if he'd have an issue with him, he would never wish the same fate upon him.

a small fanart for it (n my design of the kid thats fueled by revange)

some explanation bout it, too <3

Don't worry bout this edgy kid! Im sure Flasher n Digi will take care of him at some point <3 (at the moment he's around 25 lorewise, since my good sir Digger is 45 in my mind) But yeah, meet Waller's hellhound, who took after his father the typical response to be the one doing everyone's dirty work lmao

#idk #probably bad english #bsing trough life #<3 #fanart #captain boomerang #owen harkness #“but sahe he has a canon look” DO I LOOK LIKE I GIVE A FUCK #art #writing #bad writing

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