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waitingonher · 3 months

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NIGHTS LIKE THESE — [hoo boys drabbles]

summary: how they react to your bad dreams.

author's note: i wrote leo's + jason's part imagining that the cabins/barracks have individual rooms sooo...also ik this trope is so ran through in the pjo fandom but it's just toooo good i couldn't help myself

percy jackson

percy has always been the type of person to pick up the phone no matter the time. even as he’s on a lone movie marathon and the scene reaches its long-anticipated climax, he’s reaching for his buzzing phone that’s lost beneath the sheets. having found it after the third ring, percy checks the time and the caller id. why are you calling him so late? he answers, “hi babe. i thought you had to wake up early this morning, why are you awake?”

“hi percy,” your voice was shaky and congested, as if you’d been crying. percy immediately sits up, alarmed at the state of your voice, “did i wake you up?”

“no, no, i was up watching movies. what’s wrong? is everything okay?” he’s seated at the edge of his bed now, anxiously awaiting your response.

you force him to sit in silence as you think of an excuse, “yeah, um…i’m okay. i just wanted to hear your voice. but i’ll see you on thursday, okay? goodni-”

“(y/n), what’s going on?” percy runs a hand through his hair as he heads out of his room to his kitchen. he rips off a napkin from the roll and snatches a pen from the drawer. on the napkin, he writes a brief message to sally, saying that he’d be over at your place and not to worry.

“nothing. i’m fine, percy,” you mutter. but your boyfriend knows you too well. the way your voice quivers makes it sound as though you were trying to convince yourself that everything was okay, and you were failing miserably.

percy places his phone between his ear and shoulder as he ties his shoes, “don’t leave me in the dark, (y/n).”

“don’t worry about me. i’m fine it was just-”

“babe, i’m coming over, okay?” and with that, percy hangs up.

he’s walked this path over a hundred times, usually for dropping you off after dates or simply for hanging out with you. but this time, all percy can think about is how you sounded over the phone and that he needs to seriously pick up the pace.

upon arrival, percy climbs up the fire escape ladder as quickly and quietly as possible. it’s only now that he’s grateful for his experience from all of those laborious quests. reaching your floor, he knocks delicately on the glass.

“percy, what are you doing here?” you ask after he closes your window, “i’m sorry, you really didn’t need to come all this way. it’s like three in the morning and you-”

your boyfriend silences you with a gentle kiss, “i’m okay. it’s you i’m worried about. what’s wrong?”

“it was just a dream.”

“just a dream?”

“yes, it was just a stupid dream.”

percy grabs your shoulders, forcing you to look at him, “(y/n), you’re one of the strongest people i know. so if you were crying over it, then it really must be something.”

you slump on your bed, and percy joins beside you. it's no use hiding it from percy, so with a sigh, you confess, “well, you’re here now. but it just felt so real,” your eyes begin to prick with tears again, “you were laying on the floor…and there was just so much blood, and i tried to stop it—i really did try—but it just kept coming and there was nothing else i could do.”

honestly, percy didn’t know what to say. but he did know that if your dream was anything like the ones he had about you, they were emotionally and physically crushing. so, he decides that if he can’t say anything, he’d rather show you. percy gently guides your body, until the both of you are laying down. with a strong arm wrapped around your figure and the other rubbing slow circles on your back, he can only hope you understand the message he’s trying to convey.

“i’m here, (y/n). everything’s going to be okay,” percy continues to whisper sweet nothings into your ear. slowly but surely, your crying mellows into only soft sniffles.

as you lay on his chest, you can feel the rise and fall of his breathing body. it wasn’t at all like that dream of yours; his cold body eerily still on the floor. not at all like that. you allow yourself to slowly drift off with the rise and fall of his chest, strangely as if it were its own lullaby, “thank you, percy,” you manage to whisper.

“i love you, (y/n). i’m not leaving you, ever. i promise,” percy whispers back.

leo valdez

leo’s used to waking up several times in the middle of the night. considering the demigod dreams, he hasn’t remembered the last time he’s gotten a full night's rest, which is why he’s not surprised to be awake at the crisp hour of two a.m. he can’t even remember the dream this time, but leo bets it was another dream foreseeing his imminent death or the end of the world.

as he stares at the pipes and wires running along the ceiling of bunker 9, a familiar ringtone sounds from his phone. leo quickly wipes the sleep from his eyes and picks up the phone from his nightstand, “(y/n)? are you okay? it’s so late.”

there’s a silence, followed up by quiet sniffles. were you crying? “hi leo, i’m sorry i probably woke you up didn’t i? go back to sleep, i was-”

“no i was already awake, what’s wrong?” the moment your boyfriend noticed your shaky voice, his attitude completely changed. suddenly awake and full of energy, he tears off his blanket and reaches for his hoodie and shoes.

considering the fact that you never really call so late alarms him. you calling either meant that you had a nightmare or you were hurt…and leo prayed it was the dream.

“i’m sorry…” you take a deep breath, “i just had a bad dream, like one of those dreams, you know?” leo knows all too well what you’re talking about, and if it’s anything close to the dreams he has, he can only imagine what you’re feeling, “but i swear i’m okay now. i’ll see you later?”

but leo’s already out the door as you finish your explanation, “i’m coming over, stay there.”

“wait leo-”

he hung up.

the trek through the forest was usually something one would avoid, especially at this hour, but leo couldn't give less of a shit as he thinks about you crying in your room. a few minutes later after practically sprinting to your cabin, he arrives. locating the window to your room was easy, he’d done this several times before for your sleepovers. leo knocks as quietly as he can on the glass, hoping he doesn’t disturb any of your other siblings.

surprised, you pull your curtain aside and are face to face with none other than your boyfriend. he looks sweaty and out of breath. leo ran all this way? pushing your question to the side, you rush to open the window and let him in.

for the first time, leo really gets a good look at you. your eyes are red and puffy; you look at him with such desperation and he can’t help but pull you into a rib-cracking hug.

“you actually came.”

“what? of course i did, (y/n),” he takes your face into his hands, rubbing soft circles on each cheek. suddenly, tears begin to flow freely down your face. was it something he said? was he not supposed to come?

you pick up on his confusion, “i’m sorry, i’m just…glad you’re alive,” leo sits you on your bed, and continues to wipe away the tears, his concern growing with each passing second. your boyfriend urges you to go on, “it’s just the same thing every night. i’m at your grave on the hill, and i’m all alone and it’s raining and i just-”

“(y/n), breathe,” leo pulls you into his chest once more. he holds you so impossibly tight, ensuring that you know he’s there and he doesn’t plan to ever leave. his sacrifice during the final battle against gaia will forever be amongst one of leo’s biggest regrets. not because he had saved the world, but because of how hard it impacted you. without a doubt, you could easily say that those months where leo was gone were the hardest times of your life. and not a day goes by where leo thinks he can ever forgive himself for it, “i’m here. i’m alive.”

you nod, your sobs turning into quiet hiccups. leo moves the two of you guys to be laying down, and as final reassurance, he gently guides your hand under his hoodie, allowing you to feel his steady heartbeat. your boyfriend’s skin is warm to the touch and you count his heartbeat…one…two…three. and that was proof enough, “you’re alive.”

“i am,” leo soothes. he places a gentle kiss atop your head and pulls the covers over your bodies. his arms wrap tightly around your figure, holding you close, “sleep, (y/n). i’ll be here in the morning.”

jason grace

it’s late nights like these that jason has slowly come to appreciate. these scarce nights where he’s completed his praetor duties for the night and he allows himself to indulge in some self-care, which usually consists of a cup of hot herbal tea and a good book.

usually, jason prefers historical books, oftentimes concerning roman myths or the occasional diary of some war general. what can he say? he likes to be all-knowing when it comes to these things. but this time, as he’s curled up in his bed, he reaches for the book that you had recommended to him: a classic romance novel. jason laughs to himself as he recalls you teasing him about his taste in literature. if he remembers correctly, you called him a “history-loving freak?”

just as jason’s about to open the book, an unexpected ringing sounds from his phone. he huffs, momentarily disapointed. that is, until he sees who’s calling, “(y/n)? hi, are you okay?”

“oh, hi,” jason noticed the way your voice sounded off, like you’d been crying, “i didn’t think you’d actually answer.”

confused, he puts the book back on his nightstand, “of course i would, my love. what’s going on? you sound like you’ve been crying.”

“no, everything’s okay i just…” you pause, “had a bad dream, so i wanted to listen to your voicemail.”

jason’s heart squeezes at the thought of you going so far as to listen to his own ten second voicemail as a method of comfort. but the feeling goes away just as quickly as it came upon hearing you had a nightmare, “oh i’m sorry, my love. do you want me to come over?”

“no,” you reply, “it’s okay. i’m better now that i’ve heard your voice. you can go back to bed, jason.”

despite you declining his offer, jason’s already up and putting his shoes on, “i’ll be there in a few, okay? i love you,” and he hangs up.

within a handful of minutes, jason reaches your cohort’s barracks. the square windows look impossibly similar, but it’s all thanks to practice that he recognizes yours. even as praetor, he still has to enforce the rules and sneak around. with a quiet knock on your window, he waits in the dark for you.

“you’re here. you’re alive, jason,” is all you can muster up as your boyfriend stands tall inside your room. his expression is clearly written with worry as he closes the gap between you with a hug. as hard as you tried to fight it, the tears came again in a fresh wave.

“yeah, i’m here, (y/n). i’m not leaving,” he replies, concern laced in his words. jason notices your tears and gently wipes them away, “c’mere, tell me about your dream,” he beckons, guiding you towards the bed. with a gentle plop, he settles down and opens his arms, inviting you to join him.

settling against jason’s chest, you take a shaky breath as he places kisses on your temple, “i was at your funeral, and you looked so peaceful, like you were sleeping. i just can’t stop thinking about how you looked asleep. and then they expected me to, you know, give a speech in front of the entire camp about you, and i just…i can’t imagine a world without you, so please, you can’t leave me like that.”

“woah, woah, (y/n) i’m okay, breathe,” jason hushes you, rubbing soft circles on your arm. to be frank, he’s pretty shocked about what you had just said. he can’t get over how shaken up you are by this. but jason can’t even blame you, because if it were him who had the dream, he bets he would also be like this, “i’m here and i have no plan of ever leaving, okay? i’m afraid you’re stuck with me for the rest of your life,” he jokes, hoping to get at least a smile from you.

jason’s joke succeeds as he feels your body shake with a quiet giggle, “good. i wouldn’t have it any other way.”

your boyfriend checks your face once more, ensuring that you’ve stopped crying. seeing that you have, he places delicate kisses on each cheek, “hey, how about we go to sleep now? i’ll read you that book,” jason motions to the book on your nightstand, which happens to be the same one you recommended him.

you nod tiredly, “only if you do different voices for each character.”

“of course, only for you,” jason quips.

after adjusting your bodies, jason reaches for the book and opens it to chapter one. but before he begins, he pulls the covers completely over your body and places a chaste kiss on your forehead, “i love you so much, (y/n). and i hope you know that i’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

#percy jackson #leo valdez #jason grace #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #percy jackson x reader #leo valdez x reader #jason grace x reader #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson x you #percy jackson fanfiction #percy jackson imagine #heroes of olympus x y/n #heroes of olympus x reader #leo valdez x y/n #leo valdez x you #jason grace x y/n #jason grace x you #jason grace fluff

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cheriiyaya · 7 days

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- I LIKE THE WAY YOU KISS ME !

Dazai knows he's a pretty boy, flaunting his looks and gaining the attention of everyone around him with nothing but a handsome face and a smooth, charming tongue. He also knows he drives you crazy.

just a few flirtatious glances and sly remarks thrown your way has you fisting your palms in your lap and your throat tightening and dazai knows this so well, he thinks your adorable like that.

He likes to use it to his advantage.

"hm? you seem to be a little warmer than usual dear...are you sick?" dazai hummed, nimble fingers running through your hair as you curled up nice and pretty on his lap while you two watched a movie. Although it was hard to when your bastard of a boyfriend made you hyper aware of him- an arm looped around your waist and his thumb rubbing circles on your hip, occasionally dipping lower to brush your thigh. his warm breath, tickling the back of your ear and neck, and those pretty lips of his that brushed up against your jaw whenever he moved even a bit had heat rushing up your neck and blooming on your cheeks.

You knew he could feel your rushing pulse- how could he not, when he was so close to the delicate, fluttering skin?- and you knew damn well that he knew what he was doing, dazai just wanted to watch you melt in his arms.

and it was working, dammit.

"I'm fine, osamu." you managed out, throat constricting around the words as you forced them out. dazai merely smirked and hummed, eyes set on the movie in front of you. you tried to focus on it but his touch, his scent, everything about dazai threw you off course.

"really? are you suuuure? I'm pretty sure atsushi was a little unwell yesterday, did you catch something from him?" he smirked, leaning his cheek against the side of your neck, "accidentally" dragging his lips down your jaw that made you shift in his lap. "wouldn't want ya to get sick, now would we?"

you didn't even need to look at him to see that stupid, shit-eating grin and that glint in those melting golden hues of his irises that make you weak in the knees. you knew he was looking for a reaction and you think one day you'll die because of this man.

"I'm not sick..." you mumble, swallowing thickly as dazai's thumb presses harder into your hipbone.

"are you sureeee?" he tilted your head towards him, breath blowing across your lips as his eyes stared into yours, lips tilted up and god did you want him to kiss you. "can't have you getting sick bella', can we?"

the thing that pushed you over the edge from his taunts was how his voice went a little lower, a lilt to his voice that had your spine shivering and brain a little fuzzy.

you stared at him wide eyed and blankly, too flustered to say much. you stammered out a few words that you couldn't register saying and suddenly dazai's kissing you, sucking the breath from your lungs as he tilts your head back to deepen the kiss. it was an awkward angle, head turned ungracefully to face him but you didn't care- how could you when you could taste his lips on yours?

after a moment dazai pulled back, took a breath and kissed you short and sweet. he held your face in his palm, thumb rubbing the corner of your lips as he smiled at you with warmth in his eyes.

"how was that? or is there nothing in that pretty little head of yours, hm?" dazai giggled, pressing his lips to your temple. you blinked once or twice and looked up at him, cheeks burning.

"god, shut up...you're insufferable!!" the movie had buzzed out in the background, neither of you paying attention. dazai simply laughed and nuzzled his face against your neck, squeezing you closer to him and pressing a quick kiss to your racing pulse.

he whispered, voice muffled against your neck.

"sorry, couldn't help myself darling."

©Cheriiyaya 2024.

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED !!

#☾⋆⁺₊⋆ 𝕽𝖊𝖉'𝖘 𝕽𝖚𝖒𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘 ⋆⁺₊⋆☾#A kiss for love―୨୧⋆ ˚#bungou stray dogsi #bsd x reader #dazai x reader #bsd dazai #dazai x you #dazai x y/n #dazai x gn!reader #osamu dazai x y/n #osamu dazai x reader #osamu dazai bsd #osamu dazai x you #dazai osamu #bungo stray dogs #bsd #dazai bsd

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seeingivy · 8 months

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hair stylist

satoru gojo x f!reader

content: dad!gojo + megumi and tsumiki kiddos

an: a request from my beloved @luna0713hunter <3

“wanna take my mission today?”

you momentarily look up from your current task - braiding tsumiki’s hair - to find satoru cheesing at you from the doorway, with a big smile on his face.

“i mean, not really.”

he pouts as he pads into tsumiki’s room, flopping down on the bed next to the two of you. you focus back on the ends of her brown hair, meticulously braiding every last strand into the fishtail braid tsumiki begged you to do for her.

you remember the first time she came into your bedroom, her shy little eyes peeking into your shared bedroom with satoru on the first day of school.

“y/n?”

you turn around, gesturing for her to fully come into the room, as satoru gets dressed into his uniform in the bathroom. she shyly takes a seat on the edge of the bed, swirling a lock of her own hair in her fingers.

“hi kiddo. need something?”

she scoots closer to you on the bed and buries her face into the sheets, her red all neck against the white cloth. you bring your hand down on her back, rubbing soft circles into her skin.

“hey. you okay, tsumiki?” you whisper, trying to stay as soft and quiet as you can. gentle, so she won’t run away.

“yeah. i just wanted to ask you something.” she responds, her voice muffled.

you wrap your hands around her wrists to pull her up, her bright pink face staring back at you.

“canyoubraidmyhair?” she murmurs out, so fast you barely catch it.

“huh?”

she sighs as she lies flat down on the sheets this time, facing up.

“every girl comes to school with pretty braids. fishtail, french, side braids. and i want to do my hair like that too but no one ever taught me how. when i was a kid, my mom used to do them for me so i never how to by myself.”

at the mention of her mom, you immediately perk up, running to your room to grab your combs, elastics, and pins to braid her soft, brown hair into the half ass braid job you learned how to do in middle school. and when she looks in the mirror, excitedly running her hands over the braided locks with a smile on her face, it’s all the more worth it.

“why do you want me to take your mission, ‘toru?”

he readjusts his long legs onto tsumiki’s tiny bed as he looks over at you, one of his free hands swinging tsumiki’s french braid on the left in the air. you immediately smack his hand off her hair, which causes her to break out into a fit of giggles, as you look at him.

“you always get to take the kids to school. i wanted to do it for once.” he pouts, now tickling tsumiki at the sides.

“can you please take us to school? can we get milkshakes on the way?” tsumiki asks, the excitement rising in her voice.

you lightly tug on tsumiki’s hair as the two of them start scheming on everything they’re going to do the morning of. make strawberry pancakes, listen to loud music on the way there, flip off that stupid traffic guard who always makes you guys late.

“I didn’t even say yes yet, satoru.” you deadpan, the two of them turning their heads around towards you.

they both have matching pouts on their face as they beg you, pleading with everything they’ve got. they’re both shaking your hands - claiming they’ll do the dishes for a week, clean the dirt they track in after baseball practice, give you a massage if you’ll take satoru’s mission so he can take them to school for once.

“fine. i’ll take the mission.” you respond, the two of them immediately toppling over you on the beg to give you a hug and press wet kisses to your cheeks.

–

your phone buzzes in your pocket for the tenth time as you and nanami patrol down the halls of the abandoned penitentiary.

“is that gojo?”

“who else would it be, kento?” you sigh, yanking your phone out of your pocket to read through the texts.

from ‘toru

‘toru: attachment: one image

‘toru: megumi isn’t too happy about our change of transportation.

‘toru: update, bought him a milkshake. he smiled for two seconds. i’m basically his favorite now.

‘toru: nvm. he’s mad now. I accidentally honked at his teacher and called her a snail while the window was down.

you zoom in on the picture, tsumiki and satoru cheesing in the front as megumi looks away from the camera, his line of vision focused on the view outside the window. you tuck your phone back into your pocket after hearting the image, only to see the curse directly to the side of nanami.

he hasn’t noticed it either, too focused on the residuals on the wall, so you lean forward immediately pushing the two of you to the ground as the curse runs into the wall.

you immediately scramble to your feet as nanami stands up, the two of you charging towards the curse on the left. there’s around four, the lot of them surrounding you. it takes you and nanami around twenty minutes to exorcise, leaving the two of you stretching out your bones when you’re done.

“i haven’t done this in so long. i can feel my bones cracking, kento.”

you reach down to touch the tip of your toes when you notice it. the chunk of your hair missing.

you immediately bolt up and run towards the closest window and feel your heart drop when you see your own reflection. it seems that when you knocked nanami down to avoid the curse from hitting him, you nicked a reasonable amount of your own hair in the process.

“are you okay? did you hurt yourself?”

“my hair. i think i cut it when i fell on the blade.” you whisper, still running your hands through the locks in the dark.

“did you nick the skin? does it hurt?” he asks, cracking his knuckles as you take the veil down.

“no. i didn’t even feel it. I think it’s okay.”

“well, that’s good, considering all things. i’ll see you friday, right?”

you give him a polite nod as you both turn on your heels, marking on your separate ways. and the despair of the entire ordeal sits in your chest as you drag your way home.

–

you shove your key into the lock, swinging the door open with your back. the apartment is filled with the sound of soft giggles as you pad into the kitchen, the three of them hunched over against the counter.

tsumiki and satoru are making some mess of what looks like paper mache while megumi does his little galaxy puzzle on the counter, his eyebrows knitted together in concentration.

you push past them as you basically sprint to your bedroom to survey the damage in good light. you can feel the tears burning behind your eyes as you look at the mess on your head.

the right side is still intact, coming all the way down to your normal length. but the left side, the entire mess is jagged and cut up to your shoulder. the mark isn’t clear cut, some of them closer to your shoulder while a few are still at their regular length.

you hear a knock on your door and satoru pads into the room, his hands coming down on your shoulders and squeezing as he presses a soft kiss to one of your cheeks. he leans his head against your shoulder, eyes obscured by the fabric of your uniform as he murmurs into your skin.

“how was the mission, love? hurt anywhere?”

you wipe the wet tears on your face with the back of your hand as he lifts his head off your shoulder, immediately running his eyes and his hands on you to find the aching parts after your lack of a response to his question.

“where? do you want me to bandage, you should go lie down and rest and you-” he murmurs under his breath, as he presses his hands to your arms, looking for a patch of red, purple, anything out of the ordinary.

“i’m not hurt, ‘toru. sorry, i-”

he brings his face up to yours, his eyes washed over in concern as he wraps his hands around your cheeks, his hands warm against your skin.

“what is it? let me fix it, i-” he whispers, bringing up his hands to cup your face.

you sigh as you wrap your fingers around his wrists, his hands still fixed on your face.

“i knocked ken’ out of the way when we were in there and fell on my blade. i nicked like half of my hair off, satoru” you whine, the tears filling your eyes again.

he lifts his hands up to examine the jagged cuts, his fingers carding through the locks.

“no cuts. that’s-that’s good, love. you-”

you wrap your hands around his neck as he circles his own around your waist, rubbing small circles into the small of your back. he’s whispering soft words into your ears, the sentiment making you cry even more.

“you’re still my pretty girl, you know that? we can fix it and you-”

“satoru. I love my long hair. and i know it’s silly to cry over hair when i could have been worse but, but it’s-”

“it means something, sweetheart. i know.” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to the top of your hair.

you nod as you turn back to the mirror, running your hands through the hair. satoru reaches for the closest drawer on top of the counter, yanking out a pair of silver scissors as he gives you a smile. you give him a meek nod as you gather your hair at the back, for him to cut off the last chunks of your long hair.

except he takes the scissors and leans forward in the mirror to cut off his own chunk of hair, holding the white locks open in his fist.

“what- satoru. what are you doing?”

he swings open the door and calls out for tsumiki and megumi, as he shaggily messes with his newly cut hair in the mirror. he’s still taking some off the sides, his face scrunched up in concentration as the scissors move into his hair. tsumiki and megumi pad into the bathroom, their eyes wide at the sight of you two.

“what are you guys doing?” tsumiki asks.

“haircuts. you’re both getting split ends.” he responds, so matter of factly that tsumiki and megumi run up to the mirror, running their hands through their own hair at the comment. tsumiki turns around to your side, brown eyes staring into yours.

“can you do my hair short like yours? long on one side and short on the other?”

you smile as you lift her up by the waist to sit her on the counter, running a comb through her hair as megumi nearly fights with satoru who is trying to do the same.

“my hair wasn’t quite done, sweet girl. i can keep it as it is if you’d like?”

“no, no. i want short hair like yours if you’re going to do short hair.”

you can feel the tears burning in your eyes as satoru smiles at you in the mirror, mouthing “mama’s girl” as you reach for the extra set of scissors. megumi’s yelling at him for taking his eyes away for even a second while he has scissors in his hair, which has the two of them arguing with each other like there’s no tomorrow.

you brush tsumiki's hair, the look on her face is so excited, as you snip the long strands of her hair out. she’s running her hands through her hair excitedly when you finish, even more excited when satoru starts cutting your hair to look just like hers.

you switch with gojo, evening out the mess he made of his own hair and the hack job he did to megumi, until everyone’s hair is to the best of your doing - black, brown, and white hair sprawled all over the counter and the floor.

“okay megs, miki. run to the bathroom, we’ll be right there to help you shower.”

they both run out of the bathroom, their little footsteps dying out in the background as you turn back to satoru, whose pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

“i like the hair, love. you look like one of those cunty moms who serves on a school board. gets her panties in a real twist over sliced apples.”

you laugh as you run your hands through his shortened white hair, leaning forward to press a kiss to the top of his forehead.

“thank you for that, you-”

“be quiet. i-i’m just taking care of you, love. you always help me clean up after missions, pressing soft kisses to all my bruises as i go to sleep. this is just me doing the same for you.” he whispers, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to your lips.

you pull back and give him the biggest smile you can as you two lock hands to undertake your next mission.

get megumi to take a shower without complaining the entire time. you already know you’ll be the one soothing satoru after this one.

taglist: @porridgesblog @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @squirrelspoetry

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from-luna · 1 year

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can I ask for toji and kento with dacryphilia and edging ? Thank you so much in advance!

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 ➵ cockwarming, ruined orgasm, begging, dacryphilia, degradation/light humiliation, light belly bulge with toji's fat cock, vibrating dildo, begging, edging, light restraint, some pussy spanking with toji's heavy cock, sir/brat

𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐚 ➵ you’re welcome! Toji would tease just for the fun of it. But sweet Kento would only do this when you’ve stepped out of line with some attitude and he has some anger to take out. (Pssst: Kento’s is beneath the cut!)

𝐓𝐨𝐣𝐢

Fat tears roll down your cheek. Clenching Toji's hard cock, his pulsing veins hinting he wants to move. Trying again, hoping he would give in and fuck you stupid the way you've been craving.

Sniffling before pleading, "Wanna cum please Toji! It's been two hours, I need to cum! Please Toji let me cum. Please! Please!" Your voice is thick with tears. Leaning back, shifting your hips. Biting into your bottom lip as he sinks deeper inside of you.

Pushing at your cervix, as if Toji is going to push past any moment. You're going to burst from how full he is. He spreads his hand out on your stomach. Which is puffier with his cock nestled deep inside.

Grabbing your hips, lifting you off his cock. His arms bulge underneath your hands as he flexes them for show. Digging your nails in as he scoffs,

"You're such a big slut for my cock, you're crying over it?" Planting his feet and slamming you down as he thrusts his hips up. The loud smack of skin on skin can't cover up your moan of relief.

Your eyes roll back and he smirks while asking, "You're a pathetic pervert with a greedy pussy aren't you?" His pace is rough, reaching in deep, hitting your cervix. A sharp contrast to the gentle rubbing of his cock head just moments prior.

Babbling to Toji, with tears rolling down your cheek. "I'm a crybaby pathetic pervert. I don't care if you fuck me in front of the window with everyone watching." His thick fingers sink into the fat of your hips as he bounces you faster on his cock. Sliding your pussy along his cock as effortlessly as he would a cock sleeve.

"You're crying makes me want to bully your pussy more. Want to see you sobbing even more than you want to cum on my cock. Come on baby, show me more of your pretty tears." Leaning forward, he stands up and lays down on your back. With your butt hanging off the sofa.

Rutting his cock quickly into you without missing a beat. Building up the pressure in your gut, which promises to burst at any second. After fluttering so close to the edge several times it wouldn't take much now.

Pleading with Toji, "I just need to cum! I'm getting so close! So quickly. Nnn your cock is so good, just a few pumps. And I'm! No, don't stop!" He pulls his cock out, slapping your pussy, His heavy girth making it sting more with every harsh hit.

𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨

Swirling the glistening tip of the clear dildo to your clit. "You should know you can't lie to me." Yanking at the rope binding you to the bed. Grinding your hips on the toy desperate to cum before he takes the toy away.

Kento catching on flicks off the toy. The sudden drop of stimulation has fat tears rolling down your cheeks. Proclaiming,

"I'll always find out if you make yourself cum without my permission. I know your body better than my own." Sliding the toy down your slit, nudging your lips apart with the bulbous head.

The clearness allows him to see inside your hole when he pushes the toy in. You're soft pink pussy smeared with your own white cream. Turning the vibrations on high, bucking your hips, eager to take more.

You're wound up so tight the moment the pulsing head touches your clit you're going to burst. Exclaiming, "You sent a cock picture in the bathroom! You rarely do that! I couldn't help but touch myself and before I knew it I cummed!" Kento slips it away in time with your hips.

Reading your movements too well. You don't get a single inch more than Kento wants you to have. He sighs, "Blaming me for acting out. Then when I asked you about it. You terribly lied then gave me sass. I don't think you're learning your lesson at all. Looks like you aren't cumming until tomorrow." Spitting in his palm, wrapping his hand around his heavy cock.

The slick sounds have you wishing you could watch Kento jerk himself off. Swirling the pulsing tip inside you. While you wonder how a man could have you so desperate, just the tip of your dildo could make you cum. Caving in, admitting,

"I'm sorry sir. I'm an impatient brat. I'll dooo better ngg!" He slips the toy out. Ruining your high quickly. Sobbing loudly, your puffy clit twitching with the ache for more attention.

Turning off the vibrations and holding it to your lips. Which you wrap around, suckling and tasting yourself. Pushes the dildo deep into your mouth, gagging you with it. Coaxing fresh tears.

Kento lines himself up, stating, "You've been too much of a mouthy brat. It doesn't matter how breathtaking you look crying for me." Pumping his cock deep inside, giving you only half his cock. Careful not to go deep enough, he would brush your special spot.

Closing his eyes, groaning, giving himself a moment to adjust to how hot and wet your pussy is. He pulls the toy out of your throat, tossing it aside on the bed. Wrapping his fingers around your throat to keep you from begging.

Kento growls, "You have to learn not to touch what isn't your's."

Masterlist

#jjk #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami smut #nanami x reader #Kento nanami #nanami Kento #toji x reader #toji smut #fushiguro toji #toji fushiguro #jjk toji #jjk nanami

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legally-allowed-to-slime · 5 months

Text

The last few people had logged off the server, leaving it in its burnt, damaged state.

She knew where Gem would be.

Cleo scaled up the ladder and clambered up to the rickety roof of Joel’s tower — where you could look out on the entire server.

Sure enough, Gem was perched on the railing, sitting on the edge with nothing to support her but the wind, staring in the direction of the Secret Keeper.

Cleo looked around at the short cobble walls. Grian had told her that he’d hid away here. Not a bad strategy, overall. You could shut yourself here and forget everywhere else existed.

“Hey, Cleo.”

“Am I that loud?” Cleo joked weakly.

“Who else?”

Cleo watched as the last remains of the green flesh flaked off Gem’s skin, leaving her regular human tones. “No more zombies now, then? Good job, anyway. Killing people left and right.”

“Not you, though.”

“Not me. Only way I’m going out is my way. I’d rather die on my own stupidity than someone else’s callousness.” Cleo allowed a hint of pride to enter her voice. “You were great zombies, though.”

“We weren’t zombies.” Gem turned and hopped down from the railing.

Cleo noticed that unlike the other zombies, or even Scott or Grian, Gem didn’t have a single scratch or injury, save one neat bandage that no doubt was due to Scar’s reckless arrows.

Which meant the blood splattering her face wasn’t her own. “What do you mean?”

“That’s not how zombies work. No offence, Cleo, but most zombies aren’t sentient.”

Cleo blinked. “No worries, I know they aren’t. I kill plenty of them at night.”

“So you should know how they work. They’re mindless. They lurch along, they kill without thinking, they probably bump into trees.”

Gem tilted her head. “They don’t set TNT traps, or betray their teammates, or ask for permission to kill their wife’s perceived murderer.”

Cleo’s mouth was dry. “So you’re saying…”

“I’m saying the apocalypse wasn’t zombies, Cleo. It was human.”

Horribly, incredibly human.

Cleo remembered when they were up on the tower, staring at the others down below, condemning them as monsters.

Somehow, it was better to think of them as a mindless horde and not people she’d been laughing and arguing with a session ago.

Gem was watching her. “You know I’m right. Look at Pearl. Was running from us, convinced we were infected or something but once she realised she had permission to kill, she went in. Even unleashed a warden, or two. That’s how quickly we switch.”

Ironically, Cleo realised, the roles had been swapped this session. The humans were chasing the zombie, but it hadn’t been any different.

“That’s not true,” Cleo said, “It’s not all bad. Did you know, Grian snuck down from this tower to check on his magma pet, and I was there too. And so was Etho. He didn’t kill us.”

Irritation flashed across Gem’s face. “He didn’t kill you? If he had, or, like, told us your location or something, we could’ve all just gone after Scott, and, and, the task would’ve succeeded…”

She trailed off, and looked at Cleo. “Is that the point you’re trying to make here?”

Cleo shrugged.

“Alright, I get it,” Gem grumbled, “No need to rub your holier-than-thou alliance and great morals in my face.”

“Well, no one asked you to put your task over your bandmates.”

Gem didn’t say anything to that.

“It’s not as if I’m exactly a paragon of morality either.” Cleo continued.

“I guess not.” Gem gave a short laugh. “Neither am I. You know, all the murder and stuff? I don’t feel bad! In fact, I feel great. I feel proud of myself for it.”

“…I feel you should be a little less bloodthirsty.”

Gem smiled at Cleo, an innocent, cheerful smile that would have been such if not for the circumstances. “Oh, no.”

Cleo was suddenly feeling very unsafe on the highest platform on the server. She wished Etho was here, or even Grian.

She knew Gem couldn’t take any lives, not now, not when the session was already over. But still…

Cleo raised her sword to stop the axe swing that came, but it was a feint, and her sword hit nothing.

Gem dramatically swung her axe back into her inventory.

“You really thought I would attack you?” Gem said.

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t,” Cleo retorted curtly.

“That’s true,” Gem conceded. “But the curse is just so- it’s so freeing, Cleo? Can’t you see? You could do anything.”

“Uh- no thanks. Session’s over, anyway,” Cleo pointed out.

“That’s true. But I’m still kinda cursed, you know.”

In response, Cleo warily raised her sword. But all that Gem did was deliver a mock salute before logging off with a chirpy “See you next week!”

Cleo stood silently. There had been one zombie on the platform just now. Her.

And thinking about it, she wasn’t sure if there hadn’t been two.

#concept: gem is simply evil #god forbid women do anything #oh no this story turned into that are humans good/evil thing again #that’s great i don’t care #geminitay #zombiecleo #gem centric but i did put in some cleo stuff because etho sparing his allies was so woahwhaha #secret life fanfic #secret life #secret life smp #life series #trafficblr

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fkinavocado · 5 months

Text

in which your husband and Harry's wife dragged you both into a situation you didn't want to be in, but as it turns out, everything happens for a reason

Loved, heard, seen- Masterlist, Author’s Notes & Warnings / alternatively, read on wattpad

Part One (word count: 3.6k)

Harry sighed heavily while closing the door to the hotel room behind him. He leaned against it as he watched the young woman pace the room and look around, wondering how he was going to let her down easily.

This was a mistake. He never should have agreed to this.

“I can’t do this.” She suddenly turned to face him after staring at the bed for a long while as if lost in her own thoughts.

Harry straightened up as a huge wave of relief washed over him and made to reply but she went on, agitated. “I’m sorry. I know this must be disappointing, but I just can’t go through with it. It’s got nothing to do with you, please don’t feel bad–”

Harry approached her and let out a light chuckle, “Please, no need to explain yourself. I feel exactly the same. I was struggling to find a way to break it to you myself.”

“Wait- really? You’re not just saying that?”

He placed his hand over his heart. “Swear to god. And don’t worry, it’s got nothing to do with you either… I just… Well, as corny as it sounds, I realized what a huge mistake this was. Agreeing to this. I love my wife. We don’t need this. I’m sure she must’ve freaked out by now, too.”

“Oh, thank god.” The woman clutched the neckline of her shirt and sighed in relief smilingly, the both of them chuckling at the realization they were on the same page about this. “I’m going to call him. I know it’s against the rules but like you said, I’m sure he’s backing out too by now.”

Harry was already dialling his wife’s number but his serene expression faded as soon as it went straight to voicemail. “Hm. She must’ve not turned her phone back on yet. She’ll call me back.”

“Same here.” Harry didn’t miss the slight tremble in her hands.

“Hey. It’s alright…”

But she kept trying her husband’s number again and again and soon she was panicking, pacing the room nervously.

Harry tried his wife’s number again, too. Voicemail. He was trying to keep himself in check, and decided to distract himself by reassuring the young woman. “Hey. Let’s give it a moment. Let’s not jump to conclusions. Come, let’s just sit for a bit, we’re on edge.”

She nodded frantically and sat on the edge of the bed next to the man. She placed the phone in her lap and her forehead in her hands, resting her elbows on her knees and tried to breathe in deeply to calm herself. “Why did I ever agree to this? What if he’s actually going through with it?”

Harry placed his own phone next to him on the bed after he double checked it wasn’t on silent. He rubbed his face, squeezing his eyes shut. “I didn’t want to. She did. It was her idea.”

“Same here. He brought it up…”

“The whole way here I kept expecting her to freak out and tell me to turn the car around and go back home. That this was a mistake. That we don’t need this. But she never did. If anything, she was giddy. Felt sick the whole time. I tried to hide it from her and not be a spoilt sport because I had agreed to it, after all… I don’t think I spoke a word the whole ride here. She didn’t even notice.”

“I kept expecting him to burst into laughter and tell me he couldn’t believe I’d actually fallen for this. That he’d never do this to us, but is proud of me for being so open minded. Kind of like a stupid test I passed that was meant as a cruel joke initially but when I went with it he decided to test my limits. But it never came. When I realized we were getting closer I kept wanting to break down and beg for him to stop the car, turn around, but it’s like I was too stunned that this was actually happening to do something. I just froze and watched it all happen. I don’t even remember picking the note with your name out of that hat. I was too busy looking at all the women, wondering who was going to have a go at my man–”

Her voice cracked and she began sobbing and Harry hesitantly brought his hand to her back, rubbing it soothingly, trying to console her. She turned to bury her face in his side and he took her under his arm as his own eyes glazed over. He felt pathetic for wanting to cry over it just like she was. He’d agreed to this. It wasn’t like he’d found his wife cheating on him in their own bedroom. No, they’d sat down and discussed this, she made sure he was on board 100% over and over, they’d signed up for this and drove all the way up here. He hadn’t been forced into it.

…Had he?

The woman pulled away suddenly and excused herself, “I need the bathroom. Think I’m gonna be sick.”

Harry stammered something indiscernible as he watched her rush to the ensuite. He couldn’t blame her. He’d felt like throwing up the whole way there. But now he felt different. He felt like punching a wall. Breaking something. And he was anything but a violent man.

He clutched the phone angrily, not even bringing it to his ear as he dialled the number again. He watched as it went straight to voicemail again and dropped it to the floor before he could throw it across the room and smash it against the nearest wall. He pressed the heels of his palms deep into his eye sockets, groaning in an effort to reign it in.

He stood up and almost stepped on the phone before kicking it to the curb in his way to the minibar. His wife was clearly preoccupied and wasn’t going to be picking up, much less calling him anytime soon. He grabbed an upside down glass from a tray and emptied several mini bottles of vodka in it. By the time the woman reemerged from the ensuite he’d already downed it halfway to what now looked like a decent amount of vodka.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah. I’m okay, I stuck my face out the window there for some fresh air and managed to keep it down. Can I have some?”

“By all means. Choose your poison.”

“I don’t care. Make it strong.”

She plopped herself back on the edge of the bed and checked her phone again, and Harry rushed with her glass of vodka double before she could try and dial again.

“Thank you.”

He watched her try to gulp it down before retching and he couldn’t help but chuckle. “Careful, else you’ll definitely end up throwing up.”

“Ugh. Maybe top it up with coke, is there any?”

“Yeah.” He took it back and poured a whole can of lime coke over it before placing the glass back in her trembling hand.

After him sitting back down next to her and both nursing their drinks for a while, she asked in a small voice, “What now? Do we just… wait here?”

“I kind of have to… I drove us here.”

“And I don’t know how to drive.”

“... Another?”

“Yes, please.”

After raiding the minibar they were both sufficiently able to ease up a bit. She kicked her heels off and he rolled the sleeves of his cardigan to his elbows. He felt stuffy but didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable and remove it even if he did have a wifebeater underneath. She asked about his tattoos and they tried their best to make idle chit chat in an effort to pass the time. Eventually they both sat against the headboard trying to distract one another with different topics of conversation; the design of the hotel room, the quality of the bed linen, the stain on the carpet by the window, the view, the lack of proper parking space, the inconvenient location of the hotel, the bumpy drive to it, the reception lobby, the way everyone else looked- something neither had noticed, too busy with their inner turmoil.

“What if they landed with eachother, like we did? Should I be worried?”

Harry didn’t mind the question. He was sufficiently buzzed to catch her attempt at a joke to further ease up the tension. “Then you’re in serious trouble.”

“Damn. Is she that much hotter than me?”

Harry shrugged, realizing he hadn’t even taken a proper look at her, in an objective manner. He scanned her from head to toe. He couldn’t imagine her husband had wanted to do this for lack of attraction. “I didn’t mean it as a comparison. But yeah… she’s gorgeous,” he sounded almost remorseful at the admission. “I’m not used to comparing her to anyone, honestly.”

“Yeah. I know what you mean.”

“Should I be worried?”

“He’s your opposite, I would say. Jet black hair. Deep, brown, eyes. He’s more bulky, too, he’s a bit of a gym rat.”

Harry gasped in mock offence. “Excuse me? I’m pretty ripped myself, you know. Not everyone pumps steroids, some of us really put in the work for these abs.”

She laughed, “He does not pump anything. He’s just a bigger build than you. Don’t worry, I can tell you’re fit.”

Harry unbuttoned his cardigan and pulled the wifebeater out of his trousers to prove a point, all the same. He patted his stomach and she raised her eyebrows appreciatively, “Oh… okay. Wasn’t expecting a six pack, I’ll admit.”

He covered himself back with a smug smile, it felt nice to be silly for a moment. After a beat, he asked “How about his build…elsewhere?”

She gasped, this time no trace of mockness, then cleared her throat. “He’s… Alright, I guess. He’s the only man I’ve been with, so I don’t really have a term of comparison. Please don’t flash me, though.”

Harry laughed a genuine laughter, “Don’t worry. Although it would be fairly accurate for a case study, I’m a shower, not a grower.” He cleared his throat too, turning a bit serious. “So, he’s the only one you’ve been with and he was just gonna throw that away…”

“I mean, he did throw it away… for all he knows we’re in here going at it,” and then, in a smaller voice, “just like he is.”

Harry kicked off his shoes as well, “Well, Felicity– my wife, that is… she’d been quite, uhm… promiscuous, before we met. In her own words. She’s got quite the body count. I would never judge a person by that, honestly, and I just assumed she hadn’t found the right person for her until we met. She assured me she was ready to settle down and that I was everything she could ask for in a partner. I did have my reservations, though… after being so casual about sex, I was a bit worried she wouldn’t be able to settle for just one man for the rest of her life, but her reassurances put me at ease, and we went through with the wedding. 3 years down the line, though… turns out I was right.”

“...That’s awful. I’m sorry.”

Harry shrugged. “Guess I should be thankful she didn’t cheat, at least. This feels like sort of a loophole, a way to go around it guilt-free. She made it sound like we needed it. Like it was old fashioned of me to believe in monogamy anymore, that it was just a social construct of patriarchy when most men cheat anyway, and that this was a healthy, modern way of approaching a functional relationship. She wanted us to open our marriage and when I told her that I didn’t want anyone else, she suggested swinging to… see how I feel about it, since I couldn’t imagine actively seeking anyone out; so this sounded like a way to test out the waters before we fully jumped into this. But what I couldn’t get across to her is that you can’t just trial run cheating.” He cleared his throat, “Sorry, that was a bit off handed. I understand the concept of an open relationship and why it might work for some, and that it’s not cheating if both partners are fully in agreement…”

“Yeah, you’re right. I understand why it works for some, too. I’m just… not one of those people. It’s not even jealousy, it's so much more than that… I got married thinking this is my person. That it’s us, and us alone. I didn’t even save myself for marriage or anything, it just so happened that I ended up marrying the first man I slept with. We’ve been together 7 years, highschool sweethearts and all that… He’d been with a few before me, and I was glad for it, thought it would help avoid this very issue. I wouldn’t have liked him feeling like he was missing out on experiencing that with other women and one day feel the need to satisfy that curiosity. So that’s why when he sprung this on me… I was shocked, honestly. Swinging? Really? Ugh, I’m sorry… it’s like you said. I’m not judging anyone, but it’s just not for me. I thought… I actually thought our sex life was good, you know? He led me to believe it was, at least… Guess I’m not as… experienced as other women.”

“I seriously doubt it’s got anything to do with that. And likewise, I thought our sex life was good too. More than good. I’m honestly all over her all the damn time. And I’m plenty experienced. She never gave me reason to believe I wasn’t satisfying her, ever. We’re very open about our kinks and curiosities and whatnot. There’s nothing she wanted to try out that I said no to, and that’s ‘cause I genuinely was always on the same page. Except for this. This I’m not ok with, and I tried explaining it to her but it felt like a losing battle if I were to just say no. If I don’t agree to this, what then? Cheating? Sneaking behind my back? At least she was honest with me telling me she wanted more… made me feel ungrateful for denying her this when she was so open about it. I talked myself into it because I was too scared of what she might do if I declined.”

“Ugh, that’s exactly it. That’s why I went for it, too… I kept telling myself most women don’t get to be asked what their take on this is. At least he was being honest with me… that I’m just not enough… I tried asking him to explore more of his fantasies, anything that he felt he could get from someone else, I wanted to be the one to give to him. But he kept telling me he just couldn’t let go and just do all the things he wanted to with me. Apparently he respects me too much.”

Harry snorted, “That’s rich.”

“Right? Like if he wanted to be rougher, degrade me a bit, try kinkier stuff.. he just had to say so. I always wanted that, anyway… but I’m too scared to ask him to do that. It’s very… vanilla. I don’t blame him for wanting more, but I can’t get myself to bring up what I wanna try in the bedroom.”

“Oh… okay. Why do you feel you can’t tell him? You respect him too much?”

She giggled, “It’s not that I can’t. It’s more that I won’t. I don’t want to. I want him to take the lead. I want him to…”

“Dominate you?”

“Yeah.”

Harry clicked his tongue, humming lowly. They were both quiet for a beat. “Felicity is the opposite. She’s the dominant one. It’s not that I mind… But I wouldn’t say I’m fully submissive… I’m more of a switch. I’d like it to be more of an even playing field, at the very least. Like, I like her taking charge, and I loved it at the beginning because I was used to always being the dominant one in the bedroom, and I was actually looking for someone to put me in my place for a change. But she never lets me take the reins. Whenever I try she just blows me off and makes me feel less than. And then she mistakes my apprehensiveness for submissiveness when I give up. It’s something… I haven’t really been able to communicate with her either. She should want me to dominate her, you know? Not be talked into it. So I kinda… suppressed that. But even so, I never thought to myself oh cool now I get to be a dom again with someone else. In fact, it didn’t even cross my mind until now.”

“Hm.” After a beat, she asked “What’s that like? Is it like… I dunno, actually. Porn? Or those Fifty Shades books?”

Harry snickered a bit but then took in her genuine curiosity. “I mean… I haven’t read those books, so I can’t speak about that, but from what I’ve seen in porn, it’s definitely not what I would describe as a healthy dynamic. Uhm, porn is catered more to the male gaze, to put it nicely.”

She laughed, “I’d say. But I don’t like the kind they advertise for women either. It’s just too…”

“Vanilla?”

“I guess? Yeah…” she sighed profusely.

“You never see aftercare in dom/sub porn for instance. That’s so important. Like, they’re leaving out so much. And plenty of other things…”

Harry glanced at her when he thought he heard a faint snore and to his surprise, she had, in fact, fallen asleep. She couldn’t have been comfortable, but he didn’t dare try and move her or even drape a blanket over her mainly because they were sitting atop the duvet. He gently took the empty glass out of her hand so as to not accidentally turn in her sleep and break it, injuring herself. He left the nightstand lights on and tried to sleep too after retrieving his phone from the other side of the room where he’d kicked it.

No missed calls of course.

He tossed and turned for ages, mindful to keep to the edge of the bed and give his companion space and was certain he wouldn’t be able to catch a wink of sleep. He was surprised, to say the least, when he was shaken awake.

“Uhm… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry to wake you–”

Harry rubbed his face and took in his surroundings. He looked at the young woman and took in her dishevelled appearance, it looked like she’d been crying.

“I’m sorry. I’m just… freaking out. I woke up and I can’t calm down… I wanna uber home, but I’m scared to ride alone, it’s 4 am. Could you please give me your number so I could share my ride location live with you? I didn’t wanna ask a friend, no one knows I’m here, doing this, I don’t wanna have to explain–��

“Hey, hey… hey. Calm down.” He tried soothing her. She was a mess. “I’ll drive you home. Don’t worry.”

“Oh, oh no. I couldn’t– Plus, you had a bit to drink…”

“I’m fine. I slept it off. Feels like I’m waking up from the dead, honestly. A drive would do me good, clear my mind a bit. I’ll just run to the bathroom and we can head out, alright?”

The woman nodded, fixing her clothes and looking for her shoes as he went to relieve himself. He looked a right mess. He tried not to dwell on it, running his fingers through his hair and splashing some water on his face, and when he emerged from the ensuite she was ready to go.

“Thank you, thank you so much for doing this. Really…”

“It’s alright, I promise. Come on. Let’s get outta here.”

“Gladly.”

They made it to his car and she typed in her address into his gps. Harry kept stealing glances at her the whole way; in truth, he was worried about her. She seemed extremely shaken up, more so than originally. “Are you alright?”

“I just… it just hit me, when I woke up with you there, and it all came crashing down, the reality of it. My marriage is over…” her voice cracked and he reached his hand to her thigh, squeezing reassuringly.

“Hey… at least you know how you feel about this, and how he feels about this… If anything, cards are on the table now… Doesn’t have to be over if you really don’t want it to be. Do you?”

“I don’t know what I want… I don’t know if I can get over this… Do you?”

Harry felt his heart constrict at the realization that he did know. He’d been denied a lot in their relationship and this had really put things into perspective for him. Not only could he not dominate his wife sexually, something he would’ve never held against her- after all, he would never force that dynamic on her, he loved her and he’d been ready to bury that facet of his sexuality when he asked her to be his wife. So why couldn’t she let go of her need for more? He couldn’t even keep her to himself. He felt emasculated, worthless… and most of all, he didn’t feel loved, heard, seen.

He parked the car where the young woman instructed and after killing the engine he turned to her “I do. And I think you do, too.”

Part Two

A/N: 👀 so yeah, introducing swingrry. with all those WIPs somehow i felt the need for another one! this will have a part 2 and then that's it ahahah i'm trying to keep things shorter! hope you guys like it and are intrigued for what's to come ❤️ come talk to me abt it! thanks to the lovely @freedomfireflies for betaing ❤️

💕 like & reblog if you enjoyed this, lovelies, and most importantly, please come share your thoughts on it here 💌

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#harry styles smut #swingrry #harry styles concept #harry styles prompt #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles reader insert #harry styles x yn #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n

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luveline · 1 year

Text

𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

part one | part two | part three

You don’t mean to make an enemy of Eddie Munson — he’s handsome and talented, but he’s the biggest jerk you’ve ever met. Eddie thinks you’re infuriatingly pretty, emphasis on the infuriating. Eddie goes home, you’re on tour, and the lines between you both continue to blur.

fem!reader, enemies-to-lovers, rival rockstars, mutual pining, kisses! tender neck kisses <3, past miscommunication, angst, hurt-comfort, sexual tension, TW mentioned recreational drug use, drinking, smoking, swearing

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Hawkins, Indiana, December 1990

Eddie listens to his walkman until it runs out of juice. Through the flight from California to Indianapolis, the hours-long bus ride that stops just short of Hawkins, and the final connecting bus on the outskirts. Some metalheads listen to strictly metal, but Eddie likes variety occasionally. Plus, he doesn’t think it’s possible to have ears and not love The Rolling Stones’ Some Girls.

He has one girl on his mind the entire journey home. He tries not to think about you. He makes himself sick shoving you down into a crevice of his heart, so he admits defeat. His fingers twitch, eager to write about you. He has some lyrics in mind. Evil wretched girl with wicked sweet hands. Heart eater. Soft around the edges.

He wants to write about your stupid chubby thighs and how they look in skirts. He wants to write about your wrists, your knees and their ever-present bruises. Metaphors for your sickly sweetness won’t stick; cruel becomes kind. Taunting turns teasing.

It feels like it’s eating him alive, spine first. You’re gnawing on his ribs as he hikes the half a mile from the bus stop into Forest Hills trailer park. He can feel your thumb rubbing makeup off of his cheek as he drags his suitcase up the metal steps to Wayne’s —Eddie’s— front door.

“Wayne?” he calls. It’s pitch fucking dark. He’s surprised he got all the way here without falling in some ditch. “Could you let me in? It’s freezing.”

He hears stirring from inside. He calls out again in case his uncle changes his mind. “Wayne, it’s me. I’m sorry it’s late. Please don’t leave me out here.”

He’s joking. Wayne would sooner shoot Eddie dead than put him in harm's way. He’s always been that kind of parent, hiding his deep rooted worry underneath a feigned reluctance. Footsteps shuffle and floorboards creak. The door opens between them, and Eddie shoves his suitcase and backpack inside without properly looking at his old man.

“Eddie, what the fuck, kid?”

“Sorry,” Eddie says, looking up. Wayne’s squinting at him. He’s wearing jeans with deep creases. He must’ve been sleeping in them. “I timed it all wrong. Started coming home and I didn’t think about it. I walked here, you know that?”

Wayne hugs him. Eddie isn’t expecting it. It’s not like Wayne isn’t affectionate, he doles out shoulder claps and hair ruffles like candy, but their hugs are usually one-armed back-slapping affairs. This is a loose encircling with a scratchy cheek against Eddie’s forehead.

“I’ve been worrying about you.”

Guilt sinks like a stone to the bottom of his stomach. Eddie kind of feels like he might puke. He wraps his arms around his uncle and breathes in his smell. Diesel and grease, sure, but so much louder than that is his mint and rosemary soap.

The weight of Wayne’s arms over Eddie’s shoulders is one of his favourite feelings. He hadn’t realised how much he missed it, but then… maybe he had.

He wants to tell Wayne there’s no need to worry, but he’s never been good at lying to him. “Think I might have fallen off the wagon, Wayne.”

“Well. Happens to all of us.” He pats Eddie’s back and steps away. He doesn’t look any older than the last time Eddie saw him. In fact, he looks good. Puffy-eyed but healthy. “I thought for sure I’d have to come track you down and drag you back for Christmas myself.”

Eddie locks the door and Wayne shuffles into the kitchen promising coffee and cake. He should protest, tell Wayne he can go back to bed and they’ll catch up in the morning, but he missed the small stuff like this, when he’d get home late from band practice or a midnight premiere of a sci-fi flick and his uncle would be sitting up waiting.

Eddie loves being home. There’s something to be said about living like the rich —he loves all the high ceilings and endless cushy carpeting— but nothing feels as good as coming home. His room is exactly how he left it minus a few ashtrays and his super unsecret pot stash. The poster wallpaper and the cheap paint. His raggedy bedspread and the corners tucked in haphazardly by tired hands. Eddie resists the want to dive under the covers and slide into the dip in his mattress. He knows every box spring in that fucker, and he missed it.

Eddie drops his bags at the end of the bed. All the clothes in his suitcase smell like Coors Light, so he changes into rags he left behind, a too-big pair of plaid pyjamas that slip down his hips and a sleeveless Motörhead shirt. Maybe. The emblem is worn to nothing but black lines.

He follows the smell of coffee through the hallway and into the Munson kitchen, tightening the drawstrings of his pants as he goes, chin tucked to his chest. “I’m losing weight, Wayne, I’m like a fucking twig.”

“Don’t tell me that shit. God knows I taught you how to take care of yourself.”

“I’m stupid. I’m really stupid, actually.”

Wayne whacks the coffee maker. It whirs. “Pick a mug, son.”

“You been cleaning? I don’t wanna look down and see a spider in my cup.”

“Have you been cleaning?” Wayne asks.

“It’s insane how much I haven’t been cleaning.”

“Some things don’t change.”

“You fucker,” Eddie says, laughing up a storm as he picks out his favourite mug, the Garfield one with a big scratch down the left side.

“You fucker,” Wayne snaps back. “I should send you packing for the bad language alone.”

“They don’t make you clean your hotel rooms, Wayne, that’s the point of them.”

“I raised you better than that.”

“You did. I keep it classy, I swear, I just,” —Eddie sits down in his chair, watching Wayne stir in milk and sugar just the way he likes it, and feels more than sees as a familiar contentedness like a Gaussian film settles over their easy conversation— “don’t clean up after Gareth. He’s a monster.”

“Do me a favour, Eds. Try and be the best you can be, alright?”

He swallows. He purses his lips. A peculiar lump grows in his throat, but he bites it back and squares himself up. “Yeah. I will.” He thinks about all the parties and powders and girls. He’s never done any cruel shit to anybody and he’s a sweetheart with the ladies, but there are times when he’d known he was lying before he even said he’d call. He thinks about some of the shit he’s said to you and has to wipe his sweaty palms off on his shirt.

“I know we didn’t have shit when you were growing up,” Wayne says, not tearful or resentful, just honest as he passes Eddie his mug of coffee and sits down. “And all that money must feel good–”

“It’s not like that,” Eddie says.

“When I see my nephew on TV smashing up equipment worth more than his house–”

“I already told you on the phone it was an accident. And it wouldn’t be worth more than this if you actually cashed the cheques I send you. I know they aren’t bouncing.”

“I don’t want your money, Eddie,” Wayne says gently. It’s odd but not uncommon to hear him speak in such dulcet tones. “That’s not what I raised you for.”

“I know, you–” He cuts his insult off at the stem and scratches his head instead.

Eddie isn’t hankering for a tongue lashing tonight and his scalp is too itchy to focus. He hasn’t washed his hair in a week. It’s obvious just looking at him, curls weighed down and straightened out from the sheer grossness of it. “Shit, I’m disgusting,” he says.

“You’re gross,” Wayne agrees. “I’ll cash a cheque when the bank opens and get you a bottle of degreaser.”

Eddie hides his smile with a long sip of coffee. It’s hot and awful, ‘cause no matter how much love Wayne puts into it, dollar store coffee tastes like burnt grounds from the get go. Eddie missed it more than anything. Sometimes he’s in the back of the queasy tour bus or lying on the floor in his hotel room coming down off of something risky and all he can think about is Wayne’s coffee.

Wayne has a hard and fast rule about drugs: if it isn’t green, I don’t want you touching it. Eddie still remembers the gasket he blew when he found that little baggy of red and white pills shoved inside an altoids tin. He can’t imagine telling his uncle what he really meant when he said he fell off the wagon.

Hey, Uncle Wayne, I have this weird love-hate relationship with a girl I don’t really know, and I got caught up doing party drugs (unrelated to our relationship) until I got so high I blacked out, and when I woke up she was there and she was looking at me like you look at a bird with a broken wing, you know? Anyway, the memory of her face won’t leave me alone. It makes me feel like crying. So I haven’t touched anything in two weeks and I thought coming home for Christmas would make up for all the secrets I’m keeping, but now—

Now Eddie doesn’t know what he was thinking. He can’t tell Wayne any of that shit. He wouldn’t even know where to start.

Wayne would ask something like, It took a girl for you to realise drugs are bad news? And Eddie would say back, No, that’s not it, it wasn’t just her.

“I’m sooooo fucked,” Eddie says slowly, mildly, scrubbing his eyes with the tips of his fingers. He drags his hands down his face and blinks against the burning he’s left in his wake.

“You’re not fucked, kid. Lemme cut you a slice of cake.”

Wayne cuts him a slice of cranberry coffee cake and Eddie eats it in two bites. Wayne makes him a burger after that. He doesn’t know what time it is, if it’s closer to night or morning, but Wayne doesn’t mention it until the burger’s gone and an alarm clock is ringing. Eddie watches his uncle truck into the living room and feels crestfallen though he doesn’t deserve to. Eddie hasn’t been home in months. He imagines Wayne alone at the kitchen table with an empty greasy plate waiting on him and wants to cry again.

Wayne returns in coveralls. He gets a good look at Eddie’s face and sighs, dropping a heavy hand into Eddie’s dark hair.

“It’ll be fine,” Wayne says.

I’m sorry, Eddie thinks. For being a bad kid.

He’d said that once. Wayne was sweeping up a smashed plate after a long shift and Eddie, thirteen and defeated with an ache where his mom should’ve been, had been trying to apologise. It had felt so crushing, that broken plate. The last straw. He’d had tears running down his pale cheeks, his hands in his hoodie pocket desperately grabbing at one another.

And when he’d said it, Wayne had just looked at him. On his knees with a brush, glass shards shining on the linoleum between them.

You think you’re a bad kid?

Wayne isn’t old and he definitely hadn’t been back then. Thirty something with a crying teenager and what felt like all the world's self-loathing crammed into a tiny kitchen. Eddie’s older now, and he knows how much Wayne gave up for him. Not just his bedroom, which had been relinquished with little more than a shoulder squeeze and five dollars for posters, but a life. Wayne could’ve done anything. Could’ve been a rockstar.

I ruin everything, he’d said. Teenage angst, maybe, but Eddie felt it in his bones.

You ain’t ruined anything.

He hadn’t known what to say so he’d cried, waiting for that nice heavy hand that tussles his hair and pats his back to finally strike out.

Eds, you’re not a bad kid. Said so quietly. With a steadiness that meant truth. You’re my kid. Could I make a bad kid?

And yeah, there had been a threshold of sincerity and they were passing it. It was the late 70’s. Boys really didn’t cry. At least, not in public. So Eddie wiped his snotty nose in his sleeve and laughed, and then he got on his knees to clean up.

“Try and sleep,” Wayne says now, older but unchanged otherwise. Still ridiculously forgiving of his not-so-young sprog. He looks at Eddie with his lips pressed together. Eddie wonders if he’s going to hug him again, but Wayne shakes his head. “Shower, you animal. I’ll be back early.”

Eddie sleeps. He showers. He washes his hair three times and doesn’t use conditioner so his curls don’t really curl but it’s fine. It doesn’t matter. He had a moment in the shower where he swore he remembered something you said to him when he was blackout on sniff cut with procaine and booze. Your voice tentative, the heat of your hand on his cheek. “Are you okay?”

He moans into his damp hands, limp hair hanging either side of his head and dripping into his pyjama pants. He can’t forgive his younger self for all the sleeveless shirts, not when Hawkins feels colder than the arctic circle and the window seal in the kitchen has been leaky for the last five years.

He thinks about going shopping, because no matter what Wayne says about degreaser, Eddie’s starting to realise that his uncle won’t be cashing any of the cheques he sent home, and if he wants Wayne taken care of he’s gonna have to do this shit himself, but he doesn’t know where his key is.

“I’m a fuck up,” he says, catching his eye in the mirror as he straightens out.

His reflection frowns at him.

He did manage to get Wayne some shit from California before he came home; a real brown leather jacket from the 60s with minimal wear, though if Wayne wears it is another thing entirely; a Roy Orbinson record that’s miraculously unwarped despite Eddie’s poor packing; more sweatshirts than his uncle could ever wear through. Eddie knows he’ll try.

There’s some other stuff. CD’s and a nice edition of War of the World’s. Whatever he could stuff in his backpack.

“Are you going home for Christmas?” you’d asked him.

He sat on the bottom step of a huge staircase and you the one above him. People walked around you without notice. Two rocks in a stream bed.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe? You aren’t sure?”

He’d got stuck looking at your cheek, the soft curve of it and the highest point, where light like a small star had kissed you and turned his stomach, that’s how sick with envy he was.

“I get it,” you’d said, “things at home aren’t always easy.”

“Not that. My Uncle Wayne is my hero.”

“And you still don’t wanna go home?” you’d asked gently.

“It’s not about what I want.” He remembers this part in detail. He’d stopped looking at you, laying back against the stairs, each step digging into his back. The ceiling had been far away.

You’d inched into his frame of view, looking down at him with an expression unreadable to his mixed up head. You weren't quite smiling. He still isn’t sure what it meant.

“It is. That’s the whole point,” you’d said.

Eddie’s all memory this morning. The ones with Wayne had felt less memory and more story, because memory is unfaithful, and over time we start to break down on the details, putting want in place of fact. But your face hovering above his as the soft strands of your hair ghost against his jaw, all your glitters and the shiny pink sheen on your lips, that’s closer. He remembers how you smelled, and how your tongue peeked out to wet your lips uselessly between words.

Jet lag and the general feeling of you keeps him lethargic, but he cleans the house (and he’s always said house, even if some people don’t agree, it houses him, fuck you Jenny P from eighth grade grade) and makes dinner ready for Wayne when he gets home. He puts the radio on and tunes into Roller FM. When one of Godless’ songs comes on, he’s not surprised. He listens with his head lolled against the kitchen wall, eyes closed, and tries not to think about your fingers choking the neck of your bass guitar.

—

Indy Rock Centre, Indianapolis, January 1991

Whoever arranged the tour is a sadist. You can’t believe that a team of professionals sat around a long glossy table with their coffee cups and finger foods and thought, yeah, that will work. You feel like you’re being fucking yo-yo’d between states.

When you’d joined godless as a stand in for Millyanna, your dates had been plentiful but never as disorganised. Nothing compares to this shit. You wonder if going crazy is a sign of making it big, or if maybe you’re not cut out for all of this after all.

Jan 22, Kalamazoo, Missouri. Jan 23, Toledo, Ohio. Jan 25, Los Angeles, California. Jan 26, Philadelphia; Jan 28, Indiana, Jan 29, Wisconsin. February? Back in Missouri, back in Ohio, a couple more state dates and then bam — Canada. Don’t worry though, after a week in Canada, you’ll never guess where you’re playing.

Fucking Florida.

At least you aren’t alone in your torture. For starters, there’s Morgan, your singer, and Ananya, your drummer, who will also endure and suffer. Then there’s the roadies, the techies and the groupies. The opening acts. The managers, the assistants, the personal assistants, the boyfriends and girlfriends and wives and mistresses.

And what’s more, you're one of the hundreds of bands touring in North America this year. Maybe thousands. You certainly aren’t the first musician to have to suck it up and tough it out.

Still, you like to complain.

It’s your right, for dealing with Morgan. And also— you aren’t getting paid for the tour until after the tour is over, so really complaining is the wealth of the soul. You do get a weekly allowance, which is awesome and not something you were getting beforehand, working instead on an invoice. You’d play a show, you’d get paid for the show. This time you’re getting a flat rate at the end of the tour that’s been contractually agreed upon. It’s more money than you’ll ever know what to do with. One of the more shameful ways you waste time in your little bus bunk is trying to figure out where to put it.

I want a house, you think. A mortgage on a small, pretty house where the weather isn't too hot or too cold. And a puppy. Probably. Maybe a fish tank. I want a bed that spans from one wall to another and…

You wince. For a moment, you’d seen something stupid, a pale face hidden in the pillow across the way.

Two puppies, you think forcefully.

You’ve played four shows already this week. You have one tonight in Indy Rock Centre, and another tomorrow in Wisconsin. You got to stay in the warm, non-vibrating luxury of a hotel room last night, but tonight you have to play the show and get straight back on the bus.

“You’re gonna glare holes in her. What did she do?”

You stop your mindless staring and come back down to earth. Ananya’s smiling at you, thick eyebrows lifted in wait for your answering gossip. You’d been staring at Morgan where she’s sitting across the room in a plush armchair, cucumbers over her eyes and swarmed by makeup artists and hairstylists with a pedicurist at her feet.

Ananya does all her make up herself. You want to ask her to do yours, but you worry her messy sweetness won’t suit you. She overlines her already big lips with a sticky red-pink, giving her an effect of having just been kissed (a lot), and rings brown eyes with a slick black kohl.

“She hasn’t done anything. Yet. Today.”

“She has been a monster, hasn’t she?” she asks, sinking down into the couch with a sigh. She flicks her hair over her shoulder. Her curls are so healthy they bounce.

You hum your agreement and slide down with her. Touring again, Ananya has remembered how much it sucks to be alone without allies. Morgan gets especially volatile from the stress and close quarters. She’s nicer when you’re alone.

She’ll still ditch you at a moment's notice, but you get it. It’s like high school.

You miss Dornie.

It’s cruel to make a friend and suddenly lose them. You can’t help thinking he won’t want to be your friend again the next time you see him. It had been so nice… so peaceful, to know there was someone in your corner. Dornie doesn’t care how famous you are or how much money you’re making. He just wanted to make sure you got home safe and talk about old movies.

“I’m gonna go find something to drink,” you say.

Ananya nods. “Bring me back a coke?”

“Yeah.”

Morgan stops you on your way out with a foot in front of your legs. “Hey, killer, I gave one of your passes to a fan earlier. Is that cool?”

“Morgan, when have you ever cared about my opinion?”

“Ooh, meow,” she croons, taking a cucumber from her eye to squint at you. “What’s the matter, baby? I figured you weren’t using them.”

You smile at her. You can’t help yourself. She stopped hurting your feelings a long time ago. “You want a drink from the machine?”

“Sparkling water, serf.”

If you smudge her nail polish on the way past it isn’t your fault. It isn’t cool with you that she’s given away one of your passes, even though you ask your general manager Angel to give them out at the beginning of the show every night. It’s presumptuous! Normal people don’t do stuff like that without asking.

Serf…

Your nose wrinkles. The dressing room door closes at your back and you take a moment to recall where you’d seen the bank of vending machines in the maze of white hallways. Indy Rock Centre is one of the biggest venues in Indianapolis, and you’ve been here before countless times on the other side to see Black Sabbath, Metallica, The Stacey’s, Doorway to Cooperstown. It’s where all the biggest and best get to play. You wish they’d given you a map.

You can still walk around without getting recognised. You’re not a superstar, just a guitarist. You smile at people who smile at you and avoid the rest, dodging past black polo shorts wheeling equipment and busybody higher ups barking orders. Someone stands in a corner talking on a brick of a handheld phone. You stare at him for a bit. You’ll never get used to it, phones without wires. Next there’ll be TVs without satellites and electric guitars without amps.

The vending machine shines like a red beacon at the end of the hallway. You hurry to it, feeding the machine your crumpled per diem one dollar at a time. You get a coke for Ananya, sparkling water for Morgan. When it gets to your own drink, the machine starts to revolt. It spits your dollar out unsympathetically. You pull it from the mouth and flatten it against your thigh.

It doesn’t work again. You nibble your bottom lip. Dollar pulled taut between your two hands, you lift your knee and rub it against your stockings.

“Fucking fuck,” you whisper, watching in mild horror as the machine accepts and then rejects your dollar for a third time.

You tuck it back into your purse, a pretty leather thing that clasps shut and fits perfectly in the small pocket of your jacket. It’s your luck, but whatever. They’ll probably bring a couple of bottles of water to the dressing room in a bit. Maybe even a cocktail bar.

“Hey.”

Your internal monologue chokes. You question your senses for the split second it takes you to meet his eyes — baby browns, soft and flush with gorgeously long lashes. If there’s one thing about Eddie Munson, it’s that he has very sweet eyes. Not the kind you can replicate in daydreams.

He’s dressed like a bitch. You’re so sick of him. He has his jacket tied around his waist and his shirt has no sleeves, the alarmingly shapely stretch of his arms on full display. Black ink climbs the hills and ridges of his stark veins, his herd of bats jumping as he offers you a dollar.

You take it. You aren’t sure what to say, so you bask in the almost-silence, every nerve aflame as you feed the vending machine and click the button for your drink. Equipment cages rattle. Radios chirp. Your drink thinks from behind the red Coca Cola panel down into the bottom of the machine for collection.

“What’re you doing here?” you ask finally, squatting to grab your drink.

You stand, train your eyes on the floor, shove your drink under your arm, and crack open your purse to give him your defective dollar in exchange. He takes it without fanfare.

“Are you busy?” he asks.

Regrettably, no. The majority of soundcheck is done, and the show doesn’t start for hours. He gestures to the left and you follow, stupidly, with no idea where he’s leading you to and not a clue what he wants, leaving Morgan and Ananya’s drinks for whoever finds them. Eddie’s jeans aren’t as loose on his hips as they were the last time you saw him. His distracting arms are bigger, biceps like a taunt as he holds a door open for you. You take a breath as you pass him, but he doesn’t smell like anything. No sweat or cologne, no cigarette smoke.

“Is it mean if I say you look good with clean hair?” you ask, squinting in the sudden brightness.

He’s led you outside to the back of the venue. Your tour bus stands imposing at the end of the lot, surrounded by Godless branded vans and fancy cars. A truck beeps as it loads into the receiving area backward.

“Probably.”

“You do, though. Look good.”

“So people tell me.”

Fuck, you think. Fuck it. If he’s gonna be weird about it then you’re pulling the olive branch back in and snapping it in half.

The sky is white as snow. It hurts to look at, the sun like a steaming egg yolk covered in its own whites, thick clouds shielding her warmth. You pull the sides of your jacket together and button up, uninterested in catching a cold when the next six months of your life are planned down to the hour. Eddie puts his jacket on and zips it tight.

“Wanna go for a walk?” he asks.

“Why?”

He pushes his hands into his pockets. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he felt self conscious. “Why not?” he asks.

You nod. You and Eddie aren’t friends, but you aren’t not friends, either. You’re being cold because you’re seized with embarrassment, not because he deserves it. You have memories of his hand on your cheek, and a cherry stem between his teeth, and you don’t know what you said exactly but you know it hadn’t been amicable small talk. You hate him for knowing stuff about you that you’d wanted to keep secret, and you hate yourself more for telling him in the first place.

“I came home for Christmas. I’m back in Los Angeles tomorrow night.”

“That’s convenient,” you say.

“Just had to see you before I went,” he agrees. Deadpan humour is terrifying on him.

He ducks under a low tree branch and holds it away from your face. Together, you begin to walk down the street and into the city, over patched sidewalks and past brand new stores. The mom and pop shops of your childhood are mostly gone.

Conversations between you two have this odd oscillation between over familiarity and stilted nothings. You like over familiarity better, when you’re both prone to misunderstandings. You’d take snipping at one another over this strange quiet.

“Is it nice? Being home?” he asks finally.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’ve been here for what, a month now? I just got here, and it wasn’t to see the ‘rents.”

Eddie lifts his chin to the sky a touch. Molasses of sunlight seep through the clouds now, racing to caress his waved hair and high cheekbones. “It’s been awesome,” he says, his eyes closed. His voice like tree bark, uneven but tough. “Makes me wonder what I liked about L.A. so much.”

“All the free stuff,” you offer. “And free girls.”

“The girls aren’t free,” he protests.

“You aren’t getting free girls?” you ask.

“Are you?”

“Would that bother you?”

Close-lipped, his tongue pokes the skin under his bottom lip.

“You think stuff like that bothers me?” he asks.

“It bothers some people.”

Eddie isn’t meeting your eyes consistently, but you don’t think he’s lying when he says, “No, it wouldn’t bother me. But my Uncle Wayne would fucking kill me if he heard me agree that the women are free.”

“How progressive.”

He visually bites back a laugh. He looks up from his shoes and sees you smiling and it breaks him, his laugh sputtering out in bits and pieces. “Shit, I’m just trying to be an okay person.”

You concede, “Fine, the girls aren’t free. They’re just very happy to sleep with you for very little reward.”

“Some might say the reward was, you know, pleasure–”

“Ew–”

“Don’t be childish. What did you want me to say? The reward is a long night of rough and tumble fucking–”

“I liked pleasure better,” you interject. You dance around a huge crack in the sidewalk and pause as you and Eddie reach a crossing. “All night? Really?”

“Want me to prove it?”

“I don’t think you could, Munson.”

“I could…” He rests his hand between your shoulder blades. “But I don’t think we’re there yet.”

He encourages you to cross the street, weaving and winding between parked cars, moving cyclists, and a small family bulldozing passers-bys with a twin stroller. When you’ve crossed to the other side uninjured, his hand falls away. The heat of his palm lingers.

“Good observation.”

“You’re sarcastic today. Or is being on the road making you cranky?”

“Being on the road is definitely making me cranky. It fucking sucks, I forgot how badly it sucks, and I don’t get paid day to day like I used to.”

“Oh, you’re getting a flat rate now? Go you, superstar.” Your walk is more of a crawl, the two of you turned to the left side of the street where children shriek and giggle in the outdoor seating of a restaurant. Eddie stops. “How’s the allowance?”

“You get one of those too?”

Eddie bumps his elbow into yours. “We’re kids. They know it. It’s pretty shitty considering how much money they make off of us in the end, but that’s an asshole thing to say, right? We’re lucky.”

You roll your shoulders. He’s more than right. Coming from nothing, a small town, with no college degree and no rich parents to float you, Eddie’s right. You might have talent and you might work hard but so do a lot of other people, and you’re here, and they’re working for minimum wage back home still hoping.

You wish every kid like you could get to where you are, but they won’t. You’re more than lucky. You should buy a scratcher.

“We’re fucking lucky,” Eddie says slowly. “And it’s awful anyways.” He grins. “Come to dinner with me?”

You blink. “What?”

“Dinner? I’ve been there before,” —he points to the restaurant you’d stopped across from— “and it’s nice.”

You’re insane and you agree. It’s not too fancy to feel like you’re on a date from the outside, and once you’re indoors you feel relaxed. With a glass of cider in your hands you feel positively giddy.

Eddie slouches back into a velvet booth seat that might’ve once been red. He keeps the jacket on and you’re grateful for it, lest you see his stupid nice arms and turn ditzy. His nose twitches as looks out over the restaurant floor toward the kitchen visible through a long window. It’s warm but not stuffy in here, the air fragrant with browning butter and minced garlic.

The menus are sticky. You pretend to pour over one, not knowing what to say to break the silence.

“I know I said you were being sarcastic,” Eddie says, “but I think I meant quiet. Even when you sound annoyed, I can barely hear you.”

“That’s dramatic,” you murmur, proving his point.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Well, in what way?”

“What way feels wrong to you?” he asks.

Trapped. You sip your cold cider. He raps his knuckles against the table. “Come on, what have you got to lose? What did you say to me before?” His eyes soften. “Nobody would believe me if I told them.”

You tap your glass with your thumbnail.

“I’m okay,” you say honestly. “Most of the time, I feel fine. Or, I forget what’s wrong.”

Eddie flicks his own glass. “Is this about feeling like nothing?”

“I don’t know why I told you that.”

“I have one of those faces.”

“And you were feeding me booze.”

“Don’t say that. You make it sound so shitty.”

“It wasn’t shitty,” you say. “Free drinks, right? What’s shitty about letting a pretty guy pay for you?”

“You think I’m pretty?” he asks.

You kick him under the table. You don’t know what comes over you, shy at your own honesty and irritated with his ridiculousness. I let you kiss me, you want to say. I’d let you do worse. Of course I think you’re pretty. You aren’t cruel — it’s more of a shove with the toe of your shoe. Eddie laughs through a gasp and kicks you back, heel of his converse flat to your calf.

“You fucking–”

“Sweetheart?” he finishes.

“No, fuck you. You string me around with your hot and cold act and now you’re coming to my shows taking me to dinner,” —your voice stiffens, thickens, as you glare at him from across the table— “asking me how I’m doing? And I’m the one who has to explain themselves? You tell me, Munson. Do I think that you’re pretty?”

Eddie’s sort of frozen, like a laugh got stuck in his throat and he really is surprised by your sudden anger. You might feel surprised yourself if you had the wherewithal. As it stands, your irritation and your want for an answer is too much.

He hits the toe of his shoe into yours. “Hey,” he says. “Sorry. I’m not… trying to string you around.”

He doesn’t say anything else. You deflate, ashamed of your sudden outburst. Tired of all the games.

“I think you’re pretty,” he says.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“It’s what I’ve been trying to say.”

The food arrives and saves him. You want him to explain —you want him to expand, needily, on what he means and how much he means it— and he clearly doesn’t. He grabs his fork and starts shovelling pasta into his mouth like it’ll magically turn the conversation to something more palatable for him.

“I’d like to change my answer,” you say.

Eddie swallows harshly. “Can’t. All compliments have been locked in. Maybe at our next cat fight.”

—

Eddie’s heart isn’t pounding like he worried it might when he asked you to follow him into the bathroom. He pictured sweaty, shaking palms, his hands hesitant, a reminiscent picture of a past self who didn’t know how to make girls make noise. He thought the next time he was alone with you, it would be the tragic scene from the movies where the boy bears his heart and the girl can’t accept it. He’s not expecting you to understand. It’s getting to the point where the mean shit he said to you isn’t made up of words anymore but the image of you in the Prover Theatre with your sparkling dress and your dull eyes. He hates that he made you feel that way, and he should say sorry. He feels fucking sorry.

“Don’t cut me,” you say, quiet so you won’t be caught together.

“I won’t.”

“When was the last time you did this?”

“It’s like riding a bike,” he insists. “I haven’t forgotten.”

You simper. Propped up on the sink’s counter, your skirt hiking up your thighs (imagine him covering his face with his hands, rocking his head from side to side, you’re wearing garters) and your jacket falling into the basin. You’ve turned one arm toward him trustingly, but apprehension plays clear as day over your mouth. He wants to remark that your mouth is pretty, but it’s not the right word. Perfect feels closer, but again, it’s not what he wants. He has a fascination with how you talk and when you don’t, how your lips have a mind of their own sometimes, nibbled and popped and pouting.

“It’s easier if you take your shirt off.”

“How many girls believed that one?” you ask happily. He’s ecstatic. Dinner perked you up and now you’re all smiles and warm laughs. He doesn’t know why you’d been angry with him (he does) because you started it (not really), but you got something off your chest at least.

“None,” he says. “I’m serious that it’s easier. But you really don’t have to take it off for me to make it look good.”

Eddie wields his small pen knife toward your arm.

“I like my sleeves,” you say as he takes the hem of one such sleeve into his free hand.

“Don’t be a baby.” He pulls it taut from your skin. You’re both smiling. Carbs are good like that.

“I have fat arms,” you try.

He’s out of his mind. Eddie leans down and kisses the top of your arm quickly. “Shut up,” he says.

He doesn’t have time to think about what he’s done. It’ll torture him tonight when all he has for distraction are hotel sheets, and then tomorrow on the red eye back to L.A. He honestly doesn’t wanna look at you because if your nose is even slightly wrinkled he’ll have to turn to the gross toilet in the corner and chuck up, but he also doesn't want to freak you out. He looks up at you from under his lashes.

You look flustered.

Not disgusted.

“I’m doing it,” he warns.

“Yeah,” you say, nearly normal. “Fine. Make me look cool.”

“You admit that I look cool.”

“No.”

Eddie digs the tip of his pen knife into your sleeve and starts pulling. The fabric tears away in a jagged-lined but even circle around your arm, broadening a tantalising stretch. His stomach hurts a bit. To reach your second arm, the one furthest from him, he has to take up station between your spread legs. Or maybe he doesn’t have to, but he does, your thighs like two warm spots either side of him as he leans in close.

“And this is what’s gonna make them all like me, right? This is the cement of my street cred?”

“Your street cred? No. And I don’t think anything you do could make them like you.” You lean back at his words. He pulls you back in, fingers braceleting your arm as he fakes taking a measurement. “If they don’t like you already, they won’t. Not your fault, not your problem. Who says you even like them?”

“I do, though. That’s my problem. I even like Little Miss Fleetwood,” you grumble.

He raises his eyebrows to show he’s listening, stabbing at your sleeve and tearing slow. “She still tripping you up?”

“No. I’m just trying to make you laugh.”

He laughs under his breath. “Mission accomplished, baby,” he murmurs.

Both sleeves sliced, Eddie steps away from you, ignoring the heat in his stomach to take you in. People who don’t know where they stand shouldn’t be so close to one another, he decides, ‘cause wishful thinking has him marking your hands as wanting. Your fingers move slowly as if through water, tip of your index on the left hand stroking down the back of your right marriage. Eddie pins salaciousness on everybody he meets —coke is falling out of fashion fast but sex is always in— but he can’t get a faithful read on you now. He wants you to want to be kissed. Doesn’t trust that you do.

“You look edgy.”

“In a good way or a bad way?” you ask.

“An awful way.”

You go quiet, your hands go still. You raise your head until it’s too much, and he realises he’s been moving back in. He drops the penknife in the sink on top of your jacket, putting his hand on your freshly bared arm and bunching the sleeve up as much as he can without it pulling at you. He’s greedy and he wants to palm at your skin like an asshole, that’s not your problem.

“That bad?” you ask.

He angles his face over yours. He needs two inches maybe three, and you’d be kissing. His hand falls down your arm to your elbow, clasping weakly over your skin.

“No,” he says. He can barely hear himself.

Greedy. His second hand comes up to your face, waiting, and when you lift your jaw just so he slots his hand under it and holds you.

“What are we doing?” you whisper.

What are ‘we’ doing?

“Nothing you don’t want to do.” He widens the gap between you.

“I know– I know that.” Your arm ventured forward, fingers twisting around the hem of his shirt. You tug it gently, pulling him forward again. “I just don’t understand it. You. I don’t get what’s happening, Eddie.”

“Well… I was going to kiss you.” Eddie fights to sound the way he feels, out of his element but so earnest his chest aches. “I really, really… want to kiss you.”

It doesn’t feel like admitting defeat, as he’d initially thought it might. Neither does it feel confessional. You can’t confess to a secret already known.

He kisses you just once. A light brush of his lips against yours. Anymore than that and he knows he’ll start making promises like someone who has room for them. His eyes scrunch closed hard and he struggles not to squeeze your poor cheek as the pressure of your lips builds, as they part, as he pulls back and you chase him. He can’t kiss your mouth anymore than that, but your hands are grabbing at him, pleading and twitching and cold against the searing skin of his abdomen as they search underneath his shirt. Eddie feels the soft curve of your hip under his hand, knowing he can’t fuck you here, and undecided on whether that’ll be his ruin or his saviour.

You shudder as he kisses down. His hands are hungry but his mouth is sweet, gentle like you deserve as he noses down the column of your throat.

“I don’t get you,” you say, your fingertips sewn into his hair, scratching over his scalp lightly. Your breath catches as he parts his lips. His teeth scratch over the damp crescents of previous kisses.

He loses himself in the ticklish feeling of your hand and the heat of your skin. “Hm?” he hums.

“I understood you better when I thought you didn’t like me.”

He kisses up to the soft crook of your jaw before edging you away, just enough to see the sad set of your eyes.

“Hey,” he says, utters, like you’re trading secrets. His thumb rubs your cheek, a rough touch. He’s never been much good at aligning his words with actions; his heart and his hands.

He doesn’t know what to do to fix your sad frown. He kisses you again in case that’s what you wanted but couldn’t say, and it works for a handful of blessed, wretched seconds. You kiss back hard. Eddie has to break it to take a breath.

You rest your forehead against his. It slides slowly to his nose, and eventually you’ve bowed your head, your hands slipping down to his elbows.

“I feel sick all the time,” you say. Your hands flex against his skin. “The only time I feel alright is when I’m playing– when I’m making something.” You press your head to his chest. “Or when I’m with you.”

Eddie thinks of all the shitty decisions he’s made. His restlessness, his bad attitude. His propensity to assume the worst. How he’d taken your thumb rubbing a smudge off of his cheek in the Prover Theatre as a jab, rather than a helping hand.

He wraps his arms around you.

Your head fits under his rather well.

“I know what you mean,” he says. And out of everything he’s told you today, that’s the hardest to say aloud.

Eddie hugs you in the dim light of that dingy bathroom knowing he’s running on borrowed time. All too soon, you’re pulling apart and he’s helping you off of the counter unnecessarily. You don’t hold hands on the way back to Wings Stadium. He thought you might. You’re quiet. He tries to cheer you up, feeling more and more like he’s done something wrong the closer you get to the venue.

He doesn’t have anything to offer. You’re both on tour now. He doesn’t have a clue when he’ll see you next, or what he’ll say when he does.

Miraculously, he gets you back to your dressing room. He gives your cheek a quick squeeze.

“Play well tonight,” he says.

“I always play well.”

You do. He watches you from the VIP section a couple of hours later, impressed. Mildly nauseous. His thumb worries the edge of the pass until it splits in his hand, paper coming apart from cardboard. Your singer might be a handful, but she knows when to be discreet. He slinks out before your set finishes through a side entrance, and his head races with your image. If it weren’t for your cut sleeves and the flank of your upper arm glowing under the stage lights, he’d put his kisses down to surreal delusion.

Eddie doesn’t notice the lone photographer hiding in the eaves.

The photographer notices him.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

!!! thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed! if you did, please consider reblogging, it helps so much! Let me know what you thought, what bits you liked and what you want to see next

can you feel another spat coming along 0.0 I honestly had so much fun writing this one especially the scene with Wayne and then the end scene in the bathroom <3 it’s always crazy to see hours and hours condensed into chapters like this but idc I’m having the time of my life and hope u guys r too! the word count is now at a solid 26k I believe though so it does feel rewarding in that way

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things fic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #rockstar!eddie #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie munson x reader #rockstar!eddie x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson angst

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smooth-perceval · 7 months

Note

Angsty lando pleaseeeeee

This is my first rq omg, sorry it was rushed I have like 7 drafts and I’m trying to clear them out 🥲🫶🏼❤️

Surrender

Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader was only trying to console Lando, Lando throws a hissy fit- and some truths are spilled. The ‘argument’ being quickly extinguished.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, very annoyed reader+Lando, fluff ending

Key: Y/N (Your Name) Y/L/N (your last name)

Word count: 1,397

A/N: I cannot see Lando being mean- so it was kinda weird to write 😂 Sarcastic asf? Yes! Mean- it seems so odd but I hope I done okay ❤️

Wether Lando was annoyed or not- I shouldn’t have recieved the back end of it.

I only asked a simple “you okay?” And I got back. “Just leave me the fuck alone.” Before storming back over to the car hopping back in and out on track.

Debating wether to go back to the drivers room or stay - I finally decided that going back to the drivers room was my best option. I felt embarrassed- after 4 people asked me if I was okay, I felt to upset and awkward to be around them.

My face was Ferrari red- no joke, shuffling my way back to the drivers room, I sat in pure silence. Did I really say anything bad? Did I actually annoy him and it wasn’t the car? Questioning my intentions for the next 10 minutes or so is all I did. Before I came to the perfect idea and decided to just leave in general, go back to the hotel and dwell on it all there.

While I had the chance to run I did. Straight back to our hotel and straight into the shower, a day washed away once again. I made quick effort to change into a simple shorts pyjama set, lounging out on the small sofa they had in the room.

—

My phone re-woke me. Grabbing ahold and answering, only to realise who it was when the angry voice spoke down the line.

“Where the hell are you?!”

“Back at the hotel?”

“I’ve looked everywhere for you! Nobody knew! You didn’t tell me!!” Rubbing my eyes, a yawn escaping me. I tutted at him climbing off the sofa and into the bed.

“I fell asleep and forgot to message sorry-”

“I’m nearly at the hotel.” And with that he hung up, here I anxiously sat. I get the annoyance but he was the reason I left in the first place.

Sighing I mentally prepared myself for the lecture I was about to withstand. And truthfully I couldn’t be asked for it.

“Y/N.” The door unlocked and he barged in.

“Seriously- what the hell is going on with you? I needed you at the pits today.” Frowning he stormed off into the bathroom.

“Errr- No, you told me to ‘leave you the fuck alone’ so I did.” Leaning over the bed I put my phone on charge.

“Just cause I said it, didn’t mean I meant it.” Tutting I hear him switch on the shower waiting around for it to warm up, he walked back out facing me.

“Wether you meant it or not Lando. I didn’t deserve it.”

“Well who else am I supposed to let my anger out on.” Throwing his hands up in the air like it’s the most problematic thing in his life at the moment.

“You can vent to me any day- you know that. But I won’t take rudeness.”

“I wasn’t fucking rude!” Shaking his head laughing to himself he went back into the bathroom slamming the door.

“There you go again. Just because your cars shit! Don’t take it out on me.” Laying back on the bed with a groan I stared up at the ceiling.

What a dick.

“My car is not shit-” glancing over at him now standing back outside the bathroom door, he looked so pissed off- but why is it okay for him to say stuff and not me.

“Did I touch a nerve?”

“What made you even bring that up? We wasn’t talking about that.”

“The whole reason for your sour mood is that car.”

“Can’t a guy just have a bad day.” Pulling his hoodie off throwing it on the floor.

“There’s a bad day and then a bad weekend. And you’ve been an asshole to me this whole weekend. If it’s not the car then what? Is it me?” Raising my eyebrows at him I sat on the edge of the bed.

“Your talking stupid again.” And once again he stormed into the bathroom, stripping down to his underwear.

“Then what is it?- I’m not a mind-reader Lando! I can’t help unless you tell me what’s pissed you off.”

“Your not listening! Nothing has pissed me off, fucking hell.” I could’ve got whiplash the amount of times he has stormed in and out that bathroom.

The hot and cold was pissing me off- and before I knew it, all the calmness washed away from me- and all the built up annoyance and anger reeled out.

“You are so frustrating- do you understand that.” Furrowing my brows I stood up, gesturing my hands in front of me.

“One minute it’s ‘can’t a guy have a bad day’ then it’s ‘I’m not pissed off’ or it’s ‘I needed you in the garage today’ but your not pissed off right? So why did you need me. Do you understand how fucking childish your being.” Chest rising and falling, we both stared at each other in silence.

“And while I’m getting everything off my chest for once- your car is shit! Man up and tell the team, don’t drive a shit car and then get annoyed at me for asking a simple question. I didn’t build the stupid car, I don’t drive it- I have no involvement!” Turning around grabbing a pillow off the bed I stomped towards the sofa. “Stupid fucking thing it is.” Mumbling to myself while shaking my head.

“Because I have human decency, I’ll sleep on the sofa. But don’t you dare speak to me unless your going to apologise for being a absolute prick.” Throwing the pillow down on the sofa, I went to the wardrobe pulling out the spare duvet, throwing that on the sofa also.

“What- why you sleeping on the sofa…”

“That doesn’t sound like an apology.” With a loud huff he disappeared once again.

When I turned around Lando had retreated back to the bathroom. It’s strange, lecturing someone tires you out, I flopped back onto the sofa, sighing to myself. Was I too harsh…? Yeah- maybe I should apologise…

Before I even thought about what to say I had dozed back off again, not even wanting to face Lando truthfully right now, I’ll only say more things I don’t mean.

—

“Baby…” rocking me gently, I was woken from my slumber. It was pitch black, I just about made out Lando’s face.

“You awake…?” Even though it was just us two, he still whispered. Humming in response, I rolled over facing the back of the sofa.

“I’m sorry…” pressing a delicate kiss to my shoulder, rubbing it gently, he then leant his head against my back. “I’m sorry for taking my anger out on you… your right about absolutely everything.” Followed by another soft kiss to my shoulder.

“Even about the car being shit??…” smiling to myself, I turned back over slowly, wrapping an arm around his neck, playing with the back of his hair.

“That’s the reason I’m so annoyed-” slowly he squeezed himself on the sofa, pulling me half on-top of him. “Your right- I should man up and tell them, not just keep allowing them to fuck up…” brushing my hand over his cheek, I laid my head on his shoulder listening to him vent.

“I just have had enough… I’ve had enough of feeling like a failure every race- because the cars so terrible…” sighing, he fiddled with my hand. “I love you- and that scares me…” smiling wide, I moved his head turning it towards me.

“You love me?”

“So fucking much.” Pulling him in slowly, I placed a gentle kiss to his lips. “Your not a failure, your absolutely wonderful…” a small smile crept on his face at my compliment.

“Your going to tell them what you really think about that car, your also going to give it your all the rest of this season, because you don’t give up.”

“Your also going to start understanding, I’m on your side always… no matter what, I’m battling from your corner. Because I love you, always have and always will.”

Smiling at me, he pulled me down slowly brushing his lips against mine, “does this mean I get some lovin’?” Laughing, I smacked his chest climbing over him standing up.

“You really are lucky I love you.”

“I know I bless myself everyday.” Standing up he placed his hands on my waist kissing me again.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

Masterlist

#f1 imagine #formula one imagine #imagine #lando x reader #lando norris #lando norris x you #lando norris x y/n #lando norris x reader

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ghouljams · 9 months

Note

PLEASE CAN WE HAVE MORE KÖNIG WITH HIS LIL DEMON

I will always write more of König and Fetch.

König jolts in his chair, knees hitting the underside of his desk as your hands slide over his thighs. He looks down at you in a panic, your eyes glowing in the relative shadow of his desk, then across the wood at the Lieutenant standing at attention. The soldier's nerves and concern radiate off of him, eyes fixed to König as he tries to put his composure back together. KorTac runs a tight ship, König runs a tight ship, he can't have his men thinking he's got... women under his desk. Or one woman in particular. A very determined one who rubs her cheek against his knee and attempts to push closer.

"Dismissed Lieutenant." König tells the man.

"But Colonel, I haven't finished my-"

"Dismissed." König says more forcefully, the man straightens past perfect and nods before artfully scrambling out of the office. König sags back against his chair, drags a hand down his covered face. You are going to be the death of him.

"Fetch," he groans, exasperation coloring his tone, "What are you doing Schöne?"

"You seem tense." You nuzzle closer against his thigh, pulling yourself further from the shadows. König rests his elbow on the arm of his desk chair, his cheek against his knuckles as he stares you down.

"I have been out of the field for," he takes a deep breath, rubs his eyes, "too long now." You hum, and fingers dragging up his thighs to his belt. "You will excuse me if I am-"

"Tense."

"Not entertaining you." König corrects. You pout, your fingers stilling. You don't need entertaining, that's just rude. You've been perfectly content sitting in König's shadow while he did all his silly busy work. You listened to all the stupid whining from the other KorTac operators, and watched your commanding officer give orders with an ever growing hunger.

To say you were obsessed with the brutal efficiency with which König operated was an understatement. If you'd thought it was only his kills which had bought him a demonic companion you were witnessing first hand how incorrect an assumption that was. You've never seen a man command such degrees of respect and fear.

"Then let me entertain myself." König hums, eyes flicking to the door. You're getting better at reading him, but you can't tell if that's anxiety or amusement in his eyes.

"Lock the door, Fetch." He says after a moment. You hardly waste the time it would take to get up, flicking your wrist in the general direction of the office door to hear the metal click of the lock turn. The rest of your focus is on opening König's belt. He slides forward, closer to the edge of the chair, legs spreading wider on either side of you. You're not one to pass up an open invitation.

You pull his cock free of his pants and whine at the sight of it. Even soft he's a beast of a man. At some point you have to find whoever matched you to him and thank them. Truly they are doing the devil's work.

You push up onto your knees and press your lips against the length of his cock, tongue darting out to taste his skin with a pleased hum. König wraps a hand around one of your horns, a firm reminder of his authority. Not that you need it. Oh no you are always well aware of his status as your superior officer and summoner. That's half the fun of being summoned in the first place, knowing you're at his command, or at his feet in this particular instance.

"I told you Schöne, I can't entertain you." He reminds you, setting the paper down to sign before picking up another. You pull off with a frown, that gets his attention. König pushes at your horn, tipping your head back to look at him with a smile in his eyes. “I didn’t tell you to stop,” He clarifies, “I meant do whatever you want.”

Your drooling is working well for you so far, slicking König's quickly hardening cock enough to stroke it. His thick length is already too much to get your fingers all the way around. You're better with your mouth anyway, always mindful of your teeth when you close your lips around the head of his cock to suck. Tongue circling while your hand twists and pumps his length. You just remember to glance at König, too focused on your work. He's reading over a report, eyes scanning the paper as you bob your head down his cock. You whine, desperate for a shred of his attention.

Your eyes go wide. Whatever you want? He nods, and pulls your horn to press your face against his cock. As previously mentioned, you’re not one to pass up an open invitation. Quick to start pumping his cock with your fingers again as you duck your head to lick his balls. Dragging your tongue along the thin sensitive skin, feeling the texture of his coarse hair. Whatever you want? Oh you are going to worship him. Whatever you want means König cumming is not the end goal. Besides, he has to work.

You’re not meant to be let off leash. He’s supposed to give you orders, not hand you the reins. You trace every line and vein of his cock with your tongue, press languid kisses along the length of him, absolutely lose yourself in the taste and feel of him. Sweat, salt, military issue soap and the bitterness of pre-cum coat your tongue and fill your nose. König keeps you well fed but you haven’t seen battle in weeks. Now the lazy waves of lust that roll through him with the roll of your tongue feel like the best meal you’ve had in years.

You squeeze your fingers around the base of his cock as you wrap your lips around the head, easing your way down with fluttering lashes. You swallow, tongue rubbing against the underside of his cock until you reach your fingers. Then your hand drops to your lap and you still with your nose against his pubic bone, enjoying the feeling of being full. The heavy cock on your tongue, the ache in your jaw, the pressure of him stretching out your throat… You purr around him, earning a very pleased hum from König above you.

His hand leaves your horn to pet your hair as you cockwarm him. Your thoughts are fuzzy, your skin warm, all of you lulled by an affectionate hand, the scent of him, and a cock down your throat. Your fingers slip between your legs, lazy and indulgent, rubbing the slick from your cunt along your slit to circle your clit. When König is done with his work he’ll bend you over his desk and fuck you for being so needy, you want to be ready.

#demon!darling au #könig mw2 #colonel könig #oc: fetch #König #König x oc #König x reader #könig smut #Nobody talk to me about König being minorly ooc #I think he's got a “work mode” that lets him function like a normal person #y'know like a customer service personality #but for the fucking military #how did this man pass his psych evals #I don't think he did I think they just couldn't not let him kill people #Fetch is so fucking obsessed with this man #And he treats her like a pet #unlike Ghost who treats Die like a helpful annoyance

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mewhenimanangel · 10 months

Text

spiderboy, miles morales x fem!reader

part 1! ʚɞ part 2 ʚɞ part 3 ʚɞ part 4 ʚɞ part 5

pairing: earth 1610! miles morales x reader

synopsis: you didn’t think anything of it when you bumped into miles on your first day at visions. it slowly became one of the best things to happen to you.

wc: 1.9k

warnings!: cursing

You got ready for your first day at Brooklyn Visions Academy. Your mom had decided to send you there for better "academic challenges" or whatever. You were nervous but found solace in knowing you'd already have a friend there, Zoya Hart. You’ve been friends since the third grade, absolutely inseparable.

You put on your uniform skirt and finished your makeup. New school, if you didn't make a good first impression, at least you’d look good. "Y/n hurry up! I've gotta go!" your mom called out from the kitchen. "Mommy just go! I can walk" you applied her lip gloss in the mirror. "Ah-ah, you're gonna be late. Hurry up"

You rolled your eyes spraying perfume over your body. Grabbing your backpack you shoved in your books and pencil case inside. "Wait mommy I need to fill up my water bottle" you rushed to the fridge and pressed it against the water dispenser. "Come on!" your mom yelled walking over to the door. "Wait I need my headphones!" you ran to your room to grab the earbuds sitting on the dresser, quickly scratching your cat's head "Bye Bobo" you breathed out before rushing out the door. "Baby it's school what do you need headphones for?" your mom grew irritated. "If I don't have these, I'll literally kill myself"

"Aye, I told you to stop saying that!" you both walked out the door, locking it. Getting in the passenger seat, you checked her appearance on her phone, fiddling with the nose piercing that sat on her nostril. Your blonde box braids were in two pig tails, edges laid flat. You wore a gold necklace with a pendant in the shape of a bow, you loosened the tie around your neck. "I hate this stupid ass uniform" your mom laid a smack on your thigh. "Watch your mouth!" "Ow mommy sorry!" you exclaimed rubbing your hand over your leg.

You plugged your earbuds in, listening to music until you saw the school in the distance. Your heart sped up as you took her headphones out, tucking them in her backpack. "Alright baby have a good day okay. Make me proud, I love you" your mom said giving her a kiss on the cheek. "Love you too mommy bye" you replied getting out of the car as she drove off.

You opened up your phone to Zoya's contact.

'i'm here and i'm shaking where are you??' you sent a text.

'in the principal's office'

'surprise baby i'm your tour guide :P' Zoya replied.

You felt yourself bump into another body. Looking up from your phone you saw a boy with a dazed expression on his face. The boy wore a pair of Jordan 1 bloodlines, a tiny spider-man figure on his backpack. He was about four inches taller than her and a bit lanky, his skin dark brown. His hair was a taper fade with kinky curls, his eyes were dark brown almost black shade as he stared at you.

"I'm really sorry about that" you apologized putting your hands out in front of you "Ah it's cool, no worries" he brushed off with a smile. "Um do you know where the principal's office is?" you asked looking around. "Yeah, I can show you. Are you new here?" he asked leading you down the hall to the right. "Uh-huh" "New to New York?" he asked again. "Nah my parents just thought this would be a better school". He nodded his head as they came to the front door of the main office. "It's the one on the left. I've gotta get to class though. I'm Miles by the way" he said, waiting for you to respond. "Y/n" you replied with a smile.

He walked away when you made your way to the principal. "Y/n!!" Zoya exclaimed, going to hug the girl. She had a light tan complexion, pink lips and a bright white smile. Her hair was a beautiful ginger color with her curls falling past her shoulders. Zoya was about two inches taller than you, wearing a pair of platform doc marten 8053s. Her 'Z' necklace rest on her chest along with your matching bow necklace.

"Ugh I am so glad your parents sent you here!" The man behind the desk cleared his throat, alerting the two girls of his presence. "Oh sorry, Y/n this is Mr. Hale, our principal." He reached out his hand for you to shake. "Nice to meet you, Ms. L/n". She smiled as she shook his hand "Nice to meet you too, sorry I'm late" "No matter, it's your first day, just don't let it be a frequent problem." he sat back down in his chair.

"Alright, here's your schedule, look over it while i pull up your file" he handed you a piece of paper with all of your classes for the day.

'English Language Arts 11' 8:30 AM

'Modern Us History' 9:34 AM

'Ceramics 1' 10:38 AM

'Algebra 2' 11:42 AM

'Lunch 2' 12:45 PM

'Physics' 1:19 PM

'Sociology' 2:27 PM

He gave you all the information she needed: locker number and code, teacher's names, grade expectations, your guidance counselor's name and office, etc "Alright, I'll have Miss Hart here show you around." he said as the two of you made your way to the door. "Have a good day and good luck settling into your new classes. It's only September, so I'm sure you haven't missed much." he bid goodbye.

You and Zoya got to your locker as you attempted to put the code in. "Right, left, right" Zoya instructed. The locker popped open and you sorted out your things. You saw Zoya look over her shoulder at her sister, Maya. "Aren't you supposed to be in class?" she asked the girl. "Yeah, but I don't wanna be" Maya replied giggling. "Heyy, n/n! I forgot you were coming here." Maya said hugging you. "I'm giving her a tour of the school" Maya said, opening her phone to take a quick selfie with you. "Oou can I come?" Maya chirped. "Youu have a class to go to." Maya rolled her eyes and left you two to start your tour.

Zoya intertwined her arm with yours as you walked through the school. She showed you the gym, the library, the cafeteria - all huge. She showed you the student council room, the dorm halls - which wasn't necessary since you wouldn't be staying there, they made their way over to a big window in the main hallway which overlooked a courtyard where she found people sitting outside and a teacher have a class.

"This place is so fancy, shit" you exclaimed. "Ahhh it's aight" Zoya joked. Anyways, let's get you to class." It was 8:45 now and Zoya knocked on the door of your first period. "Meet me at lunch, good luck" Zoya kissed your cheek and walked away. "Well class, we have a new student joining us, Miss Y/n L/n"

Your day went pretty normal, people were nice enough to you and you talked to a few people, making their acquaintance. The bell rung which meant it was time for you to go to lunch and finally see your friend again. You sent her a text asking her where she was sitting when you bumped into someone again. "Woah, gotta stop meeting like this" the boy said letting out a light laugh. "Yeah, my bad" you let out an awkward laugh. "You have lunch now too?" he asked you "Yeah, actually I'm waiting for my friend-" you was interrupted by a hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, I'm starving let's go in the line" Zoya said. "Oh you know Zoya?" Miles said, dapping her up. "Yup, since third grade." "Cool well see you around, preferably not bumping into you" he joked and walked away with his friend. "How do you know Miles?" you asked her as you walked over to the lunch line. "Classes, plus he knows Peter." she replied, getting a cheeseburger and fries. "Why, do you think he's cute?" she teased . "Oh he's realll cute" you giggled.

You made your way over to a table where Peter, Maya, and a girl you didn't recognize were already sitting. "Yoo, n/n how you liking the school" Peter said, as he dap you up. "It's alright, fancy as fuck though" Zoya sat down next to Peter, giving him a kiss on the cheek, while you found a seat next to Maya. "Hey, I'm Kiona" the girl you didn't recognize spoke up. "Y/n, you're so pretty by the way" you smiled at the girl. "Aww thank you, you too"

Lunch ended as you and Peter parted ways with everyone. "Physics is brutal but Mr Johnson is chill as fuck" he informed you walking into the class. Peter took his seat as Mr Johnson spoke up "Ah, Miss L/n, nice to meet you. You can take a seat back there next to Morales" he pointed to the back of the room where Miles was sitting, already looking at you. You smiled at the boy and made your way to the back. "Hey" he whispered to you . "Hi" you replied. "Didn't know we'd have this class together. Shoulda told me" "You didn't ask" you joked, opening a notebook.

The bell rung and you got your stuff together "Hey what's your next class?" Miles asked, stacking his notebooks. "Sociology" you answered, putting papers in a folder. "Ah I don't have that" he said, disappointed. "Walk you to class?" he offered. You looked around and saw that Peter already left, so might as well. "Yeah, sure".

"This isn't going to make you late is it?" you asked him. "Nah it's in the same-". All of a sudden Miles tensed up and there was a loud booming noise coming from outside. Everyone in the hall, including you and Miles ran to nearby windows to see what was going on and here was a fire emerging from a bank down the road. You looked to your side to see that Miles wasn't there anymore. Out of nowhere, spider-man swung over to the bank stopping the guys who were trying to rob it. Everyone cheered when he brought the guys out, tied up in his webs

When school ended, Zoya and Maya came up to your locker as you were packing up to go home. "Hey n/n, you going home?" Maya asked, biting into an apple. "Yeah, it would be cool if i stayed in the dorms. Buttt that's mad money spending so nah". You gave the girls a hug and made your way out the building. "Oh Y/n, you're not staying in the dorms?" Miles asked, coming from the nurse's office with a few bandaids on his face and bandage on his arm. "No, what happened to you?" you asked pointing at his face. "Tripped down the stairs on the way to seventh period". You stifled a giggle and nodded your head. "Uh you want me to walk you home?" he offered.

You furrowed her eyebrows in confusion "You don't really have to do that.." "O-oh uh I was just offering, I'm not super busy right now and didn't want you to be alone-" You put her hand out and giggled "Okay yeah you can walk me home" He smiled and skipped down the steps to join you. "Don’t you get in trouble for leaving the dorms without permission?" you asked looking up at him. "Ah sometimes but I get my way out of it"

"So what happened earlier? You disappeared when the fire happened." you asked him, finally. "Oh I had....gotten..scared" he said, looking up. "Oh..okay. That's normal I guess" "Well this is my stop" you said, walking up to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow" he said waving goodbye "See you" you said with a smile, unlocking the door.

#NIA WRITES ࿐#across the spiderverse #miles morales x reader #miles morales #spiderman #spider man: across the spider verse #miles morales 1610 #earth 1610 #miles morales x you #spider man x reader

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brittmouse-spirals · 1 month

Text

edging is better than thinking

edging is better than resisting

edging is better than cumming

edging turns my brain off

edging makes me weak and docile

edging keeps me chained

edging gives my cunt more control

edging makes me stupid

edging makes me desperate

edging makes me needy

edging makes me pathetic

edging makes me proud of what i am

edging makes me a whore

edging makes me a bimbo

edging makes me a slut

edging makes me a bitch

edging makes me a cuntpuppet

edging makes me porn

edging makes me moan

edging makes me drool

edging makes me hump

edging makes me edge more

edging

edging my cunt

edging bc my cunt controls me

edging bc my cunt owns me

edging bc im a puppet for my cunt

edging bc i have no control

#i dont need to think i need to edge #edge slvt #i i need to rub and edge myself stupid #brainwashing #bimbo brainwashing #good girls make more good girls #dumb wh0re #hypnokink #trans nsft #attention wh0r3 #dumbification #pink makes me sink

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gingiesworld · 7 months

Text

Obsessions (4/?)

Wanda Maximoff x Rogers Fem Reader

Warnings: Angst. Smut.

Taglist: @sytoran @ginnsbaker @lifespectator @gb12d @natashamaximoff-69 @wizardofstories

18+ MINORS DNI

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 5 / Part 6

Y/N

I know this is completely stupid of me to write this apology instead of saying it to your face, but I hate who I am, who I've become. I broke my promise to you, many promises, silent and spoken. Hell, I don't even know who I am anymore. I have become someone who I don't even recognise because I wanted to be a part of the in crowd. I guess I was lying to myself and everyone and you especially.

I love you Y/N. I guess on some level I have always known about my feelings for you and I was scared. I didn't know how everyone would see me so I guess I projected my insecurities onto you and I can't say sorry enough. But I guess this is a start, along with leaving NYU. I don't know what I will do, but I just want to leave you be. I guess maybe one day we can be friends again. Just maybe.

Wanda Maximoff

Y/N read over the words on the page over and over again, she couldn't believe that Wanda was too much of a coward to not 9apologise face to face. So Y/N decided to march over to the Maximoff residence, knocking abruptly. Only waiting a brief moment until Wanda opened the door.

"Why?" Y/N questioned as she held the letter in her hand. "Why couldn't you just say all of that to my face?"

"I was ashamed." Wanda answered her weakly. "I abandoned you and I am still ashamed of all of the pain and hurt I have caused."

"I don't want your self pity Wanda." Y/N sneered as they pushed her up against the wall, Wanda held in a sigh at the close proximity. "I am done with this whole facade, if you loved me like you wrote, you wouldn't have made my life a living hell in high school."

"I know." She whispered, guilt and disappointment in her eyes as she closed them slightly. Allowing a sigh to escape her as Y/N rested their head on hers.

"I needed my friend Wanda. My best friend and she abandoned me when I needed her the most." Y/N whispered as her nose brushed Wanda's. "I need you Wanda." Wanda sighed as she felt Y/N's hand on her hips. "Is it just you here?" Wanda only nodded before Y/N kissed her roughly. Her tongue pushing passed Wanda's lips, causing her to let out a shaky moan. Y/N had let go of the letter as they lifted Wanda up and led her to her bedroom. Ridding her of her clothes and leaving her bare and vulnerable.

"I am going to ruin you." Y/N snarled as she hovered over her, taking her ear between her teeth before she squeezed Wanda's breast harshly, pinching and pulling at her nipple as she sucked and bit the other. Wanda's moans filled the room as Y/N soon slammed her fingers into Wanda's gaping hole. She let out a loud whimper as Y/N thrusted at a fast pace, Wanda's hands gripping the sheets tightly as she could feel herself reaching the edge.

"Why?" She whined when Y/N pulled her fingers away.

"Have you cum since the last time I edged you?" Y/N questioned as Wanda shook her head.

"Nothing could do it for me." Wanda admitted breathlessly. "No one else could do it for me."

"Beg for it." Y/N sneered as Wanda looked to the side. "Beg to cum." Y/N gripped Wanda's jaw, forcing her to look at her. "Beg."

"Please. I need it. I need you Y/N." Wanda pleaded as Y/N smirked, her other finger brushing along the inside of her thigh. "Please make me cum. Please."

Wanda was soon unexpectedly full as Y/N slammed three fingers in her soaked and aching core. Her body arching as Y/N added another finger, curling her fingers and grazing her g spot.

"Cum." Y/N ordered before Wanda fell over the edge, squirting all over her bed as Y/N kept on rubbing her clit. Mesmerised by the face of euphoric pleasure on Wanda's face.

That was the start of it, Y/N would take Wanda in the restroom at the diner, her own bed, even as her family was home. Y/N was driving around in her car when she came across Wanda who was walking home.

"Get in." Y/N told her as she pulled up beside her, Wanda had done as she was told and got in the passenger seat. Watching as Y/N drove in silence. Harshly squeezing Wanda's thigh as she drove to the overlook, the place where everyone goes to have sex or get high.

"Why are we here?" Wanda questioned as Y/N undone her leather jacket.

"Strip." Y/N ordered her as she removed her own clothes. Wanda moaned as she felt Y/N's hand between her bare thighs, their clothes scattered along the backseat as Wanda rode Y/N.

"I need more." Wanda whimpered as Y/N smirked.

"Work for it." Y/N sneered as she moved forward to bite her nipple, causing Wanda to inhale sharply. "Make yourself cum all over my cock." Wanda whimpered as Y/N's hands snaked her waist, subconsciously helping her movements.

"Fuck." Wanda bit her lip harshly as Y/N met her thrusts, enjoying the view of Wanda's breasts bouncing up and down as she reached her own high. Collapsing on Y/N who was fast enough to move her from their lap and back into the passenger seat. Wanda watched as Y/N got dressed again before handing Wanda her own clothes.

"What does this mean for us?" Wanda questioned as Y/N sucked in air through her teeth as she started the car.

"It means nothing to us." Y/N told her firmly. "There is no us."

"I'm seeing a therapist." Wanda told her confidently. "I'm trying to get myself better for you. For us."

"It's too fucking late Wanda!!" Y/N yelled as they remained at the overlook. "You abandoned me. You made my life hell. You left me to be the popular girl you have always craved to be. Wanting to hang with the fakes and the jocks while I was the one who made you feel welcome when you moved here."

"I'm sorry." Wanda whispered as Y/N started to drive.

"It's too little too late now Wanda." Y/N spat as she drove her home, the rest of the journey was spent in silence before Y/N had pulled up. "Go home Wanda. It's done. Whatever this is."

Wanda only nodded as she left the car, heading inside as her eyes stung with unshed tears. As the weeks went by, she noticed that Peggy was packing up the house, Y/N was helping with moving her own things into the Impala as Peggy had a sad look on her face. That was the last she saw of Y/N and Peggy in person. Only hearing from her mom that Peggy had moved back to England. Which left Y/N to move into her own apartment, only 30 minutes away from NYU.

Wanda found herself following Y/N on instagram, making a fake account as she looked at most of the pictures Y/N had posted. A lot of them seemed to be pictures of her art work, but one that really played on Wanda's heart strings, was Y/N and Christine Palmer, kissing as Y/N wrapped her arms around the red heads waist. The caption below reads, '6 month anniversary. I couldn't be happier and I can't wait to spend many more months and years with you.'

Wanda's heart broke, looking through other pictures of the two, seeing them smile lovingly at each other. Even a selfie as the two lay in bed, the covers only covering just above their bare chests.

Wanda knew in that moment that she had lost her chance with Y/N, but she refused to let her go.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #marvel #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x you #natasha romanoff

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boyardee-znuts · 1 year

Text

you stumble across dan heng in heat. dan heng x fem reader wc: 2k content warning(s): nsfw, hsr spoilers mdni banner by cafekitsune

“Stupid girl,” Dan Heng hissed. The grip he had on your neck was tight, and you squealed helplessly as he kept you in a vulnerable, bent-over position on his desk. Your stomach lurched inside of you as the man drew his hips back, right before snapping it roughly up against yours.

Your legs shook as you gripped onto the edge of his desk. Dan Heng refused to let up on his pace, thrusting wildly into you as if he was into heat. Well—he was, and you’d made the mistake of wandering onto him when he had explicitly warned you to stay away.

“You never know when to keep that nose of yours out of trouble, don’t you?” His fingers curled into the flesh of your neck, and you choked out, hot breath fogging up the surface of his desk. “You just had to fall right into my lap. This is all your fault, got it?”

You moaned mindlessly. His cock was disgustingly thick, the inhuman nature only so much more evident now that you were aware of what a hormone-scrambled, lust-crazed dragon he was. The bright flush on his face was a clear indicator of his heat, and the singular thing the man had on his mind was to fuck you and fill you up with his cum until you’d be brainlessly bred.

“Sorry!! I’m- I’m sorry-,” you eked out. His dark eyes flashed dangerously, and you cried out when you felt him fuck into you harshly. His drooling tip kept invading your tight walls over and over again, molding your sweet cunt into the shape of his swollen cock.

“Are you really?” He angled his thrusts slightly, and you recoiled onto his desk, clawing futilely at the polished surface. “Doesn’t matter now. I’m going to make sure you fully understand the consequences of your actions. That’s only right, don’t you think? Take responsibility.”

You swallowed thickly, panting like a dog. Your entire body felt so hot, like the man had lit your skin on fire. Heat trickled and pool, coiling and twisting like an angry snake deep inside of your stomach. Your cunt drooled at the friction, the arousal building up inside of you making your mind go blank.

All you could think about was one thing, and that was the man fucking you from behind.

“So rough…!” You gasped desperately, the heat stifling your breathing. “You’ll break me…!”

“Good. I want to break you. That’s what you get for teasing me. You underestimated me, didn’t you? You underestimated just how much I could do to you…” You shuddered when you heard him laughing darkly, his pace quickening just a hair. You let out small “ah- ah- ah-”s matching with his thrusts, and your gut curled when you could hear all the lewd, sloppy noises your pussy was making.

He lowered his head a little, hushing his voice so you could barely hear him over the wet sounds of your so-called lovemaking. “You hear that? That’s all you. Am I making you feel good? I am, aren’t I? Don’t lie to me. I can feel that cunt of yours squeezing up all around me. Having a cock stuffed up in your pussy feels good, doesn’t it? Do you like it when I move inside you like that?”

You nodded incoherently. His words were swimming through your ears, and the knot building up like a welt inside of you was threatening to break any minute now. You wondered if anyone would stumble in upon the two of you, going at it like animals in the distant corner of the archives, your moans shamelessly echoing around for Dan Heng to swallow up greedily.

“It feels good…!” Your back arched as he abused your sweet spots, cock rubbing endlessly up against your warm, slick walls. “‘M gonna cum- I can’t control myself…!”

He smiled to himself. He knew he wasn’t thinking straight, his mind overrun with the carnal need to claim you, to fill you up, to completely make you his. But seeing you bent over with his dick stuffed inside you, knowing that he was the one making you feel this good, knowing that he was the one who could see your naked body and do as he pleased to it, only made his animalistic instincts grow worse. Dan Heng wanted to keep you like this forever, moaning and mindless, pussy stretched out by his stupidly big cock, with nothing but him on your mind.

“Are you gonna cum?” He teased. “Gonna cum on my cock? Good, good, that’s how it should be. My cock’s the only thing that could make you cum. I’m gonna fuck you so good, fill you up with my cum, to the point that having sex with anybody else won’t even feel good anymore.”

He paused, laughing sardonically to himself once more before staring down at you with sickeningly lovestruck eyes. “Not that I’d let you have sex with anyone else after I’ve had you like this.”

You shook your head, pushing your hips back up against him eagerly. “D-Don’t want anyone else… Just wanna have you- Only want you-”

Ah.

The possessive streak inside of Dan Heng swirled precariously. Did you realize the things you were saying to him? The way they made him feel? Here he was, stuck between balancing his respect for you versus the inhuman lust that was racking his body, and all you had to say to that was to fuel the flames even further. He bit the inside of his cheek, his territorial instincts going wild.

“You’re already playing a dangerous game with me,” he growled. “Don’t you dare make it worse.”

You moaned and clawed at his desk. He kept thrusting into you wildly, consumed with the need to claim you as his. His grip would undoubtedly leave marks on your neck, and yet being manhandled and pinned down on his desk like this only aroused you further.

“I’m telling the truth…,” you mewled. Dan Heng faltered for a moment, his breath catching.

Did you upset him? You wanted to look back at him and see, but before you could say anything, the man let go of you. You moved to turn your neck, but Dan Heng gruffly grabbed at one of your thighs and lifted it, forcing you to spread your legs further for him to thrust deeper inside of you.

“Ah- Wait, wait- You’re going so deep-!” You cried out. You slumped against the desk for dear life, clinging onto it as Dan Heng began fucking into your hole at a brutal new angle.

“Take it- Take it all-!” He commanded loudly. “I told you not to tease me… You’re mine now. I’ll make you mine!”

You nodded, hanging your head. You could only stay there, sandwiched helplessly between his strong body and the thick desk with no choice but to take his dick. He fucked you hard and rough, leaving your pussy throbbing and aching with need. It was too good, enough to make your head spin and your thoughts to waver and slip.

“More, more- Fuck me more, Dan Heng!” You pleaded needily. “Want to cum on your cock- Want you to fill me up…! I’m yours- I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours-”

“Yeah, that’s a good girl,” he breathed. The grip on your thigh was firm, keeping you stuck there as he slid his dick in and out of you. “C’mon, cum for me now. Let everyone know who’s making you feel this good. Ruin yourself for me.”

You whimpered, throwing your head back and letting the physical pleasure consume you. So good, it was so good. All you could think about was how good it felt to be stretched out all over his cock, your pussy sucking him in deeper and deeper, milking him selfishly, wanting to be stuffed to the brim with his cum until it’d leak out of your fluttering hole and down your legs…

The knot swirling and tightening in your stomach was on the verge of breaking, and you could feel your orgasm approaching closer and closer. Slick ran down your thighs, and your body felt ridiculously hot, spiraling on the edge of no control. Dan Heng gritted his teeth, snapping his hips up against you ruthlessly, right into the spot that made your cunt clench up around him. You were taking him so well, letting him mate with you so obediently, even if this whole thing was a mess of your own making.

He slammed right into your sweet spot, and you tensed up noticeably against his frame. Your vision started to blur and fade to white around the edges, stomach twisting in and dropping like you were on a roller coaster. “Cumming…! Dan Heng- More- I’m cumming, I’m cumming…!”

“Nngh…!” The man let out a strangled cry when your cunt clamped down on him like a vice, your orgasm washing over him. Seeing your face contort with pleasure and your body shaking under his touch made something in his brain snap, and Dan Heng gripped onto you like a ragdoll as he thrusted wildly up into your overstimulated cunt. He ate up all of your wounded cries, pure instinct overwhelming his body like a drug for a few moments before his own arousal overtook him and knocked out all of his senses.

You gripped onto the table, your mind slammed to a complete stop. “D-Dan Heng…! Ah- Cum inside me!”

He clenched his jaw, forcing his hips up and his cock as deep as it could go inside of you. You moaned, your legs threatening to give out from underneath you. He pumped you full of his cum, his heavy balls tightening up against your entrance as he coated every inch of your walls white. You shuddered when you could feel his scalding hot semen pile up inside of you, rushing straight into your womb and gushing out from your hole. Dan Heng tried to keep as much of it as he could inside of you, using his cock as a plug of sorts, and you buried your head in your hands as you forced yourself to take in deep breaths.

The desk kept you grounded as an anchor of sorts, and when the world slowly stopped spinning and your thoughts began returning back to you, Dan Heng carefully let go of his tight grip on you. You slumped down onto the floor, sticky loads of cum dripping out of you and forming a small puddle in between your legs.

Dan Heng couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, even though shame prickled at his body. Did he do that to you? Did he really say all of those things towards you? He didn’t know whether to hate himself for losing control as he did or to continue feeding his selfish needs, his cock still craving your soft, sweet pussy.

“Dan Heng…,” you quietly started. The man kept his face emotionless as you peered up at him, smiling at him sweetly as if to assuage his worries. Something tightened inside of his chest when he saw you grinning at him, as if he hadn’t fucked the living daylights out of you just seconds before and as if it wasn’t his cum that had flooded your walls.

You watched with curious eyes as his cock hardened up again, twitching against the cool air at the sight of you sitting before him. How good would it feel if he took you again? If he fucked you until you couldn’t walk or think? If he fucked you until the entire train knew who it was that was making you scream and lose your mind with pure pleasure? Dirty thoughts ran rampant in his body, the aftereffects of his heat still lingering all over him.

He swallowed, licking his dry lips as he motioned for you.

“Up. We’re not done yet.” The dragon’s eyes glowed dangerously with a hint of jade and gold. "We’re not stopping until I say so.”

Until he was sure he had made you his one and only mate.

gustav klimt: expectation

#honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #dan heng #x reader #fem reader #my writing #i dont actually play hsr so dont expect regular hsr content here

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