#tried a border thing and i like it? kinda | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gremlingottoosilly · 1 month

Text

Someone, take Lego away from Konig (yandere!loser!Konig x fem!Reader)

AO3

Konig is keeping you in his basement. Turns out, this is still not the worst part. His interest are. Tags ans Warnings: Dub-con, obsessive behaviour, possessive behavior, yandere loser Konig, size difference, kidnapping, weird fluff.

König can play women’s bodies like fine musical instruments.

After he spent 10 minutes vigorously rubbing your outer labia, you concluded that he was thrown out of musical school on day one.

He flicks your clit occasionally, clearly not considering it something worthy of attention and, obviously, not something that actually brings you pleasure – he fidgets with it mechanically, like it’s a part of his riffle, and you almost want to say that his dismissive approach is kind of hot. He edges you perfectly, always giving away just enough pleasure that it feels nice, but not nearly enough that it brings you to orgasm – and he does so with zero idea of what he is doing, which makes you…almost proud. Of him. Of your angry crazy incel loser kidnapper who thought that bringing you lego flowers would make you suck his cock.

Well, it kinda did. Not the flowers, the whole…kidnapping thing. He did use it to get into your pants – and you aren’t even allowed to wear those now. Only his shirts, maybe a hoodie on a cold day, and a pair of lacy panties that he slips on you every morning he is at home.

You have a system – and König does his best to maintain it. You are getting fed at the same time, to make sure that your pretty little self is not malnourished, you are getting roughly clean clothes — most of it belongs to him, of course, like it’s not embarrassing to wear, and sometimes he even asks how your day was. Sometimes you look him deep in the eyes and say that you didn’t move from your usual spot the whole day because, well, you are kidnapped. Sometimes you are trying to be funny and make some silly jokes — and then he either gets too comfortable laughing and then trying to get his hand all the way down the depths of your inner thighs, or he gets angry.

König knows that a petty flower like you doesn’t want to be in captivity for so long, but there really isn’t much both of you can do about it.

He brings you different lego sets from time to time, trying to find out what you like the most. He doesn’t quite understand that, working in a Lego shop, you were utterly sick of most of the boxes lying around. He tried to gauge the reaction out of you, but you’re either ignoring him, crying or begging him to let you go…and he can’t exactly have that. He, kinda, can, of course, but it would mean sliding off your brain so you would never tell anyone about your experiences, or getting into a showdown with the police – and knowing that he hopped you through the border illegally to be his captive wife, wouldn’t really give him any brownie points. He is fucked, utterly and completely, if you’re ever going to be free without falling madly in love with him…

Which is why König is trying to make you love him. Thoroughly, utterly, and spending copious amounts of time with his tongue buried between your folds in the meantime.

Like now.

— You like it, ja? When I move like this…

He was spending too much time caressing and fondling your thighs – but you must admit that having his lips travel across your skin and sending goosebumps right into your core wasn’t so bad…he touched you a bit awkwardly, just a tad bit shy – like he wasn’t so sure how to approach a soft, female body instead of a cold rifle he was probably used to…he knows that he can’t just treat you like another one of his guns but, by god, if he doesn’t adore the way you look at him. All scared and nervous as he pushes his lips upwards, as he covers your soft skin with bite marks – you were so sure that he will be too nervous to even touch you, but you know better now…this guy doesn’t care that he is your captor. He only wants you to accept him, and if giving you gifts didn’t work out…

You needed to be a bit more diligent about the whole accepting his kindness thing. Maybe he would have been satisfied with a handjob – but now he wants to put his hands on you and do his job.

— Too…too much, Ko…

— Call me “sir”.

There is steel in his voice, and you stiff slightly. This is new – he was never like this before, even though you kinda got that he was in some sort of military. He was way too bulky and had too much money to be a regular gun nerd, so you settled for some special forces or elite war crime unit…then again, you weren’t in Germany anymore. Guy would have to get another citizenship to get into a more serious “I fucking hate my fellow man” forces.

He flicks his tongue over your clit and you remember what you’re here for. To get fucked. Because you are fucked. Not right now in physical sense, but you will be in a few minutes, and you’ve been mentally fucked for a few another hours and-

— Sir, ple…too much, re…really…

König fuckijng adores you.

He loves your trembling voice, your trembling hands, your trembling everything. The way you squint your eyes as he finds all of your special spots – it took him some time but ladies are just like riffles – come undone if you press on a few parts. You look perfect under him, and he couldn’t have you any other way even if he wanted to…god, you’re too fucking perfect for your own good. So, so pretty, it’s insane how he didn’t fuck you the first night you’ve been in his basement. Perhaps, he was trying to be a gentleman – fuck this, now. If he knew how sweet you would sound, he’d abandon any rotten chivalry on day one.

König didn’t have a lot of experience – a few sex workers here and there, some in the more exotic destinations while the others were, embarrassingly enough, from his hometown. It was a sense of domesticity, that he isn’t a fucking loser who can’t get a lady in his bed without wavering either his gun or hit wallet – but he has you now, and you don’t really care about his money or his guns…unless he counts your obvious activity. Which he doesn’t. Good golly, you’re too fucking pretty to count that.

He flicks his tongue over your clit and dips lower, deeper, sucking the sweet nectar straight from the source. You’re embarrassingly wet even as you try to push his head away – he would handcuff you, but he likes your little resistance attempts too much. He moans every time you tug on his hair and, with time, you should finally understand that everything you do only makes him want you more. Maybe, you do – but you keep doing this because you’re such a good girl who wants nothing more but to please her dearest…not exactly husband, but he can work on this. He has friends in places. Same ones who used to get him out of detentions when his quiet kid violent tendencies weren’t quite quiet enough.

He is moaning as he eats you out – the sound reverberates from your walls and makes you clench around his tongue, your brain already getting fried from pleasure. You never wanted to get off from your captor’s tongue buried so deep between your legs, but you surely enjoy it now…

You try to pry his head from you when he gets a bit too eager, when it feels like his nose is smashing your clit and you can only moan some mindless bullshit.

— You want to talk about lego instead?

He presses his head on your thighs, his cheek angled against the soft skin. He has a bit of a stubble that burns the soft skin, but the look in his eyes is far too eager. He is not bullshitting – and this is the most terrifying he is ever been. You try to imagine another three-hour lecture Star Wars and the history of lego sets combined with his awkward attempts to fuck you in between turning his affection spam from one thing to the other. The picture is vivid in your mind. You can almost hear it.

You consider your options. It is a hard decision for you.

— You know, they weren’t able to sell the sets to girls up until…

You grab a fistful of his hair and push his face all the way down your dripping pussy.

It looks like the only sure way of making your captor shut up is literally forcing him to fuck you…there were many such cases – you embarrassingly easily fall to his charms, even though he has the aura and charisma of a serial killer who got a freshly baked orphan for his lunch and then tried to talk you into destroying a small country’s economy.

König eats you out with the vigor of a starving man, and there isn’t a place he would love to be more than here and now, listening to your heavenly moans. This is the best motivational song he heard so far – and as he pushes his big, flat tongue deeper into the gummy walls of your clenching pussy, he thinks about recording your sounds and then listening to them in the gym. Could probably break the poor lifting pole with the strength of his fists.

He brought you to an orgasm – not easily, he had to lick the reaction out of you, your heat coming down to both of you like a wave. You feel tired immediately, knowing just how much energy you just wasted listening to his blabber between your legs – but you honestly can’t be arsed to react right now.

König lifts his body up so he can kiss you – you taste yourself on him and, admittedly, it’s a lovely way to make him shut up. You still tremble as you get down from your high, your legs finally giving up, even though you were already laying on that shabby mattress. You shift slightly so he won’t crush you under the weight of his body. A Lego piece pocks at your side, making you wince.

You hate this fucking place.

— What’s wrong, Liebling?

He nuzzles your neck like a needy dog, pressing light kisses all over your skin. He is marking it, too – you can’t keep comparing him to a dog, but this is exactly what he is. Simply a war hound that you have to tame in order to get a somewhat normal life while still belonging in his basement. You thought you knew how to play this game – then he pushed you on your tummy and fucked you because, apparently, you were too good at playing him. Even now, he acts more like a lover – if only you could see past his homicidal tendencies…

But you can’t.

But he doesn’t care anyway.

— I…

You bite your lips, trying to come up with a lie that wouldn’t make him fuck you. König thought you looked beautiful like this, all holed up in your thoughts. So, so pretty, he couldn’t help himself – he needed you, as much as he kinda hated playing the psychological game and trying to understand what you’re thinking. Ladies are too mysterious for him, after all.

— I want to sleep in a normal bed.

Oh.

Well, he…didn’t expect this.

He was ready to combat your desire to run away or to be let go willingly. He was ready to put you on your knees and make you beg for him to not let you go - after all, you did belong to him in all of his right. He didn’t…didn’t expect you to want something so simple. Something that he can do. God, you’d look fucking divine on his bed instead of the tiny basement he put you in. He can already imagine you on your tummy, face buried in his pillows as he pounds into your soft ass and explains every superhero poster he has in his room. He will show you all of his figures and knives and guns, and you’ll finally see just how amazing he is and how interesting his hobbies are – and you’re bound to finally love him the way he deserves.

You stare at him, blankly. He kinda loves when you look like that – sometimes he imagines you being a mindless little bimbo who can’t think of anything besides his dick, and it helps him get off when you’re too sleepy to play along with him. He tried to bring you more sets, something childish, something meant for girls – but you tossed away the rose bouquet and you didn’t even spare a second glance at some fandom set that he thought you’d like. God, you’re difficult. Women are difficult. Why can’t you be as straight as a riffle?

— Normal bed, Katzen? You don’t like it here?

He puts a hand on your shoulder, his fingers too big to rest on your body carefully – he easily reaches for your neck and he knows that you’d go out like a light with the smallest squeeze. You’re adorable and soft like this, and he can’t wait to finally try choking with you.

König imagines your pretty, soft body all helpless under him – maybe you’d claw at his hands and beg him to stop, maybe you’d enjoy it, drenching the small mattress with your juices. Maybe you’d push your hips towards his, desperately searching for release. You can be a nasty, dirty girl, he knows this all too well – mostly because he did go through your phone and searched for your browser history. Who knew that a simple lego store cashier could have so many kidnapping and overpowering fantasies. Who knew that you could be so wet just because some military-obsessed loser wanted to shove his cock into you and wasn’t nice enough to ask first.

— I…I don’t like the basement.

Smart girl. You know how to be sot and obedient when you have to. Too bad, this behavior also made you all the more desirable for König – compared to the rowdy recruits and dumb enemies, your quiet voice is everything he needs to not go crazy. His hand plays with your neck, squeezing it slightly, playfully. He can feel your pulse quickening every time he does this and he is sure that if he’d drop his hand between your legs again, your pulsating pussy would be wet enough to indicate a second orgasm.

Shit.

He goes too far again.

— You don’t like the basement? Why?

You stare at him, blankly. He seriously thought there is nothing wrong with the basement – it’s small, yes, but probably just about the size of a studio apartment you were able to afford while working in Berlin, of all places. You have a mattress, a loving boyfriend, you have all the food and snacks you want, your pussy is filled with cum and your mind should be filled with endless love and adoration for the coolest guy in the world who just so happens to be in love with you, so…

He looks at your face again. Ja, you don’t like the basement. You’re a surface girl after all.

— You really want me to answer that? It’s the basement.

He snorts, still dragging the conversation.

— I spend most of my childhood in the basement. It was nice.

— I could tell.

— What?

— Nothing. Let me out, please.

He sighs with deeply settled tiredness. He thought you’d be nicer about it, too – but he knows what ladies want, he is a ladies' man at heart. He doesn’t have one, of course, not unless this charcoal-black shrapnel-filled thing deep in his chest could be considered one, but he tried his best to be good for you. You deserve something nice, something good. He wants to kiss you all over and he will do it on his own bed, while trying to talk you into watching some old nerdy TV show with him. Maybe you’d agree to play with some Lego after this and it could be considered a really nice and thorough foreplay.

— I can’t.

— Let me sleep on a normal bed, then.

Well, this, he can do.

Carefully unlocking your shackles and immediately catching your legs so you won’t kick him in an attempt to escape, König picks you up like a kitten. It’s scary, almost, how easy it is for him to just manhandle you into the position he wants. He is a big boy, admittingly, so it really doesn’t matter how big or how small you are. He can abuse you easily, and this is why you’re trying to keep him gentle. Using all of your womanly charms even if this guy would get off just from you calling his name.

He covers your eyes so you won’t see anything – not like you’re interested in the amount of weirdly specific movie posters on the walls or an alarming amount of firearms. He knows he is not the most charming person out there with the most interesting hobbies, but you will learn to appreciate all of his anime figures, or else you’re going to suffer the fate of a recruit who dares to ask his late thirties colonel of who the fuck Ayanami Rei is. Rumors are held that this guy was never seen in the army again.

He only puts the hand away from your face when you are sitting on the soft bed. You stare at the navy sheets – fucking obviously – and, surprisingly, a bed frame. Then your gaze travels a bit further, to the walls and…

God.

Oh fuck.

You almost want to cry from how much of a loser your kidnapper is. He is a threatening mercenary, a fucking colonel in military uniform who holds you at gunpoint occasionally. You stare at the anime posters. You contemplate your options.

— Can I go back to the basement?

If god is real, he is a fucking anime girl from the poster in your kidnapper’s bedroom.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #cod x reader #yandere konig #yandere cod #call of duty #konig x you #konig smut #cod konig #loser!konig

678 notes · View notes

shiny-jr · 10 days

Text

damnation (peek VI?)

Warning: Yes, this is a yandere thing. Gender-neutral reader.

Characters: Ortho Shroud, Idia Shroud.

Summary: When you commit a crime, you receive a punishment. This is especially true in your society. No matter the crime, your punishment is the same: banishment. But to where you will be sent in exile and how miserable will it be? No one knows, because no one has ever returned.

Note: I was looking back at previous sneak-peeks and I realized I've been kinda spoiling y'all with these. But, don't ever let it be said that I don't cherish y'all, so here you go. While I'm currently about 2/3 of the way towards completing the result (if I don't have to rewrite it or change scenes or do anything major), the sneak-peek is only about eight or nine pages. Which is still a lot when you consider that the end result will be anywhere from 42 to 45 pages. Let's hope that I continue writing at this steady pace. I will not give a date for when this is fully completed, so please don't ask! It's done when it's done.

I . . . II . . . III . . . IV . . . V . . . VI . . . VII

THE LORD OF THE UNDERWORLD

Cold metal. There was a slight weight on the top of your skull, like the heft of a helmet. Carefully reaching up, your fingers touched thin cold metal, but as you tried to gingerly remove it, it failed to come off. Gentle tugs become harsh pulls, but that only serves to form an ache in your head as if you were pulling on your hair. Was it some sort of deadly contraption placed on prisoners? Was this how they wanted you to die? By crushing your skull with this thing?

“Wh– Where am I…?”

As you stumbled over your own two feet, you stopped yanking on the metal on top of your cranium. Fear took root as you took note of your surroundings, dark and unfamiliar, those same qualities as the jail cell but this was unlike any prison. There were high walls with columns of gray and silver and gold, arched ceilings that were mixes of blues and grays and blacks which almost looked like painted murals that had been smeared across the surface. The floor was freezing like cement, but it was a smooth polished dark gray. With at least two floors, the second was accessible by some wide curved stairs which lead to more of the unknown. Your voice echoed in the space, leaving you to believe you were completely alone.

Skull-crushing could still be on the list of possible ways to die. Or would your punishment be isolation? Complete solitude was known to drive people insane. It didn’t even seem like a single soul alive was here, leaving only the sound of your heavy breathing in the otherwise unsettling silence. White flowers from large vases wilted, their petals suspended gray and limp like hanged bodies.

On the floors you nearly slip and hit your head, but you manage to grab a nearby column that was as thick and sturdy as an old oak tree. That’s when you caught sight of your reflection in a nearby huge vase coated with a reflective exterior. You were staring wide-eyed at an unfamiliar figure, so odd that it took a moment to register that it was truly you.

A long black cloth with dark blue meander borders acted like a shirt or a robe, wrapping over one shoulder and extending in different directions to act like a small cloak and cover part of your legs. From your hips to your ankles covered by part of the top cloth, were a pair of black pants with more blue meander borders decorating it. They were like modern day sweatpants and an ancient palla all in one outfit, which you might’ve admired if you weren’t currently filled with confusion and dread. That metal object on your head was like a headpiece, with two long thin black protruding pieces slicked back that glowed a slight blue. Like a demon’s horns. Impossible to remove.

You resembled a demon with these horns, a devilish little imp. When your eyes adjusted, the reflective surface of the vase was painted. Painted black and browns, like the famous Athenian ceramic styles with figures of black and brick red. Except, each vase depicted a different scene. A powerful muscled figure standing proudly and holding a bolt of lightning; a baby strangling two large snakes; a young scrawny man training beside a satyr and a pegasus.

“Get– these off…!”

An imp… you were an imp! Horror spread across your features, and the constant tugging to remove the metallic horn-like objects from your skull served pain stronger than a slap, to let you know that this was no dream. The judges had cast the final verdict, and as soon as you arrived you were destined to live as a miserable little creature to serve a higher being. A god.

A God of the Underworld, that wielded the deadliest of blue flames and kept all souls contained within his land of misery. A being of divinity who envied his family and others who dwelled high in the clouds of Mount Olympus, so he planned meticulously for years to lay siege to the mountain by freeing titans who would wreak havoc across the globe. Just as he sits on the throne where the God of Thunder and King of Gods once dwelled, the human son of that royal god arrived to face the dark god. That gloomy and dreary antagonistic god had three main underlings, two of which were imps he regularly abused and tormented.

Maiming, wringing their necks, burning them in blue fire, those were just some of the torture those imps faced at the hands of their master. You felt yourself fall to your knees in a heap, like a rag doll, by the overwhelming emotions weighing in your mind and the now new burden of survival on your shoulders. This was hell, literally. So caught up with this newfound revelation, that you didn’t even notice the vases become blank as if by magic, wiping the depicted scenes off their surface. Hallucinations!

These must’ve been hallucinations formed by your unstable mind–– You were especially sure of it when it felt as if the ground vanished beneath your feet and were surrounded by dark mists. The dark and elegant place you had once stood in, was gone, and you plunged into a dark pit. A small plunge, then you fell on rocky uneven earth, leading you to fall flat on your face. There was hardly any light, and the ceiling was low. But, there was a blue flame, a small glow to which you opened your eyes to.

In front of you was a young boy that looked more akin to an android. Surely, another illusion, but your certainty wavered when it blinked at you. It blinked with its wide bright yellow eyes. Its eyes were like a light, as was its hair made of what seemed like real blue flames that was like a torch in this small cave. Its body was dark and metallic, part of those metals extending over the mouth like a mask. “There you are! I was beginning to wonder if you chickened out. Are you ready to put on a show? Remember, we gotta make it believable, the hero won’t be the only one there! We gotta trick all the humans!”

“W-What…?” You watched as the android-like being opened up a hologram in front of him, and on the screen of light were various shapes and figures of numerous creatures and people alike.

Whatever this thing was, its voice became monotone for a brief few seconds as its pointer finger landed on the image of a normal young boy. “Selecting… Loading… Finalizing appearance.” In an instant, a light flashed over him and he became that little boy in the hologram. “What do you think? Pretty convincing, huh? Now, your turn!”

If you squint, it was like peering through glass, because at some angles you could still see the android. However, you had absolutely no time to question it, or the situation at hand, or what he could’ve possibly meant, because the quiet was shattered by the squeal of what sounded like a horse.

Scrambling onto your feet, you approached the thin tiny opening where light filtered in, far too small to squeeze through but just big enough to peer through. It took a few spare seconds for your eyes to adjust to the light of the outside on this cloudy day, but you could make out high rock cliffs as gray as the sky. And a white horse with wings, a pegasus, several meters away with two people. A young man in purple who looked quite ruffled and a muscular woman with auburn locks. You blanched upon recognizing the location.

The mighty hero was said to have fought his first life-threatening battle in a gorge, just like this one. It was a battle that nearly cost him his life. The human servant, obliged to serve the dark Lord of the Underworld, lured the hero to the gorge under the guise of an accident requiring urgent attention from a savior. When in actuality, the accident involved two children trapped under rubble where nearby the hydra lurked. And those two children? Were the two imps who also served the God of the Dead. One imp, you were one. And the other? Beside you now, which explained his matching metallic horns on his head. Meaning the hydra was near. Each breath you took increased in pace, on the very verge of hyperventilating––

“Help! Hurry! We can’t breathe!” The android boy cried for help, his little eyes peeking out of the same gap you were peering out of. Even his voice sounded different with whatever magic or technology he used to disguise himself. As the hero was running over and a crowd was forming a good distance away, your fellow imp looked at you and whispered in confusion, “Where’s your disguise? You can’t let her see––”

“Get me out…!! Please! Anyone! Someone!” You gasped, suddenly realizing just how small it was underneath this massive boulder. It was a miracle it hadn’t crashed down yet, killing you instantly like rock squishing an ant. But if the boulder didn’t kill you, then the hydra would. And that was what terrified you, causing you to scream for help.

The young boy’s eyes brightened up, looking a bit taken aback at your volume before he grinned. At least, he must’ve been grinning, judging by the way his eyes lit up. Pausing his very loud pleas, he whispered in amazement, “Wow, you’re really good at this acting!”

You were not acting. Especially not when help arrived in the form of the protagonist.

Instead of a man as depicted in the stories, it was a woman. A woman with innocent blue eyes and a kind voice that attempted to ease the worries of what she must’ve thought were two poor victims trapped beneath debris from a rock slide. Her eyes darted from what she saw as a regular little boy, then over to you. “It’s okay, I promise you’ll be alright.” Those eyes like the bright blue sky, softened with a hint of pity, maybe because you just looked that pitiful and on the verge of tears. Because you knew what monster would come lurking from the gorge just moments after you and the small horned being beside you are supposed to be saved.

Incredibly, with only a minimal amount of struggling, the hero heaved the boulder slowly above her head. Even though the rock was easily ten times her size, she raised it up high above her shoulders, allowing you and the boy to scamper out of the pit. Managing a charming smile despite the tons of weight she was holding, she began, “How are you holding up? Are you injured or––”

Running. You were running. There was no way you would waste even a second here, and become a victim to that three-headed beast. It sounded like the hero had shouted something as you fled, and were followed by the android boy still in disguise as he called for you to wait up. Climbing, climbing, you took what looked like a thin path on a narrow cliff’s edge until you reached a hollow cavity hidden by shadows and boulders. By then you were out of breath, heaving, the ache in the back of your legs screaming from all that climbing and your lungs burning.

However, it seemed as if your torment were far from over. As your gaze traveled up, you stilled like a deer in the headlights. There, engraved within the very surface of the rugged stone walls, was a mausoleum that appeared to be left abandoned. Its smooth columns held up ledges, and at the very mouth of the entrance was a throne of pure stone occupied by a stranger. A stranger that looked eerily similar to the android that had been your company.

A figure who sat looking quite bored upon witnessing a mortal with inhuman strength. There were no words, but just by appearance alone you knew that this was the divine god that ruled the underworld. Fire, blue fire, ran from the top of his head down his spine and over thin shoulders. He was covered from neck to toe, completely in robes of dark blues and dull grays. Long sleeves with meander patterns extended to his wrist, and even his bony fingers were pitch black either due to the fabric of a glove or it was his actual skin, you couldn’t tell. The himation, the cloth that pooled on the floor at his feet, was pinned by a brooch resembling a skull.

Chilling yellow eyes leered down at you, his blue lips pulled back slightly in a grimace to reveal unnaturally sharp teeth on his pale face. Under his judgemental gaze, you felt like a miserable little roach scuttering about underfoot. “This isn’t a theater, and you’re not Dionysus, tryhard. That was major overkill. You screamed so much I heard you loud and clear from all the way up here, pretty sure all those humans heard you.”

In the blink of an eye, the android’s disguise was gone and he floated beside you. Placing a gentle but cold metallic hand on your back, he eagerly piped up, “I think they did really good, brother!” Brother? The god, the villain of this story, was his brother? Well certainly the resemblance was there between the god and the being in the role of the imp. “Did you see the look on the hero’s face, Idia? By my estimations, the act fooled all mortal onlookers!”

Brother. But… that couldn’t be possible. Now that you were high up beside the god, Idia is what your partner in crime had called him, you were no longer so fearful of immediately becoming the hydra’s next meal. That wouldn’t happen, especially when according to the story, the lord of the underworld was the one who controlled the hydra. But now you were currently more concerned and fearful of the literal divine being sitting in front of you. The lord’s brothers were only supposed to be other gods from Mount Olympus, not a being that served him. What else was different about the story? More importantly, what would he do to you once he realized that you did not belong?

“Okay, fine. Stirring performance gets five stars from me. Definitely better than that uber cringe Oedipus play that came out a while back. Ortho, nice, you really played the cute little kid you gotta feel for, and you…” Idia directed his attention to you, and you froze in place under his gaze as he sized you up. “You actually weren’t that annoying this time. So congrats, I guess.” He added dismissively, apparently bored with this prelude as the crowd of humans down below continued to clap for the protagonist that had just saved two souls from the boulders in the gorge. Then, his gaze traveled over to the shadows, on a small cliff where a figure you hadn’t even noticed had been standing in silence. “And can’t forget you. A thumbs-up for the leading guy. Even a girl like her can’t resist you, huh, Meg? Talk about pretty privilege. It must be nice.”

Startled slightly by the new presence, you glanced over, spotting a slightly familiar face looking over the cliff. It was that man who had been accompanying the protagonist. A fairly handsome looking man with brown wavy hair, in a purple chiton and baggy loose gray pants. Again, there was that modern style mixed with ancient, making you question what time this took place in. But that question was so insignificant compared to the rest of your worries, that it would be pushed to the very back of your mind.

Looking from Meg to Idia, you compare the two faces. The God of the Underworld certainly wasn’t ugly, per say. In fact, he was ethereal in his own unique way. It was more of an acquired taste to appreciate the slight cheekbones, the aquiline nose, and the dim glow his fire blue hair provided in the dark space. He wasn’t exactly the beauty standard that could be compared to a warm summer day, but cold rainy nights could be just as beautiful.

“What are you staring at? Can you not? Seriously, don’t you know that’s rude?” The god muttered in a near sneer, his gaze unable to meet yours. In fact, he appeared to be looking anywhere but at you. Like he was nervous. But what would a god have to be nervous about? “When I leave home, I’d rather not be gawked at like some freak. I don’t need another reminder.”

Embarrassment caused your heat to creep up your neck and into your cheeks as you lowered your head swiftly in an apologetic nod. With your eyes now glued to the ground, you didn’t lift your head even an inch. It was a mercy that he didn’t appear to be a wrathful god. Cruel, perhaps, but apparently not quick to violence. If he was the hostile type, the last thing you would probably see was his calming blue fire turn an angry red before your body became nothing but ashes in the wind and your soul joining the countless in the river of the dead. In an effort to appease him so he wouldn’t believe you were staring for the wrong reasons, you began hesitantly, in a nervous tone, “I-I’m sorry–– I was staring because, well, you talk as if y-you didn’t have that specific privilege either.”

Because you kept your head down, you failed to see all three of them, Ortho, Idia, and even Meg whipped his head around to stare with their own forms of shock as you snapped your mouth shut. There was no room to question what was said and done.

“Not funny, didn’t laugh. I had no idea the role of jester was just taken up. Last I knew, we had that position available. Guess I was wrong.” He replied, unamused, and surprisingly not offended. At least he didn’t seem as if he was about to smite you for offending a god. It was jarring how lax he was, but he spoke with bitter sarcasm which actually hurt. “If I wanted a laugh, I’d probably watch you snivel and cry again, but honestly it’s way more pathetic than funny so there’s really no point in it unless I want to remind myself that there’s someone within a ten foot radius who’s giving me a run for my money in the pity department.”

“I don’t think any of you are pathetic or pitiful.” Ortho chimed in, throwing in his two cents on the matter. To which the god only glanced at. “Shall I search our records for the soul of a successful jester? I believe we may have a few that once served kings in past centuries?”

With a wave of his hand, he dismissed the motion while propping up his elbow on the armrest of the stone throne. “Nah, don’t bother, none of them are that funny anyways. It’s not worth the effort of fishing them out of the river of souls. Once we secure our win, then maybe I’ll consider it when Thalia runs out of jokes to tell.”

Thalia? Wasn’t that the name of one of the muses? Did he plan to use those divine beings as servants once he conquered Mount Olympus?

“Uh, you can scram now? I know your soul is probably drawn to the company of other mortals like pretty-boy Meg over there and that schlemiel Heraclea.” Idia scoffed, looking a bit bitter. Although, maybe that was his natural expression along with the constant gloom that seemed to permanently linger around the divine being. He rolled his eyes, murmuring the word so it sounded like an insult, “Mortals.”

“T-Then… I’ll talk to Meg.”

#yandere #ortho shroud #idia shroud #twisted wonderland #twst #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #twst writing #work in progress #damnation twst au

484 notes · View notes

miniwheat77 · 10 months

Text

Rage. (Mean!Ghost x Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, smut, rough sex, unprotected p in v sex, ghost being a big meanie, enemies to kinda lovers, hate sex, noncon, choking, (sorry if I missed any.)

This was a request and was edited poorly because I’m lazy. You can find the ask here.

All you ever seemed to get out of Ghost were sighs. No matter what you said or did he seemed to have a problem with it. The few times you tried talking to him he'd huff and turn away from you with a sharp roll of his eyes. After a while, you got fed up with it and ignored him. You did your best to avoid him at all costs. It started snowballing into more. He'd always have something to say when you were around. Always so smug. On occasion if a mission went wrong no matter who's fault it was, he took it out on you. Raising his voice at you, punishing you when Captain Price wasn't around to see it.

He usually black mailed you into it somehow. Telling you that if you didn't obey him, he would go to your Captain. He was quiet around everyone else but always seemed to have the most to say when you were around.

It was tiring. He'd made you run, do push ups, wake up early for drills. He was bordering being abusive. He used his power in his favor and against yours. You contemplated dropping from the task force every once in while, but knew that Captain Price would need an explanation and admitting to what was going on, only put a target on your back even more. You had nowhere to go, you were trapped.

As time went on, you started biting back. When he had something to say, you didn't hold back. Started letting him have a taste of his own medicine. Going as far to annoy him when he made you do push ups or run. You went to bed early so that you were awake and ready for when he gave you drills.

If he was going to make this hell for you, you might as well do it right back.

It was normal. His harassment. He was a bully and you were used to it. You could bite back. Nothing ever really seemed out of the ordinary.

Until the first time he'd put his hands on you.

The power had gone out on the base, which made red lights flash in the hallways, much like in a movie. It was creepy.

You made your way down the hallway to the women's barracks. Nobody but you ever really came down this hallway unless they were coming to ask you a question of course. So when you seen Ghost walking menacingly down the hallway toward you, you were confused. You decided to ignore him, going to walk passed him. The red light illuminated the white on his mask and gloves. It was like something out of a horror movie.

Just as you were about to walk passed him, hands on you had you going to yell out, but he was quick. Clamping a gloved hand over your mouth and slamming your front up against the hard wall. You whimper into his mask at the force of him. He was being aggressive. His deep chuckle is what makes you fight against him, but he draws you back, pushing you hard into the wall again. He wraps his hand around your front, fingertips gliding across your waistline and you freeze, talking into his hand. He doesn't move it, only glides his hand back and fourth, fingertips pushing into your waistband just slightly. His chest was flush with your back and he was holding onto you tight, you could feel his erection pressing into your back. You felt tears pricking at your eyes. He takes in a deep breath, breathing in the scent of you. Following it up with a sigh of satisfaction. "You might as well stop fighting me." They're the first words out of his mouth and they're dark. Laced with venom. "I could do absolutely anything I want to you and there isn't one thing you can do to stop me." He mutters. Breath hot against your ear. "You could scream as loud as you want, beg me to stop and not one soul in this building would hear you. So the next time you want to talk back to me, remember that. You're in one little lonely room all the way off over here and nobody would even know what's going on. I mean.. They didn't notice me disappearing to get these." He lifts up a pair of your cotton panties, and you only sob into his glove harder. You knew he was mean, but this? This was too much.

"Can you stay quiet?" He growls. You nod your head. Tears soaking his glove. He lets out a deep chuckle. He slides his hand away from your mouth and you take in a deep breath. It lasts for only a second before he's lifting your chin to look back at him. "Please stop." You whimper. Earning a chuckle from him. "Awe... Why are you crying hm?" He smiles but he knows you can't see it. You gasp out as his hand slides lower. "Ghost- please don't" You push back into him, which only pisses him off further. “You’ll learn, pathetic little girl. I’ll teach you.” He smiles. “Please, I won’t fight back. I’ll be good.” You mumble. “Oh.. you’ll be good?” He smiles. A deep laugh from him sending chills up your spine. “I know you’ll be good. Because if you’re not…” he trails off. Fingertips gliding over your opening. Only now do you realize, he doesn’t have a glove on his right hand.

“Shit.. you’re wet?” He chuckles. His fingertips glide over your entrance and you’re trying to fight against him now. “Fuck.. you’re actually wet from this. What a little slut.” He grasps a handful of your hair, sliding his hand away from you. “You’re a pathetic girl, Y/N.” He let’s go of your hair, brushing it down with his hand. He moves himself away from you, stepping back. “I’ll see you at dinner.” He turns in the direction you’d just come from, heading back into the mess hall. You watch him for a second, tears still spilling over your eyelids as his dark form illuminatesd by red starts to disappear, Just in time for the lights to return. What the hell had you gotten yourself into?

—

You’d just gotten into your room, but you could hear his heavy footsteps approaching your door. He slams it open before you get the chance to lock it behind you.

“What the fuck was that?” He breathes. He’s seething. You’re nervous as you look at him, tears pooling at your waterline. “I did what I had to do.” You breathe. “That’s doing what you had to do? You’re fucking ridiculous.”

His constant nagging has you at your wits end with him.

“Yes. I had no other choice because I was surrounded. If I’m dead, so is everyone else. So yes, I exposed myself on purpose, I called for help. Excuse me for being worried about everyone else around me, unlike you. You selfish motherfuc-“ the breath is knocked out of you when he slams you up against the wall in your bedroom, hand wrapped around your throat. “Did you learn nothing? Stupid girl..” he chuckles. “I learned enough.” Your breath is going away as he tightens his grasp on your throat. Your hands claw at his wrist. He’d cornered you in your room on purpose. “Recite it back to me. So I understand.” He smirks, even if you can’t hear it. You can sense it in his tone of voice. “I’ve learned.. that.. that you’re a complete fucking scumb-“ your face is turning a deep shade of red as he completely cuts your oxygen off. A whimper leaves your lips by accident, and he loosens his grip out of shock before returning it. Only letting you have one second to take in a breath as he tears his mask off. “Fuck- you fucking like this. You like when I’m mean to you don’t you?” He chuckles. Cutting off your air again. Watching you turn red. The little blood vessels in your face are breaking.

“Fuck you” you growl. He lets go completely, smashing his lips to yours and you kiss back immediately. He kisses you hard, purposely being rough with you as he pulls you away from the wall. Shoving you back into your bed. He climbs on top of you, attaching his lips to yours again. He straddles your hips, pulling away from you and taking a second to look down at you. You’ve got a glint in your eyes that he’s never seen before. It’s different.

He grasps your vest, making sure to be extra rough with you as he unzips it and tugs it off of you. “Jesus Christ- you don’t have to be so rough!” You growl. “Yeah right, you fucking like it so shut up.” He mutters, grasping the center of your shirt and tearing it down the center. “Ghost!” You gasp. He ignores you, moving down and pushing your legs apart with his knee. Moving himself between your legs. “Just be grateful, little crybaby.” He groans, tugging your cargo pants down your legs. You roll your eyes at him. Nervousness settling into your stomach. “Grateful for what exactly? Prick.” You mumble. A sharp slap to your clit has you whimpering. “Shut up.” He growls, standing himself up off the edge of your bed and tugging you to the edge by your thighs. He kneels down at the edge of the bed, wrapping his arms around your thighs and burying his face between your legs, a gasp leaves your lips. He doesn’t start slow, immediately lapping up your entrance and sucking at your clit. He’s trying to make you as sensitive as possible.

He wants you crying on his cock.

You wrap a hand in his hair, squirming in his grasp but he hold your thighs up against his head. Using your thighs to muffle your sounds. It’s not ideal but he’s got to hold you still. He keeps this up until you’re trying to squirm away from him. Clit overstimulated already. “Simon- please-“ you whimper. Another slap to your pussy instead of his tongue has your body jumping. “I’ll say when you’ve had enough. Now take what I have to fucking give you.” He growls. Tears prick your eyes as he laps at your entrance. Your eyelids the dam holding back the river of tears. You keep it together, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of making you cry. You reach your first orgasm with a cry, and he’s right. Nobody will hear it. Your thighs are shaking violently, soaking his face in your cum. But he doesn’t stop.

He flattens his tongue over your sensitive bud, abusing it further.

Just when you think you can’t take anymore, he’s finally pulling away from you. “Get on your fucking knees and suck my cock.” He growls.

You obey him, standing up off of your bed as he sits on the edge. You move yourself between his legs, lowering yourself to your knees as he unbuttons his pants. Only far enough to expose himself to you, leaning back into one hand. You take the tip of his cock into your mouth, making an attempt to tease him, but he’s not having it. He wraps a hand into your hair, tugging your head up so you’re looking at him. “Don’t try to tease me. You’ll regret it, take me.” He growls, pushing you down onto his cock, feeling him press up against the back of your throat. Your mouth waters, holding back a gag. You obey him, not wanting to find out the consequences if you don’t. He forces you down into his cock, holding you there and cutting off your air. He watches you turn red on him. Smirking down at you. At his complete mercy. “Fuck yes- yesss.” He growls. He lifts his hips up, thrusting up into your throat. He’s using you, making no attempt to hide it. He lets you breath for a second before forcing you back down onto him for more.

“Your throat is perfect for my cock.” He chuckles. His cock nestled deep into your throat as he blocks the oxygen from reaching your lungs. “You’re perfect like this yeah? That little mouth isn’t fucking running.” You roll your eyes even on his cock which makes him laugh. You’re a brat, through and through. He pulls you off of his cock and you take a few seconds, breathing in oxygen like it’s limited. “Hands and knees, now.” He grasps your arm, forcefully pulling you up off of the ground and pushing you onto the bed. You stop yourself with your hands, looking back at him. Despite how much of a prick he is, it’s quite the sight.

Disheveled hair, cock blushing and standing at attention. Fit stomach and chest, tattooed arms with veins and muscles bulging as he tugs your ass back into him. You turn forward, blushing to yourself. Every cell in your body prays he doesn’t see it, worried at him finding something else to bully your for. He notices it, but chooses to keep quiet as he grasps the base of his fat cock, pushing the thick tip up against your swollen mound. It’s red and abused from his tongue. He smirks at the work he’s done to you. The thick mushroom head pushes passed your folds, and he groans as you swallow him up. Like your pussy was made for him. He slides into you with complete ease despite the way you’re tightening around him. He reaches your wall, smirking as he bottoms out. He was gentle for a start, but he draws his hips back and slams himself back into you, right up to the hilt. A cry leaves your lips and it only eggs him on further. Abusing your cervix with his cock.

A harsh slap to your ass is what sends you over the edge, his balls hitting your overly sensitive clit with every thrust he takes into you. You can’t take it, tears slipping from your eyes at his abuse. He’s for sure leaving handprints, squeezing at your hips as hard as he can, bullying your cunt with his cock. When a sob leaves your lips, he laughs. Actually laughs at you. “That’s right, cry for me. Pathetic crybaby.” He chuckles. His stomach is already swirling with his orgasm, he loves hearing you cry, he loves seeing you cry. He slides out of you, pushing you over and moving himself on top of you. He pushes your thighs up until they’re pressed against your stomach, sliding into you once more. Deeper this time. He has to see it, has to see you cry on his cock. You’re pulling around him, sobbing even harder as you feel him bottoming out into your cervix, stomach cramping up at the size of him. “Simon please- it’s too much-“ you cry. He groans. “One second..” he pants. “Just- just one more second.” He groans.

He leans down into you, tongue gliding up your cheek. Soaking up each tear that stains your face. Moaning at the taste.

He reaches between the both of you, rubbing quick circles over your clit as you start to squirm. “One more. You can give me one more.” He growls. “No- I can’t!” You cry. “You can. You will. You can cry all you want princess.” He smirks down at you. His degrading is almost too much. He likes to see you like this. He sets a steady pace with his thrusts, slowing the circles he’s drawing into your clit with his fingers, pushing you closer and closer to what you hope is your final orgasm. “You’re going to take it, all of me.” He chuckles. It takes a second for you to realize what he means. You shake your head and he nods his head with an evil smile playing at his lips. “Yeah baby. You’re going to take all of this cum that I have to give to you-” He smiles, wrapping a hand around your throat and growling. Just when you think kindness shines through the concrete walls of his facade, he’s painting back over it with black tar. He cuts off your air once more. “-and you’re going to fucking thank me for it.” He growls. When he lets go of you, another sob leaves your lips as you reach another orgasm, clit throbbing so hard that it almost hurts. His hips halt, an evil laugh leaving his lips. He’s filled you up with his cum despite your protests. “Look at that, pathetic fucking crybaby.” He smirks. Your eyes are heavy as you whimper out. Even now, he’s still mean.

“Get cleaned up and meet in the Gym for your punishment.” He growls, sliding his cock back into his cargo pants and zipping them back up before leaving you there. Cum seeping out of your abused hole, tear stained cheeks. You sit up, body feeling weak. You don’t know how you’re going to make it through his next punishment.

#call of duty mw2 #soap mw2 #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #captain john price #price mw2 #alejandro mw2 #captain price #johnny soap mactavish #mw2 smut #ghost smut #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost fanfiction #ghost x reader #ghost call of duty

1K notes · View notes

chososdiscordkitten · 2 months

Text

Synopsis: Gojo tries to convince reader how fun traveling at night can be ;)

Pairing: Gojo x GN!Reader Content: EXHIBITIONISM, reader is kinda mean, oral (m), mentions of previous sexual acts but nothing in detail, VOYEURISM, cum eating, insinuating intercourse

Dedicated to this ask.

MDNI

Traveling with Gojo was always a hassle. Knowing he could technically teleport wherever he wanted. “I like spending time with you between our destinations.” he’d say in defense.

He would claim he enjoyed the seemingly empty hours of stupid conversations on the road.

Road trips where you were forced to feed him snacks while he drove, watching the sunset in the rearview window as though you were living in some rom-com movie.

Short 15-minute walks late at night when you stayed up too late and got hungry.

Even if you had to spend too much time going through TSA just to get on a plane, you deemed obsolete. Satoru always liked the domesticity of acting like ordinary people for a few hours on a plane. Enjoying when you doze off and tip your head on his shoulder.

And that’s what this was. Another unnecessary way of traveling.

Satoru had told you he wanted to take you to a strip of many shops that sold tasty treats. Only it was a few cities away, and he refused to teleport to it. “That’s part of it! You can’t just go get the sweets. You have to travel for them!” his defense was.

Satoru had gotten the later train to leave the city, saying something along the lines of ‘We get there around 4am, and we can spend the whole day there.’

“Trains are romantic, don’t you think?” Sitting in front of you, on opposite sides of the table booth, with his hands flat on the top. You perked a brow, looking up from your phone and scoffing.

“I think.. trains are a dated way of travel,” you muttered, looking back down to your phone with tired eyes. Satoru gave out a small giggle, knowing you were weary and fatigued from sitting in the uncomfortable chairs.

“If we had driven,” crossing your ankles as the corner of your lip perked, “maybe, we could’ve had some fun.” you mumbled with a soft grin, looking down at your phone. Hearing a lecherous giggle leave Satoru’s mouth.

He hummed softly, leaning over on the table, “You wanna go find out where they keep the luggage?” he whispered, a smug smile on his lips. You placed your phone on the table, smiling sweetly at him.

“No,” you spoke flatly, watching his expression fall with a pout on his lips. “You sit there and think about the consequences of your actions.” You scoffed, picking up your phone again and scrolling.

Satoru looked out the window, watching the land zoom past him, then flashing his eyes, looking over to the opposite booth you were in. Noting it was empty, eyeing the dim lights above your head. A pensive smile on his lips as he conjured up ways to convince you to let up.

You sighed, placing your phone on the table and pressing the back of your head onto the plush headrest, extending your legs and placing one between Gojo’s thighs. Right where the edge of his seat was.

Holding your foot up as you ignored the sound of Satoru’s mind reeling up the idea he had deemed brilliant. His smile practically beamed as he inched his hand down to your ankle.

Satoru was no angel when it came to showing his affection in public. He saw travel with you as a form of foreplay, knowing that even if people were around, they wouldn’t remember a seemingly affectionate couple.

The first time he propositioned, it was on a plane, asking if you had ever fucked in the air To which you scoffed, ‘Those things are far too small for two people standing. Let alone for two people to fuck.’

Gojo proved you very, very wrong.

Then came a time when you kept teasing him as he drove, sun setting- bordering on being gone as you unbuckled your seatbelt. Leaning over and playing with his unbusied hand.

That ended with you jacking him off as he drove, kissing his ear and his temple as he kept two hands gripping the steering wheel. “Focus on driving, or else you’ll crash~” you giggled in his ear.

Eventually, getting frustrated enough to pull over on the side of the empty highway and fuck you senseless.

The walks you’d take late at night, the excuse of snacks was used whenever someone asked what you were doing out so late. The truth being, Satoru holding a little control in his pocket, watching you stutter over your own steps from vibrations. Finding thrill in knowing you had a little toy burrowed inside of you that he got to control.

Satoru liked traveling with you because the hours spent on the road seemed unreal. As though it was only the two of you held still in time. Quality time spent with you was all he asked for.

But, the instances where things got hot and heavy only caused that little voyeur part in his brain to itch. The idea of potentially getting caught was exhilarating to Gojo.

And here he was, thinking of how easily you could be caught here. Holding your ankle and moving it up his growing bulge slowly. Earning your eyes to snap open and look at the deranged man sitting across the table from you.

You tried pulling your ankle from his palm, only for his grip to tighten with a prize-winning smile decorating his expression. You purse your lips, about to mutter a curse at him for what he was doing.

That was till you felt the bottom of your socked sole press against his clothed erection. You furrowed your eyebrows and looked at him like a mad man, “I didn’t even do anything..?” you spoke through clenched teeth. Referring to Gojo always blaming you for how reactive his cock was around you.

He always blamed you for doing something that caused his member to rise. “You told me to think about the consequences of my actions-” he scoffed, his eyes lowering and holding your foot to his bulge.

You shrugged softly, wanting to know what he would put the blame on this time, “You know how much I like when you talk to me like that.” slowly moving your foot to press firmer on his clothed erection.

You nodded your head disapprovingly, a smug smile gracing your lips. Flashing your eyes to the side to see if the train attendants were near. “I already checked~” he grinned, loosening his grip on your ankle.

“It’s almost empty- and the attendants don’t do their rounds right now.” Gojo spoke softly. In retaliation, you pressed your foot down the tiniest bit- causing Satoru to let out a choked whimper.

“That so?” you whispered, curling your toes in the slightest and watching his eyebrows pinch up. Grinning sarcastically, “You researched the train attendant’s schedules?” pressing the arch of your socked foot onto his bulge and watching him writhe with squinted eyes.

Satoru fluttered his eyes closed, pressing the back of his head onto the seat and sighing softly, “You’re getting off on this..?” you scoffed in disbelief, continuing the slow maneuver with your foot. He only smiled in response, crinkling his nose in the slightest when you’d apply more pressure.

His fingers barely wrapped around your ankle, some kind of insurance to be sure you wouldn’t pull it away. Gojo’s cock shed small tears of precum onto his briefs from the small movements.

You gasped quietly, watching the light blush on his cheeks spread down his neck. “You are, aren’t you?” you teased, seeing his closed eyes flex tightly. You scoffed as he parted his lips, coming dangerously close to letting out a small moan.

The corner of your lip peaked in a smug half-smile, easing the pressure on his bulge and feeling his grasp on your ankle tighten again. “There’s not much I can do here, ‘toru.” you crooned in feigned pity.

You pulled your ankle from his grasp and watched his eyes snap open, “Don’t want you to make a mess.” you excused softly. Seeing the slight pout form on his lip from your denial.

And it was true; there was nowhere for Satoru to spurt his mess. And as he was thinking of ways to solve this little issue, only you had already come up with a solution.

Getting handsy in the car, even fucking in a plane bathroom- all that was one thing. Being able to rely on the small amount of privacy, but what you were conjuring-

Gojo looked off to the side, tapping his foot on the ground as he tried to think something up. Only by the time he looked back at you, you were already shifting off the seat and under the table. He furrowed his eyebrows with a meek smile- realizing that, like most of the time, you were always right.

He let out a small giggle, looking down at his lap and seeing your hands creeping up his thighs.

Getting frisky with a veil between you and other people was one thing. Still, what you were insinuating- there was a much higher chance of being caught than any of the other times. All it took was one person to look too closely under the table to see you kneeling.

You traced your hand to his inner thigh, feeling the light shiver that ran through the muscle. Lip tucked between your teeth as you grazed your fingers on his caged cock. Hearing him let out a small whimper, looking up at him from the small space and shushing him.

“You have to be quiet ‘toru,” you whispered with an overexcited grin. Reaching for the band of Gojo’s sweatpants and pulling it down, revealing his strained boxers with a darkening spot where his tip was.

Satrou’s hands gripped the ledge of his seat, pressing his lips tightly against each other to not make any noise.

You pursed your lips, blowing gently onto the damp spot of his briefs and feeling his legs shift on either side of your arms. Darting your tongue past your lips and leaning in, a stifled whimper fell from his taught lips as you dragged your tongue against his clothed shaft.

Letting out a small laugh from your nose as you circled your tongue onto the damp spot where his tip was. Feeling his body twitch from the millimeter difference between your tongue and his cock.

Satoru parted his lips with a slight huff, “You have to hurry- no teasing-” You pursed your lips against the fabric, kissing his veiled tip softly. Causing a shuddering inhale to escape his lungs.

You smiled as you pulled away, teasingly, “I can just stop if you-” inching your hands onto his knees.

“No, no-” he breathed, “Don’t stop.” he muttered, looking down to your glimmering eyes and parted lips.

Trailing your hands back up his thighs, hooking your fingers onto the band of his ruined briefs, and pulling them down. Satoru winced at feeling the tug of the band against his shaft.

Gojo gasped quietly when his tip almost touched the edge of the table. Placing a light hand on the base of his shaft, angling it down, and hearing his hands grip the seat harshly. Bracing for the warmth of your lips.

You leaned your head down, lips parted and eyes looking up at his bordering-on pained expression. Placing warm, open-mouth kisses on his suede shaft, leaving light glimmers of your spit as his thighs trembled beside you.

Gojo’s eyebrows were pinched upwards, bottom lip daring to tremble as you licked a long stripe from the underside of his base up to his pinkening tip. His wrists threatened to plant themselves on the side of your head, trembling as you pulled away. Your lips curl as you pursed them, pressing gentle kisses onto his leaking tip.

Hearing a slight hum rumble from his lungs as you pulled away slightly, parting your lips and placing your tongue onto your bottom lip.

Pressing his tip onto the flat of your tongue, sliding down ever so slightly before closing your lips on the edge of his cockhead. Earning a choked exhale to come from Satoru’s puffy lips.

Slightly pulsing your tongue up against the underside of his tip, inciting small huffs of air from his lips as you tighten your grasp on his shaft. Blinking your eyes up and watching his jaw dare to fall.

Circling your tongue on his tip in tandem with your other slow stroking hand on his shaft, holding your other hand on his thigh as you blinked your eyes closed. Softly sucking on his tip as you fisted his shaft.

Satoru closed his eyes- tight. So tight he saw white dots in his vision, biting his lip hard enough to leave a mark. Bowing his head down, snapping his hand atop yours. Meeting on his thigh, trying his very best not to make a sound.

Per his request, you wanted to make this as fast as possible.

But, the tiny trembles of his hand against yours were enough to slowly lap at the tears falling from his cockhead. The stifled whimpers that were muffled from his lips were enough to drag out every stroke your hand made on his shaft.

Sucking in your cheeks around his head, bottom of your tongue licking small stripes on the little v beneath his cockhead. His knees threatened to snap you between them as the tip of your tongue swished up and down his cocks opening, earning an audible shuddering whimper to fall from his nibbled lips.

The corner of your lips stretched into a smile around his cock, knowing if one whimper came out, more would follow.

And as he exploits your most sensitive spots, just for a reaction- how unfair would it be if you didn’t do the same?

Humming small vibrations onto his tip, knowing that would coax another whimper from his strained vocal cords. And as you expected, he let out an unpermitted whimper. A lot louder than you were expecting and a lot more pathetic than the ones he would typically voice.

The hand on his thigh was aching from how hard he was gripping onto you, even if you hadn’t done much. Satoru knew the thrill of doing this in public was what drove him further up his orgasm.

And as Gojo felt the warmth in his tummy forcefully pool, he was about to mutter a warning. That was until he opened his eyes and saw a stewardess walking down the small walkway.

He pinched his eyebrows, biting his lip almost too harshly as you stroked him. Looking down at you with panicked eyes as he heard the footsteps pass by him; only your eyes were closed. Too focused on teasing him to notice the distant pattering of steps, Satoru parted his lips with the quietest whimper he could muster.

He tried murmuring your name as some kind of warning to advise you that he was- “I’m gonna c-” Satoru whispered as he exhaled with a higher pitch at the end of his warning. Only earning for your eyes to blink open as you sucked harshly on his tip.

Gojo’s torso started lightly spasming as he felt you pull an orgasm out of him- eyebrows pinched together with an eye twitching closed. Lips parted in a quiet whine, and his cheeks beet red.

His cockhead quivered between your lips as you stroked his shaft with a tenacious grip, working him through the orgasm as his seed slowly oozed from his tip.

Your tongue greedily lapped up the hot tears of white- replaying the ‘Don’t want you to make a mess.’ in your mind as you swallowed his essence.

Coating the cavern of your mouth with a light film as he fought off the whimpers and whines you dared him to spill.

Satoru tried coming down from the pinnacle you threw him off- only your mouth and fist refused to let up.

Stroking him relentlessly as his hips started to shift in his seat. He looked down at you, nose crinkled with squinted eyes. Feeling your gluttonous tongue lap up any drop that your hand milked from his cock.

All but telling him with your tongue that you wanted to be sure he wouldn’t make a mess.

His cock tried to soften in your mouth- but your lips had other plans. Satoru started writhing in his seat, snapping his hands onto the side of your head and pulling you from his cock- too afraid he wouldn’t be able to control his pretty sounds if you kept on.

Looking down at you- lips puffy and pink, hazy cerulean eyes, and his blush so intense, it looked like he was in the middle of July.

You grinned, feeling his thumb caress the edge of your jaw, pressing on the tip of your chin, coaxing you to open. To make sure you did as you said you would.

His nose crinkled in appeasement, a half fucked out smile on the corner of his perching lips. Admiring the way you opened your mouth and slipped your flat tongue out. Showing him you swallowed, getting rid of any evidence or mess he would’ve left had you continued with your arches.

You assisted in placing his semi-soft cock back into his briefs, patting his thighs before you slipped back up into your seat.

Smiling at him with half-lidded eyes and crossed arms. Being able to see his expression, his eyes shouting at you for more.

You pressed your thighs together, watching his shoulders tense. “You wanna go find out where they keep the luggage?” you flashed a toothy smile, watching his eyes light up and nod excitedly. Scoffing with a warm grin as you slipped your shoes back on.

And in that moment, you thought that maybe- just maybe Satoru had a point in how exciting traveling really was.

(a.n) I wanna eat him.

694 notes · View notes

springwitch26 · 22 days

Text

flowers and firsts (melissa schemmenti x fem!reader)

summary: being the gracious friend you are, you offer to share your weed with melissa and jacob for a fun friday night at their place. when jacob goes to bed, things get heated between you and your favorite coworker.

warnings: smut (18+), consensual high sex, recreational marijuana use (be responsible), strap-ons, praise kink, vibrators, soft melissa, stoner reader, attempts at comedy (it's a fun fic guys), mario kart 8 GONE SEXUAL

notes: happy 4/20. this wasn't requested, but my OCD is beating the fuck out of me rn and writing it brought me comfort. let me know what you think. much love from your favorite slutty stoner 💚

"i know kids are curious, but eighth grade is a bit early to try weed, right?" jacob bounced his leg anxiously as he raised the question to his friends in the teachers' lounge. one of his students had just been suspended for bringing marijuana to school, and jacob was characteristically worried about the kid.

"i started in tenth grade, but teenagers are growin' up younger and younger these days," melissa responded. barbara raised her eyebrows in shock, and melissa reacted with an amused half-smile. "like trouble over here. when was your first time, hon?"

you tried to ignore the innuendo as melissa invited you into the conversation. you had been hired to teach the third grade a few months ago. you and melissa had a rapport from the first moment you walked into the lounge. every time you were in a room together, you made each other laugh. melissa made you feel at ease in your new workplace, and you felt lucky to have her.

because you both got along so well, ava often paired you up for team-building exercises and combined-class activities. the two of you weren't exactly close friends yet, but you had chemistry. that much was obvious to everyone at abbott.

"tenth grade for me, too," you answered between sips of your morning coffee. "a friend and i did it in the bathroom before art class. good memories."

"what, did you have some kinda fancy vape pen?" melissa cocked an eyebrow at you.

"i wouldn't call it fancy, but yeah, we mostly smoked carts," you explained. "bought 'em from the upperclassmen in the parking lot before school. i'm pretty sure they weren't pure weed, though. we had to be smoking battery acid, or plastic or something."

"god, your generation is weird. smokin' chemicals out of a flash drive," melissa said, gesturing wildly to convey her amazement. "the first time i got high was in detention. my buddy steve would sneak in and bring us cigarettes and blunts. they all looked the same, so we played russian roulette with it. now everybody walks around with those neon devices in their pockets."

"i can't tell if you're being serious or if you're referencing the breakfast club," you giggled, nudging the redhead's shoulder jokingly as you sat down next to her.

"ha ha, very funny, little miss," melissa deadpanned. you had asked her to stop calling you "kid" a few weeks ago. she respected your wishes by coming up with all sorts of endearing synonyms to call you instead. "what about you, jacob? you used to vape—ever experimented with mary jane?"

"or mark john?" you added. melissa snorted and gave you a playful swat on the arm.

"no, actually, i haven't," jacob said, rolling his eyes at your quip. "i didn't have many friends in high school or college, and after that i had to be drug tested regularly for teachers without borders. i never got the chance."

"well, if you ever feel like trying something new, i have plenty to share," you offered. "can't have you over at my place, though; every time i bring guests around, my crazy neighbor thinks they're cia operatives."

everyone in the room except melissa gave you a shocked look. barbara looked especially aghast, her brightly painted lips curled into an 'o' shape.

"damn, i thought janine was the only after-school stoner here. what a pleasant surprise!" ava broke the silence.

"i suppose i would partake given one of those weed pens you mentioned," jacob said to you. "the only thing i've been vaping lately is air, and it gets stale after a while."

"oh no, i haven't used a cart since high school," you clarified. "if you're smoking with me, you're smoking. don't worry, it's easy. just like vaping, but better in every way."

"first of all, no smoke circle is happening under my roof without me." melissa chimed in, looking at you with a silent question in her eyes. you nodded—of course you wanted her there. "and second, where do you even get the weed? if you buy the legal stuff from new york or massachusetts, you're not bringin' it to my house."

"i wouldn't dream of it," you affirmed. "i only smoke authentic philly weed. don't worry about it; i got a guy."

---

that friday night, you showed up on melissa's doorstep wearing a casual t-shirt dress, with a tote bag full of goodies slung over your shoulder. jacob was the one to answer the door.

"hey! come on in, melissa's making pizza," he said cheerfully, a bit jittery with anticipation.

you followed jacob inside and found melissa leaning over the kitchen island, smiling fondly at you. she was wearing sweatpants and a loose-fitting striped shirt, with her hair loose and a bit messy from cooking. she looked radiant and comfortable.

"you know, the pizza will taste better if we smoke before dinner," you proposed.

"bold of you to assume my pizza could taste any better," melissa joked back.

"i'm game," jacob said. "i want the full marijuana experience."

"in that case, help me set up," you said to the history teacher. "i want you to see how everything works."

you laid the contents of your tote bag out on the island countertop: a ziploc baggie full of flower, a little purple grinder, a holographic pink bowl, and a yellow lighter with white flowers on it.

"jacob, this is a grinder," you said, uncapping the grinder and opening the ziploc bag. "we're gonna use it to break up the flower into little pieces."

"oh wow, that is... pungent," jacob remarked. he watched as you ground up the weed, then handed the pink glass bowl to him.

"and this is a bowl, or a pipe if you're lame," you said. "you wanna do the honors?"

jacob grinned and reached into the grinder, bouncing excitedly on his heels. you put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. he filled the bowl, looking to you for approval several times while he did it.

"awesome, we're ready," you said. melissa placed her pizza in the oven and joined the circle.

"let's take it out on the patio," melissa suggested.

she led you and jacob out to the patio, a small ledge overlooking the city with three chairs conveniently set up in a tight circle. it was 7pm and the sun had just begun its descent, casting philadelphia in an orange glow.

the three of you sat down. you held the bowl up to your lips and moved to light it, but melissa snatched the lighter from your hand. she leaned in and held the flame to the bowl, her face inches from yours. you tried to concentrate on the task at hand, rather than her painted lips or her vivid green eyes dancing all over you.

you took a long inhale of the smoke and blew it up toward the sky. melissa plucked the bowl out of your hand and took a hit. she held the smoke in her lungs for an impressive amount of time for someone who didn't smoke regularly. she passed the still-lit bowl to jacob.

as soon as jacob took his hit, you knew it was gonna hurt. he overestimated his own lung capacity, and he didn't even finish blowing the smoke out before he was coughing.

"happens to everybody, pal," melissa patted jacob's back to ease his pain.

"ugh!" jacob sputtered between coughs. "why didn't you guys tell me smoking hurts?"

---

several rotations later, the three of you were high. well, you and melissa were high; jacob was outright fried. not altogether unexpected, but funny as hell.

when melissa's pizza was done, you all resolved to eat outside so you could watch the sunset together.

"this is heavenly, mel," you moaned after a delicious bite of the pizza.

"ha!" jacob exclaimed, and you and melissa turned to him, confused. meeting melissa's gaze, he threw his arms up in the air—like he expected her to understand what he meant by that one noise. "she stole two syllables from your name. you can't just take syllables, y/n. they're not yours."

"since when do you care about private property rights?" you quipped back before turning your attention to melissa. "i'm serious though. this pizza is sooo good. like last-meal-on-death-row good."

"keep talkin' sweet like that, and you can call me whatever you want," melissa replied with a wink, sending a flood of warmth to your face.

"what were we talking about? just now?" jacob chimed in, his eyes wide and darting every which way.

"... i actually don't know," you said with a giggle. you tried to remember, you really did. but you could feel melissa's eyes on you, and you heard her words echoing in your head. and it was hard to focus on anything else.

"short term memory loss! add that to the list of things you guys didn't warn me about," jacob scoffed.

"jacob, eat your damn pizza," melissa cut in. a peaceful smile graced her lips as she stared out at the city skyline, now a twilight blue in the absence of the sun. "i've missed this feeling, everythin' all fuzzy and light. how are you holding up, lovebug?"

your heart fluttered at the endearing name. melissa, it seemed, wore her heart on her sleeve when she was high—judging by the adoring way she gazed at you while she awaited your response. maybe the weed was messing with your head, but you swore she'd never looked so beautiful.

her eyes lacked any trace of the fire you were used to seeing (though they were quite red). for once, she wasn't on guard. her plump lips curled around her wine glass as she took a sip of merlot, vocalizing her sensual appreciation with a hum.

her long auburn hair was tucked behind her ears, resting on her shoulders in loose waves instead of her preferred meticulous curls. you wanted to run your fingers through her locks, feel their softness and smell her shampoo.

entranced by the redhead, you forgot she had asked you a question. melissa tapped your knee in reminder.

"i feel perfect," was your soft reply. you were beaming brightly before the sentence even finished. rather than sitting in a chair, you felt like you were floating on a cloud. the colors of melissa's patio and the sky blended together in a beautiful, swirling mosaic. the sounds of the city were clear and pleasant as philly wound down for the night. "i'm so happy."

"glad to hear it, sunshine. but i'm pretty sure jacob is asleep," melissa chuckled and patted the man's shoulder. he didn't stir, remaining slumped and conked out in his chair. "he's been losin' sleep over the kid who got suspended. bending over backwards trying to keep 'em on track."

"oh gosh," you said sympathetically before patting jacob a bit more firmly than melissa had. "jacob, hey. c'mon, it's time for bed. get up, go get cozy."

your words were slurred and hushed, but they seemed to pierce the veil of jacob's slumber as he awoke with a start.

melissa stood behind jacob's chair, gently rocking it back and forth to bring him back to the conscious world.

"can't go to bed, we just started," jacob grumbled, but his eyes were still closed. he was dangerously close to falling asleep again.

"from the looks of it, you're either gonna spend the night sleepin' in this chair or in your bed, so get up," melissa said resolutely.

"yeah, and besides, there's always next time," you assured jacob as he stretched and groaned his way into an upright position. you made eye contact with melissa, and this time you winked.

---

after helping jacob into bed (his motor skills really deteriorated when he got high) and smoking another bowl together, you and melissa were ready to continue your night.

"alright, sweetheart, it's down to you and me," melissa said, sitting down next to you on the couch. "what do you wanna do?" you pondered the question, looking around the room for inspiration.

"oh my god, you have a nintendo switch?" you asked excitedly, gesturing to the black tablet plugged in next to the cable box.

"that's jacob's. he showed me one of the games on there—animal crossing, i think it was. i don't get it. why play a game if you can't win?"

"alright, i know what we have to do now," you said, walking over to jacob's game cabinet and pulling out mario kart 8. holding the case up for melissa to see, you grinned. "four races. whoever wins gets whatever she wants from the other."

you were distantly aware of the implications, but you were too high to reconsider what you'd proposed.

you figured melissa would want something from your thoroughly decorated classroom if she won. if you won, you'd ask her to make you a custom pizza.

"you have no idea what you just started, hon," melissa said with a confident smirk.

"may the best woman win."

---

how the hell was she so good at everything?

melissa had needed some time to warm up to the switch controls, complaining about how the little red rectangle was too small to hold comfortably. but she was a quick learner with skilled fingers, and soon she was absolutely demolishing you.

it also didn't help that your coordination escaped you when you were high. you had driven off of too many ledges to count.

"two wins in a row for luigi," melissa bragged as she crossed the finish line of the third race. "hope you're ready to give me whatever i want, princess. don't think i forgot about our bet."

"daisy won the first race," you pointed out calmly. "i can still bring it back. but you know what this last race has to be?"

"what?"

"rainbow road. it's the perfect final showdown course," you explained, navigating to the course with your controller.

"get ready to be mine for a night," melissa said lowly. god, you knew she was talking about the bet, but she knew damn well what she was doing. by this point your panties were almost uncomfortably wet.

you leaned into her unconsciously as the race countdown began. you both held your controllers tight, almost shoulder to shoulder.

3...

2... (you push down the gas pedal button)

1...

GO!!!

daisy took off with a boost of speed thanks to your timing. luigi had a false start as his engine blew out. you cheered, and melissa cursed.

"how the fuck do you do that?" she asked, exasperated.

"play the game!" you demanded without looking away from the screen.

the competition was intense. you and melissa weaved around curves, nearly fell off the road, passed and bumped each other. neither one of you spoke until lap 3.

coming up on one of the last turns of the last lap, your hands jerked and you swerved. reacting on instinct, you bent your arms dramatically in the other direction to overcorrect.

melissa's arm bumped into yours, sending your controller flying out of your hands.

"hey!" you said, thinking she was cheating.

"hey yourself," she said, her eyes still fixed on the screen.

if she was gonna play dirty, so were you. you thrust your arm forward to grab her controller. but she saw you coming from a mile away. effortlessly, she shifted the controller into her left hand alone and held it up and out of your reach.

desperately competitive (and stupid high), you launched yourself toward the controller. you'd stop at nothing to get even. before you could snatch it out of her grasp, though, your balance faltered. you fell out of your position and started to fall backwards off the couch.

melissa dropped the controller and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you back up before you could hurt yourself. there was only one problem with this heroic act.

you were in her lap now.

her hands remained clasped at the small of your back, and your balance shifted forward. you put your arms out for stability, and wrapped them around her neck.

"careful, don't hurt your pretty head," melissa cooed. the two of you stared at each other for a moment. she surged forward and pressed her lips to yours.

if sitting outside with her felt like floating, kissing her and feeling her body against yours felt like riding the ocean waves. but unlike the atlantic, she was warm. you relaxed into her warmth as her tongue licked into your mouth.

you felt her tongue everywhere. in response to her, you gave a few tentative kitten licks. she moaned, she moaned, and pulled back before giving you one last kiss on the lips.

she stared at you with heated eyes for a while before switching her focus to the tv.

"look, baby," she said smugly while gesturing to the tv screen, where luigi was driving victory laps after placing first on rainbow road. "i won. you remember what that means?"

it was a fair question, considering how many conversations you forgot happened tonight. still, you nodded shyly and bit your lip.

"smart girl," melissa praised. "can you guess what i want from you?"

you shook your head no with a frown. melissa beamed and kissed you on the forehead. then she leaned in to whisper in your ear.

"i wanna touch you everywhere. i wanna hear your pretty voice moan my name and see your face scrunch up when you come. i want you to feel me all over you, and i want you to spend the rest of your life craving that feeling," melissa said her piece all at once, as if revealing a long-buried secret to you and herself.

you swallowed.

"would you let me do that?"

you nodded, pressing your forehead against hers.

"i need to hear you say it," she said softly, so softly you almost missed it.

"i want you, melissa. i have since the day we met."

that was all the confirmation melissa needed to attack your face and neck with kisses.

"sorry, let me just," melissa said as she pulled away abruptly and reached for the tv remote. she changed it to cable mode and navigated to the jazz music channel. "there we go, perfect."

"you're ridiculous," you giggled upon seeing melissa's proud face.

"honey," she leaned in to nip at your ear before whispering, "watch your mouth. you wanna be on my good side tonight, trust me."

you shuddered and wiggled in her lap, aching for her touch. a slow grin spread across her face and her hands found your legs, running up your thighs and lightly dragging her nails along your skin. they soon made their way up your waist to your breasts, cupping and squeezing them. melissa even took two fingernails and circled your nipples teasingly, to which you squeaked.

"do you know how many times i thought about havin' you like this?" melissa whispered. her voice was sweet like molasses and flowed right through you. you could feel your nipples tingling where her fingers had been, swimming in a bubble of desire. "in my lap, all whiny and squirmy."

she pinched your nipple and you keened. you held your breath as her hands once again traveled to your thighs, making a beeline for your core.

"and now i got my angel in my arms," she said, gently spreading your legs for better access. you sucked in a breath and trembled when her palm caressed you through your panties. "but i gotta say, even in my imagination you were never this wet for me."

she punctuated the sentence by pressing her pointer finger on your clit through the fabric, drawing tiny circles. you gasped and hid your face in her neck. the high made every touch feel like it rippled through your whole body. the world felt like it had been knocked off its axis, and melissa was your new center of gravity.

"aw, don't be embarrassed, babygirl. it's cute you're so sensitive," melissa soothed, easing you out of the crook of her neck to face her again. she trailed her fingers down to swirl around your wetness under your panties. "let me take care of you, yeah?"

---

a few minutes later, you were spread out on melissa's bed, naked save for your (now useless) panties. she'd practically carried you to her room as you were baked and horny and unable to walk straight.

in spite of your writhing and needy whines, the redhead took her time to savor you. she kissed every inch of your torso before she even considered taking your panties off, mumbling sweet nothings between love bites.

when she finally pulled away to admire her work, the view did not disappoint. you were panting and covered in melissa's marks, and god, you were her favorite piece of art ever created. all hers.

"alright, sweet girl, i know," she cooed as you continued to plead for her touch with your best pout and puppy eyes. unable to resist you, melissa hooked two fingers in the waistband of your panties. "i'm gonna slip these off ya, okay? there, down they go."

melissa discreetly tucked the saturated material into her pocket. not as a trophy or proof of her conquest; rather, a token from the first of many magical nights with her girl. she would treasure it.

she wasted no time getting situated between your legs so she was face-to-face with your pussy. she inhaled deeply, basking in the heady aroma of your arousal. you overwhelmed her senses. everything she saw, everything she smelled, everything she felt, everything she thought—it was all one big, bottomless pool of you. and there was only one sense left for you to conquer.

the first drag of her tongue up your slit set you ablaze, flames licking from your core all the way to your extremities and your head. she let out a small noise of appreciation, and you felt it more than you heard it.

"you taste like fuckin' heaven," melissa rumbled between determined licks through your folds. her comment reminded you of the pizza, and you found yourself amused at how much things had changed in just a few hours.

"last-meal-on-death-row good?" you joked, and melissa seized the moment of levity to latch onto your clit. you cried out before remembering jacob was sleeping in the next room. you clapped a hand over your mouth.

"mhmmmmm," she moaned in agreement, and the vibrations on your bundle felt incredible. "but if you're still crackin' jokes, i'm not doin' my job."

with that, she shut you up completely. her tongue poked at your clit between harsh sucks. your back arched and melissa changed her strategy, prodding at your entrance with her tongue while her fingers took over on your clit. when her tongue penetrated you, you bit down on your hand to keep from screaming.

"i said i wanna hear you, remember?" melissa pulled out to chastise you.

"but jacob—" you managed.

"is passed out. he's dead to the world. now sing for me, angel," melissa's tongue dove back into your weeping cunt and lapped at your walls. you wailed her name.

"oh, mel, right—ahhh—there!" you mewled as her tongue teased your most sensitive spot. now that she'd located her target, melissa changed her play once again. two fingers replaced her tongue and crooked into your g-spot while her mouth returned to your clit. "close..."

melissa nodded her permission, her mouth busy with your button. with another hard roll of your clit between her lips and drive of her fingers into your sweet spot, you fell apart. you moaned and cried unbidden as she worked you through your orgasm, which felt twice as powerful thanks to the intoxication factor. your body shook in the grip of seemingly endless waves of heat.

your climax eventually died down and you squirmed away from melissa's touch. your mouth opened in dismay when instead of staying by your side, she stood up and disappeared into her closet.

after a short while, the older woman reappeared by your side. she was now nude and sporting a long, girthy strap-on. she placed a few other items on the nightstand, but you couldn't tear your eyes away from the thick faux cock. unless it was to look at her gorgeous tits, which swung with her every move. she was a goddess.

"okay, sweets, i'm gonna spell this out nice and slow because i know your brain is a little messy right now," she said as she crawled on top of you. "i'm gonna fuck you with my strap. and i know it's so big, but i have this to help you take it."

melissa reached over to the nightstand and retrieved a green mini wand vibrator. her intentions were clear, and you gulped. the redhead peppered kisses all over your face in reassurance.

"now relax, little love. let me in," melissa instructed as the wand buzzed to life. she smeared your wetness around your clit with her fingers, then pulled back its hood to position the vibrator tightly against your nub. even the lowest setting was a shock at such a direct angle.

while you were distracted trying to adjust to the clitoral stimulation, melissa aligned the tip of the dildo with your entrance and pushed in. you both groaned, and you felt yourself stretch around the toy. melissa turned up the vibrations on your clit as she progressed to being fully seated inside you.

"that's a good girl, so brave," melissa cooed. you thrashed underneath her, the sensations overstimulating you. the pain of the intrusion staved off a powerful orgasm from the wand vibrator.

again, you wondered if the drugs were messing with your mind—the dildo felt indistinguishable from a part of mel's body, and you were full to the brim of her.

as she began to rock her hips back and forth, you saw her bite her lip. you assumed that the strap had some kind of clit attachment for her based on the telltale signs of pleasure.

melissa built up a steady rhythm and drank in your pathetic sounds of pleasure. her tits swung in your face with every thrust, and you made a mental note to give them proper attention next time. with another tactical increase to the wand's speed, you felt yourself approaching the edge once more.

"you gettin' close? yeah, i can tell. feels too good to hide it, huh bunny?" that was a new one. you clenched at her words and she set the wand to its maximum power, rubbing it up and down on your clit. your vision went white and you spun out of reality as you came. "that's my girl. good little princess, coming so hard for me."

with a few more thrusts, melissa also came to a release. she shuddered and shimmied her hips at random while she rode it out. as soon as she recovered, she turned off the green wand and relieved you. next, she eased herself out of and off of you.

with a chaste peck to your lips, she sat upright and reached for the nightstand. she smiled at your fucked-out expression as she laid out the pajamas she'd picked out for you.

you watched in awe as she took off the strap and put on her own sleep clothes. her red hair was wild from the night's activities and glowed like a warm hearth against the white backdrop of her walls.

in your state, you wanted nothing more than to cuddle up with melissa and fall asleep. but she insisted that you get ready for bed so that you'd be comfortable through the night. she guided you into the bathroom and gave you a new toothbrush to use.

returning to the bedroom, you found a silky green nightgown with flowers on it waiting on the bed for you. given your exhausted and intoxicated state, melissa had to help you into it. neither of you minded. as a reward for your cooperation, she gave you a kiss.

the two of you snuggled into bed, tucked in together with you curled up against her chest. the tides of slumber lapped at your feet.

"g'night, lovebug," melissa whispered as you drifted off. "sleep well. see you in the morning."

and tomorrow would be the first of a lifetime of tomorrows waking up in her arms.

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x y/n #melissa schemmenti x you #abbott elementary fanfic #melissa schemmenti smut #wlw smut #4/20 friendly #stoner fic #fanfic

399 notes · View notes

the-cat-and-the-birdie · 9 months

Note

I think Hobie brown is the one character I've seen written completely out of character the most

Like, he would NOT say that

He definitely is. I see people write Miles and Gwen as spot on (pun unintended). Miguel and Pavitr are usually butchered for linguistics reasons

But with Hobie, him being a punk - one from a very specific time - adds a whole new layer of difficultly and honestly. At this point, I can't even blame people.

I think Hobie's mischaracterization is caused by two primary things, one purposeful, and one not. Please allow me to rant.

Hobie Brown, Mischaracterization, and the Sanitization of Punk Culture

I think Hobie's characterization is the perfect example of the way media purposely deminished and trivialized the punk identity in order to erase it's political connotations.

In other words, people misunderstanding Hobie shows how the media warped and censored the definition of 'punk' in the last 50 years.

And that's on purpose.

Let's take the hippies for an example. When you think of them, what beliefs comes to mind?

Peacefulness, usually. Pot smoking. Music loving. And Anti-war. They love peace. The phrase 'Make Love, Not War' make come to mind.

But it's easier for the media to historically display hippies as people who were opposed to war - rather than people who were openly oppossed to the Vietnamese War.

As in, they weren't just opposed to war - which they were. They were also specifically opposed to the United States government crossing borders in order to push a capitalist agenda in Vietnam.

It's easy to say hippes loved communes - then to say 'Hippies were Communist'. With a couple words switched around - sanitization.

Punk is just like that.

It's easier to focus on the response rather than the source. It's easier to look at Hobie singing than to consider what he'd be singing about in those songs.

I feel like in the past 50 years the media has purposely centered the outrage of punk around music - as a targeted distraction, and a method of silencing. This goes from the outward hatred of Sex Pistols - to a President's wife literally taking a metal band to court in order to get the 'Explicit Content label' instated for the first time.(crazyyyy long story- crazy interesting. Google 'Mary Gore vs Twister Sister' - the videos of the band in court is hilarious)

But anyway the outrage of punk music in specific and the silencing of the message behind it kinda changed the way people viewed punks.

Media very much wanted to make punk something about senseless rebellion towards everything, the same way they tried to turn anarchy into 'unending chaos that never stops', when neither of those things are true.

Basically saying 'Oh, those people over there? They aren't angry oppressed people screaming and forming a community based around resilience, those are teeennagerrs. theyre just screaming cause theyre mad at their dads or something PLEASE dont look at them PLEASE PLEASE DO NOT CHECK IF WE'RE TELLING THE TRUTH'

And so people are presented with someone like Hobie, they see the loud music, but not picking up what he's saying if you get my drift.

And the other thing I'll try to keep short.

It's not purposeful, but I think it matters.

The Internet - Subculture vs Aesthetic

I don't think this is something that's been talked about yet.

But I feel like a lot of people misunderstand what a subculture is. So when they see Hobie, they see fashion, and music taste, and attitude. They instead perceive him as an aesthetic. Not someone who participates in subculture.

Subculture is a way of life. It encompasses not only your fashion and music tastes, but it can and usually extends to things like your morals, your behaviors, the spaces you exist in, etc.

Goth, Punk, Vegans, hell - even Nudists - are all subcultures. Because they effects the persons lifestyle. Subcultures are lifestyles.

Aesthetics are not.

An aesthetic is a (usually) visual ambience that is meant to evoke a specific emotion.

Aesthetics can extend to fashion, decor, and music taste - but not your morality or behavior.

E-girls, Emos, Hipsters, what have you - all aesthetics as they do not encompass morals, or behaviors.

And because of that - there are things that do or don't make you a punk. But there aren't really things that do or don't 'make you emo'.

Aesthetics don't have conditions, but subcultures do.

You have to be anti-government to be punk. You don't have to hate your life to be emo.

(Which is why when people bring this up, people are quick to call 'gatekeeping!' Because in the context of aethetics gatekeeping is seen as unneccesary, whereas in subcultures 'gatekeping' is more so protecting the underlying beliefs and motivations of the movement. People who see Hobie as an aesthetic will find these conditions odd because they're not seeing his punkness as a subculture.)

Today on the internet, it's a lot more common and easy to engage in an aesthetic. It's not uncommon for someone to purposefully pick an aesthetic - and go all out - simply because they like it. It's great. I engage with an aesthetic all the time.

But because of that, when people see Hobie it's easy to immediately be like 'oh okay hes doing it out of fashion hes doing it because he vibes with it cool.'

They look at Hobie the way they would look at an eboy (do those still exist).

______________________________________________

Sooo mixing the censored image of a punk along with the modern-day instinct to perceive something as an aesthetic rather than a way of life kinda causes.....this.

A Hobie tag were a lot of people completely misunderstand who he is as a person and his motivations as a superhero outside of 'I hate the establishment'.

Plus add in a dash of people just being totally blank on 70's politics. The Vietnam War, Margaret Thatcher coming to power, the IRA, etc. - all of those things I think tells us a lot about Hobie. I'm currently on a piece about that and an explainer of most of those events. Or if you want a brief rundown please feel free to ask, I'll do my best.

If you wanna know Hobie more - don't listen to punk music. Go read the lyrics, if you get what I mean. They truly do have something to say.

Hope this made some sense, thanks for reading if you made it this far :) also no proofread we die like kings but ill most likely do it later and delete this note.

#atsv anaylsis #hobie brown #spider punk #spiderpunk #across the spiderverse #spiderman #spider man

1K notes · View notes

secretwritingspot · 4 months

Text

High Maintenance

Pairing: OPLA Sanji x Reader

COME GET Y'ALLS DINNER I'M BACKKK!!!

Rating/Content Warnings: like...pg-16ish? Idk there's nudity and a lot of suggestive shit and kinda a little bit of groping (consensual, obvs) heavy-petting I guess might be the right term? But there's no outright fucking so do with that what you will.

Summary: Okay but Sanji with a high-femme reader. Like...we know how much this man likes women so I feel like he'd be all over a super femme person. Basically he has a fascination with all their fancy bath products that borders on is pervy because what do all those even do??? Eventually reader just decides to let him watch and find out.

Disclaimer(s): Since it's directly related to the plot, reader is stated as a woman in this, so if that's uncomfy for you to read keep that in mind and keep yourself safe! This idea came to me because I just finished finals and got to properly do self care for the first time in ever and wash all the finals grime off lmfao. Also there's nothing REALLY sub!Sanji about this but also...there's vibes. Damn Taz Skylar for portraying a character so babygirl that even me, quite possibly the world's biggest sub, sees him and is like...yeah I could tell him what to do once or twice.

As much as he tried, Sanji just didn't understand.

Sure, he was far better then the others - leagues away from Luffy and Zoro in terms of hygiene - but he was still a man. And a pirate, at that.

His eyes bend to you when you walk into the galley to move through to the bathroom - towel, change of clothes, and multiple bottles in your arms.

It baffled him the sheer number of products you had- a brush, towel, some sort of sugar concoction, all for the same purpose. A more traditional shampoo, similar to the kind he used, for initially cleaning off all the (your words) "pirate grime". Another, "gentler" shampoo for your hair. Which only doubled his confusion, as he had been under the impression that all shampoo was for hair. 2 different razors, scented body wash, colorful soaps.

It isn't uncommon for you and Sanji to meet this way. He's nearly always in the kitchen, and the hall to the bathroom cuts through the galley. Still, his heart warms every time you stop and set down all the numerous - he'll never understand what all those different products could possibly do - things in your arms on your side of the counter and take a stool, smiling at him.

Without fail, you stop for a few moments every time on your way to the bath just to talk with him, and every time it makes his heart race and his breath catch happily.

"Hey, Sanji."

"Evening, love." He answers, voice deceptively easy. He hopes you'd never know just how much effort goes in to that 'easy' temperament he has around you, but sometimes he thinks it's obvious. "What brings you down here at...2:30 in the morning?"

You laugh softly when he mentions the late hour, ever the type to worry over you getting enough sleep, shrugging sheepishly.

"I could ask you the same thing."

Your (valid) argument seems to phase right through him and he ignores the question, simply raising a brow at you. You shake your head fondly, but answer anyway.

"I was on my way to take a bath. It's nicer at night, since there's less people up. More time, and quiet."

He hums in acknowledgment and keeps cooking, turning to you with a shy look on his face.

"Um...love?"

"Hm?"

You fold your arms in front of you on the counter and lean on your hands, looking at him curiously as you wait for him to continue.

He pauses, face red.

"Well...I was wondering if I...if I could ask you a question?"

You squint in amused confusion at his nervousness, eyes soft and fond as you nod. He thinks he might die.

"Yeah, shoot."

He clears his throat and looks at all the various bath products you brought with you before looking away, gesturing at the bottles.

"What do they...do?"

You snort when you realize that was really what he was so nervous over, shaking your head with a fond giggle.

"Wow, you are such a man sometimes."

Your eyes flit to the products before looking back up at him.

"Wanna be a little more specific?"

"Oh, right." He chuckles, looking embarrassed. "There's so...many?" He looks back at you, the confusion obvious on his face. "I mean...why do you need so many? Do they really all do different things? And-" He gestures to all the various products, brow raised. "Why so many different kinds of shampoo?"

Your giggles turn to full-blown laughter at his confusion, though it's not at his expense.

Okay, mostly not at his expense. Maybe a little bit.

"Oh, honey. You're cute sometimes, y'know that?"

You shake your head, rolling your eyes softly and looking at him. It's sweet, really, how embarrassed and curious he is. A very, very bad (very amusing) idea comes to your mind, and before you can think any better of it, you hear your own voice speaking.

"...want me to show you?"

He blinks almost sleepily, eyes wide.

"I- pardon?"

There's a thick silence as you watch the gears turn in his head, trying to work out if you really just said that and what the hell it means.

"What- what are you suggesting?"

You shrug, teasing smirk unfurling across your face as you sit up, cocking your head at him. It's not exactly like you can un-say what you just said, so you figure you might as well go for it. In for a penny, right?

"Exactly what I just said. You wanna know what they do, I'll show you."

You look down with coy, faux-innocence and sigh, giving him a chance to back out that you know he won't take.

"But, y'know...only if you want to."

The heavy-handed mock disappointment seems to jump start His mind again and his eyes flash with realization, a red flush starting up his neck.

"O- Oh....oh! Yeah, alright. I'd like that. Yeah. Yeah, that would be very- very, uh...helpful. Thanks."

He clears his throat, trying to sound less flustered.

It doesn't work.

You stifle a laugh at his reaction, shrugging and picking up your things. You start to walk down the hallway to the bathroom and for a few moments, he feels like he's frozen solid right where he is. You pause at the door, turning over your shoulder to look back at him teasingly.

"Well, c'mon then. Don't make me wait up."

He blinks and then he's moving towards you, feet carrying him forward before he even truly thinks about what he's doing. He follows you into the bathroom, and he can hear his heartbeat in his ears.

"Uh...okay, so, how do I- do I sit somewhere? Or...or watch? I- I don't know what's, uh..."

You shake your head with a fond giggle when he struggles to put a sentence together in his nervousness, but you decide to take pity and give him a bit more guidance.

"Alright, sit down."

You move him over to a bench and push him lightly down by the shoulder to sit back. He goes without resistance, letting you push him by two fingers and minimal pressure on his shoulder, closing the door and locking it behind you.

He sits down on the bench, blushing intensely. He doesn't know much about healthcare, but he thinks he might be having heart palpitations.

You hum to yourself quietly as you turn on the hot water, letting the bath fill while you busy yourself setting up the number of bottles and containers and miscellaneous items of yours on the edge of the tub. He shifts in his seat as you open one of the bottles and empty a bit into the bath, which immediately starts foaming as you turn to him with a teasing smile.

"I'm assuming you already know what bubble bath is?"

He nods, looking at the bath as it starts to foam, feeling like a teenager in a high school health class.

"Yeah, I know about that part." He nods slightly in relief- at least he knows something. "Just uh...never actually experienced it before."

"Never?"

Your brows furrow in surprise and confusion before you make a conscious effort to raise them, trying not to make your concern too obvious as something softens in your eyes for a moment. Sympathy, maybe.

"...well, we'll just have to do this for you sometime, then. Once you know what all of it is."

Your voice is gentler then, soft. You don't linger on the moment, looking away to stop the water once the bath is full and holding up a spherical object for him to see.

"This is a bath bomb. It's got stuff in it that makes the water turn pretty colors and smell nice and helps with your skin."

He nods, shifting again in his seat as you place the sphere into the bath. Though he's nervous, his eyes drag to every little detail, desperate to take it all in.

"Right." He mumbles, watching you throw the bath bomb into the water before his curiosity gets the better of him.

"Do you always make it this nice? With all the different...products and stuff?"

You shrug and clip your hair up messily, and he tries not to get distracted by how domestic this whole thing feels.

"When I have the time, yeah. It's...nice. A good way to relax."

You find the zipper of the dress you'd been wearing, a simple sun dress to keep you from melting in the sun or freezing from the sea breeze, fingers halting at the top as you look back at him.

"Last chance to back out, Sanji."

He swallows, eyes trailing down your body as you give him one last out. If he were more in his right mind, he'd think you were sweet for continually checking up on him.

Right now, he just thinks it's tedious.

"No, uh...no, I'm good. I am very much interested in this lesson." He clears his throat. "I would appreciate the, uh...the help."

You huff a fond laugh at his enthusiasm as his blushing gaze meets yours, shaking your head at him softly.

"Alright then."

You reach for the pull of the zipper again and slowly drag it down, slipping the dress off the taper of your shoulders, your waist, your hips. Your panties follow quickly after and your clothes all pool at your feet. You step out of them gingerly before stepping into the bath with a satisfied sigh, sinking slowly into the water with a satisfied hiss.

His eyes follow you the entire time, his heart beating at a rapid clip in his chest. He's seen other people nude before, he's had sex, but watching someone in the bath seems so...it's just...jesus. He's never done something this intimate. And yet, his eyes are glued to you.

He swallows nervously, hands starting to tremble a little bit.

For a moment he gets to see you completely bare, then the cloudy, colored water and the bubbles slowly cover you inch by inch. He can still see from your shoulders up where the water doesn't cover you. Your eyes flick back to him with a knowing smirk.

"You're staring."

It's a simple observation, though there's an undeniably teasing tone to your voice when you point it out. It isn't cold, though, or unwelcoming- the exact opposite, in fact. It's an amused little poke at his more perverted tendencies, but one that makes no judgement on him for it.

It sounds suspiciously like approval.

His mouth is almost agape, mind replaying the scene of every inch of you disappearing behind the clouds of bubbles and soap over and over again. It's like a scene from a romance novel.

(Despite the others' teasing, he's never actually read a romance novel. He assumes this is what they're like.)

He flushes and his eyes flick away from you, resolutely staring at the wall to your right.

"I- I didn't mean to, uh...I- I'm-"

"It's alright."

You quiet his stammering immediately, sending him a quick wink. Again, your tone sounds suspiciously of approval.

"I don't mind."

You sigh in contentedness at the warmth of the bath, taking a moment to just relax into the warmth before grabbing a cloth.

"So, you still want that lesson?"

He looks back at you, his blush red and steadily getting darker He nods slowly, blinking dizzily at the sight of you.

"Yes please."

He whispers, voice hoarse and cracking with equal parts nervousness and excitement. "Please and thank you." He adds softly, biting his lips and nodding again, eyes wide.

You giggle at his obvious excitement, leaning over the edge of the tub to grab a cloth and looking at him coyly with the knowledge that it would give him a teasing glimpse of your chest.

"Right, well- this is an exfoliating towel."

You lift it up to show him on the word "this" as if to emphasize your words before dunking the rough cloth gently underwater to wet it, attempting to explain in terms he can understand- his cooking utensils.

"It's like...polishing a knife. You start with a rougher grit and work your way down."

His eyes widen at the teasing glimpse of your chest as you dunk the towel in. He's embarrassed to find himself a bit breathless, his mind definitely not in the proper place right now.

"Ah..." He nods in understanding, trying to calm his flustered nerves and look away from your body. "So, you'd use this...after you were in the bubble bath, I guess?"

"During."

You correct lightly, beginning to scrub your skin with the wet cloth. To Sanji, it's nothing but a massive tease- first scrubbing each of your arms, then across your shoulders, neck, collar-bones. Each second seems to stretch into hours and he seriously starts to doubt his sanity.

To his disappointment, you scrub down your chest, stomach, hips below the water where he can't see much other than the occasional flash of color from the hot pink cloth.

"It makes your skin smooth, makes it easier to shave, clears off gunk and dead skin. Keeps me..."

But then, you lift your leg out of the water and point it. His mind short-circuits completely as you give him far too good of a view, meticulously scrubbing down one leg before putting it back underwater and repeating the process with the other. Legs, legs - he's heard he has nice ones before and he's never quite understood it but this, you, now - he thinks he could die happy between yours.

You notice, of course, the way his eyes magnetize to your skin. Once finished, you continue the words you'd trailed off on, voice soft and teasing as you wink at him.

"...y'know, soft to the touch."

His eyes follow you, watching you scrub and reveal each body part with a slight flutter in his chest. He swallows, unable to move, his eyes glued to you. Said eyes go wide when you reveal your legs, your bare thighs something he never thought he'd get to see. He swallows, trying not to make it obvious he's staring.

"Yes, I, uh...I believe I understand. It helps make things...soft." He chuckles nervously, trying to play down how obviously flustered he is.

You put down the cloth once you're finished scrubbing down your whole body, thoroughly entertained by his nervousness. You pick up a small jar next, holding it up briefly to show it to him before opening it and gently scooping out a bit of thick paste and rubbing it onto your legs, again giving him a downright sinful view.

"Y'know how I mentioned working your way down to a lower grit? Well, this is that. It's a sugar scrub, pretty much the same purpose. Moisturizes and exfoliates to keep my skin soft."

He watches each moment of you scrubbing, and each bit you reveal of your body. He's got no clue where to look, if he's allowed to look. Even seeing your legs...oh god.

He must be allowed to look, right? Surely he must.

He bites his lip and nods, fingers nervously tapping on his knee as he tries to focus back on anything else, looking away in an attempt to look more respectful than he's feeling at the moment.

"That's, uh...that's a lot of work to put into your skin just for softness."

"Well, you should see how soft it is."

You shoot back with a wink, using another dollop of the paste to exfoliate your upper chest and shoulders.

He notices that you use it on fewer, more specific areas- which he supposes makes sense, since it's a much more finite resource than the cloth. The observation seems much more meaningful to a mind trying to focus on anything other than your body.

Not that it's easy.

Nothing about this is easy.

"Do you just...do this a lot? With your skin, I mean." He asks nervously, eyes wide in wonder that someone would put this much effort into something so baseline...or that someone like you would feel the need to do anything to your angelic appearance.

He clears his throat.

"Y'know...not that you should have to. You look beautiful either way."

"Not always. Or- not fully to this extent."

You smile softly with a shrug, steam swirling in the air around you. All of it seems so effortless. He can't seem to catch his breath. After scrubbing the mixture into your skin for a few moments, you rinse it off with the bath water, expression zen and almost bored like you haven't completely altered the rest of his natural life.

"This is usually what I do when I want to feel...extra nice. When I've got a date, or something else I want to look nice for."

You explain, rinsing yourself off thoroughly before picking up your razor, starting to shave your legs while you talk to him, teasing lightly-

"I take it I don't have to explain shaving to you?"

He blushes a little harder, his eyes going to your legs as you shave them. Oh god, this is making him so nervous. His body is buzzing with anticipation and nerves and...other things.

"Uh...well, no, I uh...I know how to shave. But I guess I'm- I've never been this close to a woman while she shaves, I suppose." He gulps, his words getting softer the further he talks, like he might run out of air. He bites his lip. "But I think I get the idea."

You hum in equal parts acknowledgment and amusement, finishing up shaving in comfortable silence- arms, under arms, legs. The process goes relatively quickly before you set the razor back down, picking up another bottle and a plush looking ball of tight-nit net fabric.

"This is a lufa. And the bottle is body wash."

You keep your explanations simple so as not to confuse him too much. You know he'll be having a tough time focusing on your words as is, especially considering that he has precisely 0 experience with this sort of thing, and you don't want to overwhelm the poor thing.

You hold up the ball for him to see for a moment before uncapping the bottle, pouring a bit of the soapy liquid onto the fabric and rubbing it across your skin. You trace along your neck, chest, shoulders, the sponge-like ball of fabric leaving trails of fluffy bubbles in its path. The sight only makes it harder for him to cope, the bubbles not leaving much of anything to the imagination.

Still, it only adds to the romance-novel story-book scene in his mind, leaving his thoughts alarmingly warm and fuzzy.

He blushes and sighs, eyes glued the entire time. His body is humming with anticipation, his mind is getting hazy. He doesn't know how to handle this, how to handle you- the way you look right now, the way you talk, the person you are. His chest is fluttering, and he's blushing up a storm. Oh god, you look so nice.

"What's that do?"

His voice is hoarse and breathless, the words barely escaping his lips.

"It's a bit like soap, but more...I don't know, luxurious feeling."

You close your eyes in contentedness and move the lufa across your body, much more thorough with this than anything else. As far as he can see, there's not a single spot you don't reach, leaving fluffy trails of bubbles that slowly dissolve when they sink back underwater.

"The lufa is also kinda an exfoliant, but a much more gentle one."

He watches every moment of it with complete fascination, not sure where to look with the lufa in front of you. It's basically impossible not to look at your curves and your body at this point. You're stunningly beautiful in this moment, and he's so close to you he can see her every little detail. His eyes can't move away, and he swallows, nodding.

"I...oh. It looks like it feels nice." He chuckles in his nervousness. "And, uh...it probably smells nice too, I'm guessing..?"

"It certainly does both of those things."

You confirm with a soft, gentle laugh, amused and teasing yes, but more fond and...almost intimate than before.

"I mean, there's not much point taking a bath if you don't come out smelling like a cupcake."

You joke lightly, holding the lufa underwater to let the bubbles fizzle out and then wringing it out and setting it aside to let it dry.

His eyes follow the motions of you wringing out the lufa and he watches your body intently. He's staring at you a little too much, he knows. He can almost see...everything. His breath is coming a little heavy, and he finds his mind is getting more and more hazy as you go.

"A cupcake...?" He swallows, his voice almost cracking. "That's an oddly specific smell. Like... like, vanilla?"

"It's just a figure of speech. Smelling like anything sweet, really. Vanilla, chocolate, fruit, flowers."

You wave a dismissive hand with a giggle, talking to him absentmindedly as you let your hair down from where you had it clipped up and out of the way, shaking it out once you let it down. Slowly, you slide down in the bath until your hair is wet, wiping the wet strands from your face.

"This one is vanilla, though."

You tease with a wink, holding up a bottle of shampoo before opening the lid and pouring a bit into your hand. It only takes you a moment of lathering it before it suds and you can start working the bubbles into your hair.

Sanji, meanwhile, is having a bit of a crisis.

He swallows, feeling his body go a little limp at the sight of you in the bathtub, wet strands of hair hanging over your face. His eyes are glued to you again, and he's getting...so distracted.

He manages to speak, though his words are slow and not quite as coherent as before.

"I- you look...so pretty. Your hair looks great like that." He mumbles quietly, voice hoarse and breathy.

You huff a soft laugh at his mumbled praise, shaking your head fondly. He's always been sweet, but there's something particularly cute about him when he's flustered like this.

"It's a cleansing shampoo. Probably close to the kind you and the boys use."

You explain in a soft hum, leaning your head back again to rinse your hair off gently, running your fingers through it. And trying to shake the thoughts of the boys' 5-in-1 shampoo from your head.

You look like an angel, or a mermaid. He can't decide which.

"That just means it's harsher. Better for getting everything off, since being a pirate isn't exactly the cleanest job. It isn't great for your hair, though."

He smiles, his eyes glancing over your body every once in a while, though mostly he finds himself focused on your face and your hair in particular. Your expression is so...so...ugh. You look like a goddess, hair dripping with water and skin wet from the bath.

"So, you...you want your hair to look nice then. Not just clean."

You nod your head and hum in confirmation, uncapping a different bottle with a smile and pouring some of the liquid inside into your hand.

"That's what this shampoo is for. Still cleans, but it's not as harsh or stripping as the other one."

You lather the new liquid in your hair, massaging it into your scalp with a soft, contented sigh at the relaxing feeling as it quickly turns to white suds.

"So it's not as good as getting all of the pirate grime out of your hair, but it keeps your hair soft, shiny, healthy. All that good stuff."

He swallows, his eyes locked onto you and your hair, watching it shimmer and gleam with the water and product soaking through it. God, you're so...your hair shines like glass, and he can't stop staring at it.

"Uh, do you...d'you want help with that?" He asks quickly, his breath catching in his throat. "I mean-" He mumbles, cutting himself off sheepishly. "Do you need any help?"

Your eyes widen slightly at his enthusiasm, an amused smile quickly growing on your face. You look off to the middle distance for a moment with a dramatic sigh in mock consideration before looking back at him, quirking a finger forward in permission.

"Well, go on then."

His lungs stop working.

Really, his breath just hitches in his throat again, only a second as he blinks once. But he's convinced his body is giving out. Oh god, you want him to touch you. Oh, god, you're letting him touch you.

He swallows and then nods eagerly, leaning forward slowly. He leans close, his cheeks blushing a little bit as the scent of your hair tickles his nose. He reaches out gingerly, like he's not sure if he's allowed, before rubbing the shampoo into your hair.

"Just..." He trails off quietly, his voice breaking a little breathily as he tilts your head back softly to give himself better access.

You practically purr at the touch when he massages the shampoo into your scalp, your neck, your hair, leaning into his touch as your eyes flutter shut with a sigh.

"You're good with your hands, aren't you?"

You observe softly, letting him continue to wash and rinse your hair. His passion for the task is palpable, though you could've guessed as much with the fixation he always had on your bath products, equal parts curious and perverted.

His blush deepens quickly, and his hands shake as his fingers brushing against you carefully.

"Uhm..." He chokes slightly, clearing his throat. "I- I guess I am. I like doing things with my hands." He swallows, words coming out a little hoarse. His fingers move back to your hair.

"I can tell."

You remark teasingly, voice soft as you shoot him a wink before closing your eyes again. Once the shampoo is all rinsed from your hair, you direct him softly, voice quiet in clear relaxation-

"Conditioner. Purple bottle by your hand."

He scrambles to uncap the bottle as soon as you speak, eager to have been given permission to continue, pouring a small amount into his hands before brushing his fingers through your hair.

"'s for making your hair smoother. Keeps it from breaking if you comb it too much."

You explain absentmindedly. This one is new- it doesn't fizz up in his hands or create bubbling foam in your hair, just absorbs into the strands, smooth and slick and shiny.

He rubs his hands together, spreading out the conditioner throughout your hair, working it to its core. His breathing is a little shaky as his fingers glide through your hair, but he does his best not to show it. His eyes are still focused on you, and his heart is beating too fast.

He swallows, the scent of your conditioner filling his nose and his mind.

"How do you...find the time for all this? That's a lot of bottles, and a lot of work to just...make your hair nice."

"It's worth it. It's...relaxing. Like meditation. Or cooking something familiar."

You add on second thought, relating back to him to help him understand. When the conditioner is worked into your hair, you toss him a towel to dry his hands on once he's rinsed them off.

"Now go sit back down. Lesson's almost over."

You instruct softly, voice gentle and fond. He doesn't think before moving back to the bench and sitting back down, though his brows furrow endearingly in confusion. You just laugh lightly.

"Not every bath product is something you use in the actual bath."

He nods, expression confused, but he doesn't ask for elaboration. His eyes are still glued to your body, the sight of you in the bath still stunning. It's almost hypnotic to just sit back and watch. He clears his throat, looking around the bath curiously with a hint of confusion on his face.

"So...what's left?"

"...you'll see."

Is the eventual, cryptic answer he gets after a pause, you still smirking slightly. Then you- oh. Oh. You stand up, pulling the plug in the bath and letting the water drain as you step out to stand on the bath mat, completely bare and wet and dripping and oh, god- you grab a medium sized towel and lightly dry your hair until it's no longer dripping, still damp but not actively in your way, clipping it up again as you pat the rest of your body dry softly, humming to yourself as you work.

"Wait, are you...are you not going to wear anything else? I mean...I'm not complaining, I like looking at you, but...aren't you cold?" He asks, still staring at you excitedly. Your hair is up again, and every inch of your body is on display. He's practically drooling.

Oh, god, this is a blessing.

You scoff lightly at the question, shaking your head in fond amusement without looking up, still focused on drying yourself off.

'I'm gonna put on clothes eventually, Sanji. Like I told you, I'm not done yet."

Once you deem your level of dryness acceptable enough, you pick up another jar and open the lid, scooping out a bit of a much thicker cream.

"Moisturizer."

You answer before he even has the will to ask, eyes meeting his for a moment with a fond smirk as you rub the cream onto your body.

"Smells nice, and keeps your skin soft."

He stares at you as you rub the moisturizer on your body, his eyes going everywhere as you move. Every inch of your body is incredible, and he keeps finding new places to look.

He swallows, his expression a mix of admiration, shock, and excitement.

"Do... do you want any help with that?" He asks nervously.

It would be a lie to say he's asking for innocent reasons. Seeing your hands - small, soft, yours - massage the moisturizer into every inch of your body, your legs, thighs, hips, arms, stomach, neck- Jesus, your tits- his mind is on fire.

"Aww, are you offering? Sure, Sanji. You can help."

You answer, voice teasing like you know exactly what he's thinking, and- wait. That's- he actually- you gave him permission? You actually said yes? It takes him a moment to process the words, mind tripping over itself in surprise and oh fuck yes, Jesus Christ.

That's exactly what he's offering, and he doesn't have the mind to hide it. He nods eagerly, his expression telling you everything you need to know.

He scoots over closer, his hand reaching for the moisturizer and his eyes glued on your breasts now. They look so good. He applies the cream directly there, the touch of his hands on your soft skin causing him a burst of electricity as he touches you gently. Oh god, you're letting him... he's touching you! It's like his mind is exploding, and he's doing his best to contain himself.

You almost laugh when he immediately decides to start at your breasts, rolling your eyes fondly at the predictable move.

You aren't really surprised but then again, you still let him.

He's definitely not going to let you do this alone, anyway. It's too much of a blessing, and his hands are trembling, even as he works them into your skin. He's trying to focus on keeping himself from getting too excited, but seeing you like this is too much to handle. He licks his lips nervously as his hands flit all over your body. His mind screams at him to do something, do more, but the years of chivalry drilled into him stay his hands.

Soon enough the moisturizer has sunken into your skin and you press him back lightly by the chest, using those same fingers to tilt his chin up softly. You angle his head up at you, voice soft with a gentle smirk on your face.

"Thanks for the help, Sanji."

He swallows, looking up at you. His lips are parted and his breath is heavy. He blinks slowly. He's...he can't believe just how lucky he is.

"Of-of course. It was nice to...it was nice to help someone...someone so beautiful." He says, his voice breathless and his cheeks flushed a bright, bright red.

You huff a fond little laugh, mussing up his hair with your hand.

You're gone in a flurry as quickly as you came, a sleep shirt and a pair of panties thrown on before he can even process that you're moving, a teasing pat on the cheek and a repetition of "well, thanks anyway!" And then...you're gone.

Like a mirage or a daydream, the kind he never lets himself have in public (not that any of his effort has stopped him, really).

It takes a moment for him to grow aware of his surroundings again. Aware of anything. The tile is cool beneath his knees and - when did he get there? - the air is thick with steam but slowly thinning. The scent of you still lingers, or the scent of your myriad of products, he's not sure. And...those.

That's an entirely separate problem for him to tackle. He groans.

His budget can't handle frivolous expenses, but now he can't get the thought out of his head of wrapping his fist around himself with some of that fancy moisturizer that smells like you as lube and...shit, he's gonna have to buy a bottle, before he goes insane.

Ah, fuck, who is he kidding? He's never going to be able to do so much as take a bath without jerking off again.

#vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #opla sanji #opla sanji x reader #opla #opla x reader #sanji x you #opla Sanji x you #opla x you #one piece #one piece live action #one piece x reader #one piece x you #opla x y/n #opla sanji x y/n #sanji x y/n #opla sanji x you

526 notes · View notes

7ndipity · 5 months

Text

How They Would Win Over Their Secret Crush

Ot7 x Reader

Summary: How they would try to charm or catch their crush’s attention. Part of the 'Secret Crush' reaction series.

Warnings: swearing, not proofread

A/N: Thanks to the lovely anon who requested this! This ended up being slightly different than what you asked, but I hope you still like it!

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Jin:

He honestly just keeps doing what he’s been doing? Like, all the nice little things he does ‘as a friend’ are now cranked up by like 5(we’re not going up to 10, he’s not confessing yet).

Starts making more flirty comments and jokes-but-not-jokes about how y’all look like a couple or smth, just to try and kinda plant the idea of the two of you dating for your consideration.

His approach really depends on what you’re into, like if you’re into the more classical romantic gestures, he’s suddenly showing up to your hangouts with flowers, “just cause”. He wants you to notice that he’s making an effort to treat you specially and make you happy.

Yoongi:

He’s kinda dug himself a hole, bc he’s so used to making excuses for why he was giving you special treatment that you’ve sorta just accepted it and don’t even question when he does things that aren’t quite friend-ish(I can hear him being just like “fml”🤦)

To counter his previous statements, he tries to be more pointed with things like skinship to get you to look at him like "?", but he won’t give excuses anymore. He’s just like “What? Are you uncomfortable?” “No?” “Great.” :]

Tries to spend extra time with you doing your favorite hobbies/pastimes(like when he talked about going fishing w Jin, even tho it’s not his thing), trying to show his interest in you and the things that you enjoy(and also so that you might start to associate him with that thing and how it makes you feel)

Hobi:

Honestly, as I said before, he’s such a naturally affectionate person, especially when it comes to you, so he might be at a slight loss on how to get you to look at him differently or in a potentially romantic light.

He kinda goes a little over the top with his gestures, forgetting that he was trying to be discreet, buying you little gifts, giving you petnames, etc. Basically just switches to ‘Boyfriend Hobi’ mode without saying anything, and leaving you kinda like “wtf?”

He becomes surprisingly clingy, bordering on jealous/possessive if he’s not careful. Like you even joke that he’s like your bodyguard whenever y’all go out together, which he lowkey puffs up at. He claims he’s just looking out for you, but you can tell that’s not the whole truth.

Namjoon:

He tries to spend as much time as possible with you(most likely following one of the times he kinda pulled away for a bit), inviting you to hang out at the studio, to work out together, to dinner, to his house.

The list of activities just keeps shifting further and further away from things ‘friends’ do together and closer towards more ‘couple-y’ things, like weekend trips to the beach or sleeping over at each other’s places.

He wants to try and subtly show you his more romantic sides and what it would be like to maybe date him, doing extra little things like giving you his jacket or opening/holding doors for you.

Jimin:

As I said before, he never exactly hid his feelings towards you, so his first move is making a point to drop the “as a friend” caveat he’s been trying so hard to instill in your relationship up till now.

He makes a point to pay you extra compliments, ramping up the skinship and flirting a little more obviously, buying you gifts/meals, etc. It’s basically all the same things that he was doing before, but there’s a distinct shift in his energy that gives off the feeling of ‘I like you, please fucking notice me!’

I feel like he would just start playing the hypothetical game with you, like “What would you do if a friend had a crush on you?” “Which friend?” “Idk, let’s say me.”/ “Where’s somewhere that you think would be a good first date?” just straight up asking for the handbook on how to win you over.

Taehyung:

He’s not exactly subtle bc he’s dropping compliments all over the place, but the thing that keeps him from being too obvious is that he kinda does this with everyone? But he definitely goes over and beyond for you, hyping you up constantly and refusing to let you speak badly about yourself over anything.

Becomes increasingly clingy and physically affectionate, and if you make any comments or question him about it, he’ll straight up just tell you “I missed you/ I like being around you.” He just doesn’t mention that it’s because he’s in love with you(yet).

He likes playing with the classic romance movie vibe(I always think Breakfast at Tiffany’s), taking you on random little ‘dates’, bringing you flowers when you’re down, etc to make you feel special.

Jungkook:

Subtlety really doesn’t fit his vibe tbh, so I think he’d just go all out, flirting with you super obviously, being extra affectionate and initiating skinship, treating you to little lunch/dinner dates hangouts.

Which honestly isn’t all that different from before, but like Jimin, there’s a notable energy shift from like “We’re just friends tho, nbd.” to “I am trying to woo you here, dammit!”

Pretty much becomes your giant, puppy-eyed assistant, following you around everywhere and just trying to help you as much as possible with everything, as if he’s trying to prove how nice he’d be to have around, like “See?! Such boyfriend vibes?!”

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz

498 notes · View notes

emyladia · 10 days

Text

I want you back... | L. Nr

pairing : lando norris x f!reader

summary : you and lando had broke up a few months ago and you're just now moving on. Or so you thought... 'Cause that was before he decide to text you.

genre : fluff, slightly angst ?

warning : cursing, pretty sure that's all

a/n : I just loooove writting about lando. This is kinda shitty but it was fun to write hope you'll enjoy it ! Anyways taking request if you want.

You were fine, of course the break up has been really tough for you but now you could say it loud and proud : you were over it.

What a lie...

All it took was a damn text for your world to fall into piece again.

"Hey"

It was 3 AM when you screen lit up, and now that single word was making you completly crazy.

What the hell ? Why would he be texting you ? Maybe a wrong number ? Was he drunk ?

Your head was just a huge mess at the moment, that's probably because of that that you decided to answer. You clearly wouldn't have if you were in your plain consciousness.

At least that's what you were trying to convinced you.

"Hey" You text back.

"It's been a while" He answered in less than a minute.

"WTF lando ?" You couldn't help but send, this wasn't making any sense.

He was the one to broke up with you, and he hadn't even try to contact you the past months. Why would he texts you ? And why now when you were finally moving on ?

"I miss you"

You had turn off your phone after this text.

Like what were you supposed to say ? That you too you were missing him ? That in fact you were missing him so damn much it was hurting you ? That you were missing him so bad that sometimes you were calling your male friends by his name ?

You just couldn't answered that.

You were having lunch with your a few friends, yet the text just wouldn't leave your mind.

You had basically stared at it the whole morning.

"Hey, you're okay y/n ?" One of your friend asked.

"Oh yeah sorry I was just lost in my thoughts" You tried to brush it off, chuckling a little.

"You seem a bit off today, no offense but we've barely heard you" Another one of your friend spoke with a concern look on her face.

They were all nodding, as you sighed.

You should probably just told them, theywere your closest friends and it's not like you could keep that to yourself anyway.

"Lando texted me" You blurted out looking down.

A loud silence followed your confession as you saw all their eyes widened in shock.

"I'm sorry WHAT ?" One of them finally spoke.

"Lando in like LANDO ?" Another continued.

And they all followed, throwing questions at you.

You showed them the conversation, way easier and they all gasped at the last text.

"What are you gonna do ? You should probably block him" Your friend said, they seemed tp all agree.

"Yeah I should do that" You nodded.

They were probably right, that was the best things to do. They were the one who had picked you up piece by piece when Lando broke up with you.

You were gonna do just that, blocked him and he would be out of your life forever.

God you were so weak.

When you went home and were about to block him another text illuminated your screen.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have said that, you're not mad are you ?"

You swear your fingers had just moved on their own.

"I'm not mad, I was just busy sorry" You replied, and you knew you had fucked up, that needed to stop and yet you were encouraging him.

"I'm so relieved to hear that ! How you're doing ?"

Damn why was he answering so fast.

"Just casual life nothing too entertaining, you ?"

"Pretty much the same"

It was gonna be fine, it was a simple discussion between two young adults. Nothing to worry about.

"The paddock feels empty without you" He added.

Shit. This wasn't fine at all.

"Is that so ?" You were kicking your feet like a damn teenager.

"Yeah, can't win a race without you" You knew, and he knew this was border, but to be honest you weren't caring at all.

"Can't win a race at all" You joked, you were giggling. God you've missed talking to him, even for simple discussion like that.

You shouldn't felt that way, or you were gonna end up sad again, but you couldn't help it.

"OFFENSIVE" He texted back, but you knew he was laughing.

You and Lando kept talking for hours, you were smiling at your phone like a maniac.

He was such a good talker, smooth, funny, full of charm.

He knew how to annoy you and how to make you laugh the most. He also knew how to hurt you the most.

You were currently laying in bed, watching 'pretty woman' when you got another text from your ex boyfriend.

"I really do miss you tho"

Here you were again, staring at the screen like it contained the answer to the greatest mystery on earth.

"Lando, stop that please" You eventually texted back after a few minutes.

"That what ?"

"That thing that you're currently doing, trying to make me pity you"

"Is it working ?"

"Lando..."

"Cmon y/n I'm serious, I fucking miss you, every minute of every day"

You were no longer paying any attention to the movie that was still playing on the screen of your laptop.

"YOU chosed to broke up" You remembered him.

"I know I made a damn mistake, and I'm sorry"

"You know what I don't even want to talk you anymore"

"Y/n don't do that"

"I should have blocked you already"

"But you didn't"

You were infuriating, completly messed up by too many emotions at the same time, you were sad, and angry against him, and against you too cause you were so weak for this man.

He was right, you didn't.

"Babe please, I just want you back" He sent you a few minutes later since you weren't answering.

"Should have thought about that sooner, and don't call me that"

"I'd do anything" He insisted.

"Claim me on TV and I'll think about it" You texted saracstically before turning off your phone.

You and lando had never been public, because fans could be crazy at some times and you were finding it absolutly ridiculous to brag on social media that you were in a relationship.

That's why you had said that, that wasn't making anysense. Maybe now he'll understand that this was definitly over.

Or so you thought.

When you woke up your phone was blowing up with notification.

A lot of demands on instagram and hundreds of texts from your friends.

You were so confused until you clicked on the link your friend had sent you.

It was an interview of Lando that he hade just done but the views were already so high. Why would she send you that ?

Everything become clear when right before ending the interview Lando spoke :

"Actually I want to say something before leaving, I used to date a girl Y/n Y/l/n, she was amazing but I messed up with her cause I was a complete idiot... So if you're ever seeing this please come back, I know I've been an asshole. But I really want you back"

What.

In.

The.

World.

Was.

Happenning.

You grabbed your phone and dialed his number immediatly... No answer.

"What have you done ???" You tyepd agressively on your keyboard completly freacked out.

#hi there #f1 #f1 x reader #lando norris #lando x reader #imagine #ff #norris #ln4 #mclaren #i love him #fluff

276 notes · View notes

undercoverpena · 1 year

Text

yours to keep

johnny 'soap' mactavish x f!reader

wordcount: 4.6k || dedicated to @guyfieriii an: teensy smut, fluff, banter, friends-to-lovers babeh summary: You’re in a dress. Your legs are fucking out. His throat all of sudden dry, suddenly unable to focus on anything—hand grasping his glass, the ice clinging and clanging against it. Then your eyes land on him. The rest of the room faded to nothing. He can feel his cheeks warm, his smile beginning to rise—all of it natural, all of it without thought. other soap work.

“Why’d they call ya, Squid?” “‘Cause I’m tiny and can swim well.” “Seriously?” You smirked. “No. I kinda… maybe took out a room full of people with a knife. Nothing really. Just… My old Lieutenant said I must have had eight arms or something. So, Squid.” He watches as she looks down. “They tried Octo and Pus for a day, but… realised even within the military, the latter bordered on an HR complaint.” “Steamin’ Jesus.”

Soap remembers when the rumours swirled about you and Gaz.

The two of you were—and are—just good friends. He knows that, believes it, even. He knows there’s nothing but innocence when Gaz’s arm is slung over your shoulders, pulling an easy laugh from you—even if you were bruised and covered in blood, dirt and whatever else. You both knew one another—the only two out of the whole 141 that did—before it was formed.

It didn't matter how good you were, the whispers still followed. They pricked at you. Soap remembers how you’d dip your head when you passed certain tables in the mess. How you only walked a little taller if you were with him, Ghost or Gaz.

Now, the rumours were about you and him.

The two of you having shifted and changed. One minute work colleagues, and then two people who’d needed the other for body heat. He hadn’t meant for the jokes to flow when the only thing that separated the two of you was underwear. But, your eyes had been shimmering, surrounded by snow tinting your lashes. Your beauty was apparent to him before, but harder to ignore when he looked down at you close to him.

“You d’this with all the boys, lass?” “No. Just ones from Scotland, it seems.”

Truthfully, he’d thought you were stunning the moment he first saw you. But, there’s something about seeing the specks in someone’s eyes that makes things feel more intense. Been given the rare chance to study each angle of your cheeks, nose and brows—the way your lips curl when he makes a joke you clearly don’t want to laugh at. Letting him commit you all to memory, in case he never got a moment quite like it again.

Then evac rescued you both, and he half-expected things to go back to how they were.

But they didn’t.

The two of you remaining close, flirtatious banter flowing even in a room full of people. He thought you’d be less bothered, but you were more riled by the rumours. Especially at the beginning—when they first began—making your head dip, fists clenching and your eyes struggle to meet his.

Now, he’s sure you lean into them, practically desperate for someone to dare egg you on so you can tell them he blows your back out.

Not that he’s had the chance. But, fuck, would he.

He’d do more than that given half a chance. Not just because you’re beautiful, not just because you make him laugh—but because you make his whole fucking heart soar. You make him better without doing anything, easily able to pull the good parts of him out.

It had all been gradual, having crept up on him. The way you’ve embedded yourself into his thoughts.

At first, it was in admiration at your hand-to-hand, the way you use your smaller frame to bend and twist. Then it was because you let your hair down, your head bent back, and your neck all exposed. The dark and dingy inn is full of weightless laughter and thudding music in some country far from home. Gaz pouring a clear bottle directly into your mouth. The way your eyes hit the light and how big your smile was when you stood straight, doing something instantly to him. Making him almost cross the short distance and wipe the vodka from your chin and lips with his tongue.

Before, you were just Squid.

Now, you’re more than that.

You’re paradise and perfect days—and a messy bunch of emotions and snark he hates being away from.

Has been since you let him call you a nickname he’d only ever heard Gaz use and Gaz alone. He’d tried it, tested it, rolled it around on his tongue before he even said it to you. Almost having said it at the inn, when your eyes were glazed and your tongue loose. But, he’d waited—wanting you alone, all to himself so he could watch your reaction.

See if he’d earnt calling it you.

“Mari.”

“You know that's not my name, right?”

Your face having turned, the slyest smirk on your face.

And he had hoped you don’t know he’s been working up to saying it. Almost getting lost in the odd twinkle of your eyes.

He knows, down the path of whatever the two of you become—if anything—this would be the moment he realised he liked you, liked you. That he imagined, for a brief fucking moment, that there could be a future.

“Oh? Aye? Heard Gaz call it y’… just assumed.”

Shrugging, you stabbed your food again, a soft laugh escaping the air, blessing the space between them. “No, no, no. But it’s okay, you can call it me too. I mean, we did share some floorboards and a ratty blanket, the least I can do to thank you for keeping me warm.”

He can’t even remember what he wanted to ask. The image of you against him—slightly shivering, eyes staring into his as your hand clutched his back—at the forefront.

Everything else had vanished, stolen from his mind. Plucked by your beautiful eyes and brain-wiping smile.

“What is your name?”

“You know that’s classified, Johnny.”

“You know mine.”

You had shrugged again, smirking. “If you keep letting me steal your fries, I might let you know.”

He pushed the rest of his plate towards you, “Y’got it, lass.”

“Why you want it so bad?”

He leaned close, even if the rest of the mess hall wasn’t listening—not even paying attention. “Just be nice t’know what t’call y’when I’m fake blowin’ yur back out.”

Your eyes met his.

Time all of a sudden frozen. His own flicking from your eyes to the rest of your face, watching, waiting. The two of you have been towing this line so well, recently; dancing on the line of will-they-won’t-they flirtation. And sometimes, he’s not sure if he’s gone too far—if they’ve gone too far.

So he hopes for a message. One from your face directly—cause it can never lie.

And he sees it, a twitch of your lips, a slight narrowing of your eyes, before you steal another one of his fries, and bring it to your lips.

“You’d learn it quicker if you actually blew my back out, Johnny-boy. I’d be like putty in your fuckin’ hands,” you had said, soft, sultry, and so low it took him a moment to realise what you’d just said.

And then, like all good moments, it broke—Lt appearing, looming over the table.

Since then—when shit really hits the fan—he seeks you without question. Your eyes land on him, instantly knowing—as if he’s a book and you already know all of his pages.

When it’s you, he knows from the way your shoulders are sunk, the clear need to be held being written into each muscle. Mostly, it’s the dullness sitting in your eyes. Usually, they sparkle. Not quite a disco ball, but something close to it. When they shine bright, they make the darker days easier and the good days that bit better.

He won’t admit it to anyone, but he loves having your head on his chest. For a moment able to dream—think—of a time when you’d be here for reasons not so sad. That you’d be here because it’s the two of you, against it all.

Not just as friends.

As something so much more.

Then you leave before he wakes, the reminder it’s not quite that yet, feeling something close to a blade making tiny cuts—not enough to bleed him dry, but enough to make it sting, singe and ache.

He really does hate the rumours—mainly because he wishes they were true.

“If you could eat anything for breakfast, what would you choose?” “Gotta b’ a Scottish brekkie, ain’t it?” “Streaky bacon?” “Aye. Not a brekkie without it.” “I guess.” “Y’not a fan?” “Prefer cock for breakfast, if I’m honest.” “Fuckin’ hell, Mari.” “What? You forgot for a moment you’ve been stabbed, mission accomplished.”

It’s rare. Unusual.

The whole lot of you crammed in a bar, never mind some small pub in Manchester. Even more unexpected that it was booked out—a specific request for the group of you to bask in the success of the last mission. The one which had taken weeks—stole more from you all than you’d known you could give.

It had been hard. Long. Difficult.

So many more words he couldn’t quite think. But in all of it there were moments, tiny fragments he clutched onto. You seek him out, your face sunken and sad, burying your head into his chest as you hold onto him for what felt like hours. Him on a rooftop, staring out into the dark with Ghost, the two mindlessly talking, thinking, and planning, before he asks him where he wishes he could be.

Now, as he sips his first drink, he replays it. Smiling to himself, because while Lt didn’t say this place, he suspects the name he whispered belonged to the person behind the bar. The one who keeps side-eyeing him, the occasional half-smile gracing their mouth.

He takes another sip as he thinks of you.

You who Soap had watched lose sleep. Finding you huddled over a map or screen with Gaz, low whispers, reluctance to rest. Using the few free hours of any given day to train—needing to be better.

You didn’t ask him—or even Gaz—you’d asked Ghost.

It ate at him. Chipped away.

Soap blamed the lack of sleep for where his mind went. Using the same time stuffing down his jealousy over the fact you didn’t ask him. The wallowing peppered with thoughts of being inadequate, making his jaw clench, making him unravel just that bit more.

In a way, they were all protective of you—not that any of them needed to be. But, it wasn’t something bizarre, out of character. It was something they all felt, tied together by the simple fact they’d come to care for the five-foot-something Squid.

Even with that, he knows he feels something more.

It’s been churning, twisting and transforming inside of him for weeks—months. His heart almost leapt from his chest when he thought you were in the building he’d watched being blown up. The compass he relies on to keep him north, disintegrating, dark shadows coming down around his eyes until he sees you emerge from smoke and flames—without your pissing helmet.

Y’know how to scare me, lass. Keeping you on your toes, Soapie.

Now, he’s waiting for you. Paying attention to the hands on his watch—side-eyeing the door until it opens, blasting in cold, Gaz leading you in.

And—

Fuck. Shit. Bollocks.

You’re in a dress.

Your legs are fucking out.

His throat all of a sudden dry, suddenly unable to focus on anything—hand grasping his glass, the ice clinging and clanging against it.

Then your eyes land on him. The rest of the room faded to nothing. He can feel his cheeks warm, his smile beginning to rise—all of it natural, all of it without thought.

Punctuating it all is the soft lulls of Friday I’m In Love playing as he takes the moment to truly drink you in. It feels like minutes, maybe an hour—and he isn’t going to squander it for a second…

And then you blink, stepping up to the bar.

“Hi, could I order—wait, you are beautiful,” you say to the woman behind the bar—your eyes staring at her.

Gaz steps in, apologising, but all he’s focusing on is you.

You’re here.

Looking every inch radiant from head to fucking toe.

And he needs another drink. He needs a shot.

He needs…

A fucking hope and a prayer because he’s not sure if he can pocket his feelings anymore—unsure if stuffing them down will go well with alcohol, bitterness, and the smoothest scotch he’s had in ages.

So he orders another.

And three drinks down, and Soap is sitting across from you. A wobbly table between you both, your elbow leaning on it, rocking it from side to side occasionally.

The scent of fusty ale and brass having faded, swapped for a floral perfume and the elements of his drink.

You’re focused, even with slightly glazed eyes, on the bar—on the others behind the two of you. Likely on the girl behind the bar, the one you keep staring at—the one who keeps shooting Ghost smiles.

And he’s jealous.

He’s jealous because he’s wondering if you’re jealous.

If you want him—your two’s Lieutenant. The one who trained you, sparred with you, and made you go to sleep.

“C'mon, lass. Desert island, who’d y’want with you?”

“It’s her.”

“Wha—?”

You blink, staring at him—your glass in hand as you shake your head. “What?”

“Who’s ya best friend, lass?”

Your hands play with your glass, spinning it on the wooden table—the one with chipped and glass rings all over its mahogany surface, “From that, I’m guessing you’re hoping it’s you.”

“It’s not?”

“No.”

His throat dries.

Suddenly realising he shouldn’t have pushed this button. Not sure his frame of mind can even take it. Alcohol bubbling in his stomach, his throat—

“Who then?”

“Gaz. Obviously.

“Why is tha’obvious?”

“He lives closer.”

“Is that wha’ makes a friendship, then?”

“Well, my best friend wouldn’t willingly choose to live further away from me, would they?”

He smiles, realising you’re pulling his leg. Winding him up. Teasing him.

“Don’t you live closer to, Lt?”

Leaning closer, you take a purposeful sip, staring him down. Searing down to the core. “Yes, but he can’t be my best friend.”

Tell me why. Tell me it’s me.

Choose me. Pick me.

His heart thumping more, almost in beat with the song. Thump. Thump. Thump. It almost rises up, almost in his throat, pounding against the space he needs to breathe through.

“And, why’s that?”

You drain your glass, clanking it down. “I can’t be best friends with someone who calls me ‘Squidlet’, Soap. It’s demeaning enough that I let him call me that, never mind rewarding him for it by giving him more of my awesome personality. He can be third in line.”

And it sinks.

That feeling. The hope. The want.

“Well,” he says, quickly. “Ah, I’m glad y’pulled y’self away from Lt to drink with me then, ya fourth.”

“What?”

“Nothin’”

Your hand clutches his arm, stopping him from raising his own glass. “Tell me.”

“Yur’ always wit ‘im. Before. Could n’va find ya.”

“Who? Gaz?”

“Nah, Lt.”

Inwardly, he cringes. Hating the alcohol, hating how it makes his tongue loose in his head. Letting all of it, each festering feeling, bubble to the surface.

Because you’re more than his friend.

You’re so much more.

“Johnny… it… we were just sparring.”

“Yea, it’s alright—“

“Wait. Are you jealous?”

“No!”

He doesn’t mean to snap.

Your eyes stare at him, hand dropping from his arm as you slowly reel back. And then you stand, and he inwardly pleads for you to sit.

Please, Lass. Please.

Your mouth opening, words all set to be spat, but then you shake your head, walking until you’re out of his sight—the cold draft on his back is enough of an indication of where you've gone.

Leaving him with a choice.

One that begins to grow inside of him as the song begins. One he’s heard already, but now it feels different. It’s motivating, it’s making him down his drink, slamming it back down.

It’s making him stand, turning, watching the other three men staring at him, two with a knowing smile, one with a knowing stare. Even the woman—he doesn’t know the name, who he’s sure is fucking Ghost—leans against the pumps has that look.

And he knows.

Like they all do.

His feet move him to the door as Price grabs him around the forearm. “So, the rumours true, or?”

“Aye, well ther’ about to be, sir.”

“That so?”

“Yeah… I’d apologise, but, excuse me.”

It’s cold.

That’s what he thinks first when he steps outside. Eyes adapting to the dark, to the mist from the rain—letting the bitter feeling coat his bones. The dread, the fucking ache caused by even letting you go.

He pleads.

Hopes, too.

Please don’t have left, lass.

Scanning, looking, and then he hears it. Pacing—pacing that he knows so well it’s burned into his brain. Finding you, watching you down the side of the alleyway, turning to face him as you stop, hands flexing at your side as you stare at him.

“You’re very annoying.”

“Aye, probably,” he says, stepping closer. “But, that’s cause y’drive me crazy, and I canne’ stop thinkin’ bout ya. And then, your wir’ him and…”

Your eyes roll, strands of hair sticking to your face. “Oh, shut up. You know it’s you. You know I like you. You have to.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. Because it’s woven neatly between my faux-contempt and sarcasm.”

“Well, y’can probably see how I may have missed that, ay?”

“Not really. I think it’s pretty obvious. Personally. I don’t share a bed with Gaz. And I’m not standing outside as it fucking pelts it down in a ridiculously thin dress because I like British weather. I’m stood out here because the guy who is my best friend, and that I’m pretty sure I could be in love with, is being a dickhead.”

Staring, he steps closer, watching you fold your arms. “Y’in love with me?”

“Of course, that’s the part you heard.”

“Mari—“

You cut him off, not just with your eyes, but with your words. “I mean, as big as Ghost is, it’s not him I ask to lie in bed with after a difficult mission. It’s not him that I go to when I need to smile or laugh. Fuck, I only chose him for sparring because he doesn’t go easy on me, and… and I can’t have you thinking you need to save me.”

“I don’t—“

“—but you do. You practically ripped up Urzikstan to find me.”

“Cause y’were ambushed, lass. Not cause I dunna think y’can handle y’self. Shittin’ Jesus, I know y’can. Y’terrify me because I canne’ lose you. Not cause I dunna think y’can do it.”

It sits there.

His words. Yours. The two of them ferment, shifting. The space between the two of you gets smaller until his hand is on your cheek, and yours is on his waist, and he wants nothing more than to close the gap. To kiss you. To taste the drinks you’ve been sipping from your lips.

But he pauses.

Needing to capture this, the two of you.

“Soap…”

“Yea’, Mari…”

He watches you swallow, how your eyes flick from his own to his mouth. “I’d be lost without you, Johnny.”

He’s not sure who moves first. You, or him.

But you taste like sweetness and alcohol—your lips cold against him, tinged with the droplets from the sky. Your perfume envelops him, swirling with his, making a concoction of something he thinks he wants to bottle. You and him. A scent he’s both never smelt before and yet had been craving as his hand slides around your cheek—clutching you close as he feels your hands dig into his waist.

You moan against him, soft, low, almost vibrating through him. Your soft, fucking lips and he slides his tongue against your teeth, and he almost loses his goddamn mind.

Because it’s happening.

And he doesn’t want it to slip through his fingers. Not now, not ever. Moving you, as you suddenly begin guiding him, his back against the wall of the pub.

For a moment, he stops, and then your fingers crack open his belt. The sound loud, so loud, in the silence of the night and the rain making puddles. Your mouth capturing his, your hand sliding down the space and nestle of hair between his stomach and cock. Your hand wraps around him, and it’s…

More than he thought it could be.

Even more so when you stroke him, pumping him with your hand, eliciting a groan as he feels your grip tighten, teeth rolling over your bottom lip as you slowly lower to your knees in front of his very eyes.

“Fuck, Mari. Y’dont even know what y’do to me.”

“I can feel it, if that helps.”

“Ay, behave.”

Your tongue clicks against the roof of your mouth, lips practically touching the head of his cock as your breath dances over the tip.

“Make me, Johnny.”

He blinks.

Stares.

And then your mouth is around him, taking him into your warm fucking mouth, your tongue swirling around the tip of him. And it’s everything. The image of it alone almost makes him come down your throat until it hits him—

“What the fuc—“ you snap.

His hand dragging you off him, up onto your feet.

“No girl o’mine is suckin’ me off on her knees in this shite weather.”

Your lips part, rendered silent as you just stare. “Your girl?”

“Aye, if you want to be?”

Just the wind blowing down the alleyway, your perfume hitting his nose like it has done all night. Scratching the back of his brain, coaxing him closer with its scent-filled fingers.

“Did you… did you just stop me from sucking you off?”

“Aye.”

“Fuckin’ hell, you love me, you love me back...”

He runs his tongue over his teeth. Because fuck, he kinda does, but, also, fuck.

“This fuckin’ dress—“ he groans instead, turning you, pressing your back against brick as you smirk. “—that fuckin’ smile.”

You clutch his waist as he winds his hand up your thigh, his belt clattering against his legs as his trousers slide down. “All for you, Johnny.”

“Steamin’ Jesus, Mari. Call me that again,—“

And then you say your name.

Surrendering it, presenting to him. It’s the best thing he’s ever been given. It almost mingles with your breath, it’s that silent. The only evidence of you speaking it is the wisps of your exhale swirling with the air.

He rolls it around his mind, as he did with your nickname, and then he says it as he slips his fingers under the band of your lace. Sliding two inside of you, groaning at the feel of you—of how much you want him. Not Simon. Not Gaz. Him.

“Only you,” you say, all breathy, eyes closed.

As if you can read his thoughts. Like you’re living in his fucking head.

“Only ever you.”

“Fuckin’ hell.”

Your eyes open, lust boldly staring at him as he finds that spot—the one which makes you grip his shoulder, nails digging in through his shirt.

And he’s going to ruin you. He’s going to fuck you until neither of you can take anymore.

He promises it to you with each stroke of his fingers inside you, each ghostly kiss he gives you as you chant his name and he catches each one.

He will. But not here.

That’s what hotels are for.

“Hey, none of that being cute, shit, today. I’m in enough trouble with Price as it is.” “Ay. Alright. But, y’think I’m cute?” “Shut up, Johnny.” “Got it, lass.” A beat happens, him staying as he watches you. “You don’t have to stay, Soap.” “I want t’.” “Okay.” “Alrighty.”

He awakens to a knock.

It’s not loud, but dull.

And very bloody insistent.

Slowly, he opens his eyes, half-hoping his mind hasn't lied to him, before finding your face close to his—turned to him, watching him.

It’s not a dream.

“Hi…”

“Hello,” you say, rocking your hips as you smile.

If you ever try to tell him you don’t look beautiful in the morning, he’d pull up this image of you—right here.

“Someone’s at the door, Johnny.”

“Y’got legs, Mari.”

“No, I don’t, actually,” you say with a smirk. “Someone fucked me to the point they’re broken. I almost knocked myself out getting to the bathroom for a wee an hour ago. You did this, so you go.”

It blooms in his chest as he stands, throwing on his underwear as he heads to the door.

The smirk not fading, not just because of the knowledge he’s done that to you—made your legs weak—but that you were staring at him how you just had been doing. The realisation that your body is naked under those expensive, Egyptian bed sheets—the same ones he’d fucked you under, on top of and likely around throughout last night.

If you’re trying to blow my back out, you’re succeeding. Y’know I don’t like t’fail missions, hen. Call me that again. Wha? Hen?

It’s different, unique.

A look he’s never seen. It’s almost content mixed with adoration, happiness trying to be hidden by disdain—the latter something you’ve perfected over time.

Am I your best friend now? No. You’re something else. Oh, upgraded, am I? What is it you say? Aye?

He looks back, finding you watching him, hand up, close to your face, trying to shield your face. Maybe hiding a smile, a devious smirk. But, it’s the look in your eyes he almost can’t place, it almost stops him. Makes him ask what is wrong.

But they knock, again. Interrupting a moment he’s been wishing for more than he does a shower after being covered in guts and blood. Whoever they are, impatiently bothering them.

It’s not until he opens the door, the person standing with a cart and metal dishes on it does he realise—

“Room service.”

The minx.

The beautiful, fucking minx.

He grins, almost to the point it makes his cheeks ache as he takes it from them. Trying to guide it back into the room with minimal clanging and difficulty. His hands are desperate to pull the lid off, finding your hand on top of his—body covered in pulled sheets from the bed, teeth biting your lips.

“What’cha done ‘ere then?”

His hand brushes your cheek, finding it as soft as it always is—your eyes softening, lips widening as you move into him. It’s different, and he’s glad. It’s closer, with no space between the sides of your body, no remaining space left purposefully because of friendship.

“Streaky bacon…”

“Aye?”

Lifting the tin, seeing a whole plate full of it. His head turning, looking at you, watching you smile up at him—your hand on his chest, drawing those soft shapes—the same ones you did when the two of you caught your breaths after the third… maybe fourth… time he made you come on his cock.

“Y’still like t’ same thing for breakfast, Mari?”

“Only if it’s yours.”

His cheeks burn—his ears too. “Y’heavenly, you are.”

“I try”

You lift the other tray, his eyes finding an array of fruit. Watching you take a piece, popping it in your mouth. His questioning look must be evident, your eyes watching him as you swallow.

“Ghost once told me sugar is good post-workout—refuels the muscles or something,” you say, swiping your tongue against your bottom lip. “And we still have this room till 11am, don’t we? And I thought, since we’ve already wasted a lot of time—”

He captures your lips.

The sheet falling from between the two of you, like paper to the floor—effortless and silent. His body flush against you, feeling your giggle bubble through you to him. All light, airy—and fucking perfection.

“Mine,” he whispers against your lips as the two of you fall back into bed.

“Yours,” you whisper back, throwing your leg over him as you straddle him, hovering your lips over his. “All yours, till you’re sick of me.”

He moves your hair from your face, grasping your hip—thump fitting over the growing bruise he’s already left. “‘never be sick of you, Mari.”

an: reader is called mari... because of calamari... squid joke ;)

prequel jealous!soap fic here

#john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #soap Mactavish x f!reader #soap 🧼#john mactavish x reader #john mactavish x you #johnny mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x you #cod soap x reader #cod soap #soap mw2

2K notes · View notes

simphornies · 2 months

Note

I saw you drop a request in my askbox and bsksksjakdhkshd I love it- so imma drop an idea in yours too and what you do with it is up to you lolol

So what about Vox and a drunk fem!reader? Like they were kinda just chilling but Reader has one stupidly large crush on the TV man but is too shy to say anything- but it all comes out on a drunken spiel at some point?

Anyway have funnnn :D

A/N: SORRY FOR BEING INACTIVE. I got burnt out </3 But I hope you guys enjoy!

Word count: 1.2k (1,258) Contents: no mention of y/n, alcohol consumption, valentino being valentino

Drunk Confession [ Vox x F!Reader ]

After an extremely productive day, Vox decided to take out the employees that went above and beyond for their quotas, per your request. It took a lot of begging to convince the Vees to come along but Velvette denied, saying she didn’t want to hang around “lower class” demons. Vox agreed after you begged and pleaded repeatedly. Mainly just to get you to stop talking.

Everyone met up at the “Consent” club Valentino suggested. You show up, excited to have a day off and hang out with Val and Vox. One thing led to another and you got caught up in a drinking game with the employees. Vox watched you down shots after shots. Fifteen shots in and you were drunk out of your mind. You became a giggling, flushed, and drunken mess. You stumble over to Vox, draping your arm lazily over his shoulder.

“Hey, Vox!” Your words slurred as you spoke, a strong smell of alcohol emanating off of you. You give him a wide smile, “I’m so glad you came tonight. Made me really happy.”

Vox let out a chuckle, “I think you’re done for the night.” He says, glancing at his watch, “Let me take you home.”

You whined and pouted, “I don’t wanna.” As you tried to get up off of him, you stumbled over your own foot and fell. Vox caught you in time before you hit the ground and hurt yourself, shaking his head.

“Yeah, you’re definitely done.” He puts your arm around his neck and supports you. He turns to look at Valentino, “I’m gonna take her home. We’re done for tonight.”

Valentino smirked at Vox, “Don’t have too much fun, Voxy~” He teased.

Vox scowled in response, “Shut the fuck up. It’s not like that.”

Valentino laughs, “I’m just saying! But! if you do anything else…Record it for me.”

He grimaced at the comment. Who knows what Valentino would do with footage of you and him sleeping together? He stopped his own thoughts before he started to imagine it. “Gross! No.” Vox scoffed and walked out with you to his car. You were laughing at anything and everything throughout the whole car ride, pointing at every little light that interested you. Vox quietly admired this different side of you. You were always shy and professional around him, but this was new to him. He’d never seen you so open. He honestly liked it better than the front you’d put up at work.

You reach for the doorknob and miss it multiple times. “I can’t fuckin’ open it.” You whined, “Stupid door…Vox can ya open it f’me, please?” He sighed at your question and opened the door to which you wobbled over to your couch, nearly missing and landing on the floor. “Thankssss~” You look at him as he stands in your doorway. His arms were crossed and he was watching you with interest in his eyes.

Vox hasn’t seen you this wasted before, honestly it was entertaining to him. Usually you’d have a little bit of your wits but you just laid on your couch, giggling uncontrollably at him. He didn’t know if you would be okay to be left alone right now so he, reluctantly, shut your front door behind him.

“Why are you so giggly, right now?” He said as he walked towards you, joining you on the couch. You took this opportunity to stretch enough for you to have your head on his lap.

Your giggles didn’t cease unless you needed to catch your breath. You reach up and touch his screen, tracing the borders of his face with your fingers. “Because you’re sooooo cute~” You answered, “I looove being around ya all the time.”

He rolled his eyes, pulling your hands off of his face. He brushed away your compliments, writing them off as drunk talk. “You need to go drink some, I don’t know, water or something. And go to bed.”

You pout and whine, “I meannn it! I love workin’ with youuu.” You poked his screen.

“Yeah? But don’t you complain about work, which includes me, all the time?” He replied, crossing his arms. He didn’t want to admit to you that he liked your company and your help. Probably because you weren’t going to remember it anyways.

“Pfff-” You scoffed, “Youuuu…are what I look forward to~ I like you.”

Vox stared at you in silence. He heard what you said but he didn’t know if you were being honest or just drunk. His fans kicked up and his screen started to warm up. “W-Well…” He cleared his throat, attempting to stop himself from stuttering due to the curveball you just threw at him, “I like you too. You’re a good employee, you’re perfect in your work and hardly make any mistakes.”

You laughed at him, “Silly TV demon man~” You placed your hand on his screen, “I like like you~” As soon as you confessed, he warmed up even more under your touch. You giggled at this, “You’re hot.”

Vox became a flustered mess. You were just shooting curveballs at him at this point. He fiddled with his collar in an attempt to cool himself down before he crashed. He enjoyed your company and grew to like you over time. He didn’t really understand his own feelings until Velvette had to tell him, calling him oblivious for not realizing and an idiot for not understanding his own feelings. He managed to compose himself the best he could but his voice cracked as he spoke, “You need to go to bed.”

Your smile faded into a pout. You squint at him and cross your arms, “No! I dun’ wanna.”

“I’m not asking you to go to bed, you’re going to go to bed. You’re drunk.”

You sit up and scoff, waving your hand as if you were swatting his ridiculous statement away. “Who’s drunk?” You get up, walk around the couch just to end up on the floor.

He got up to look at where you fell, “You. Come on, let’s go.” He walked over to you, laughing a bit as you whined, lifting you up into his arms to take you to your room. He sets you down and begins to take your shoes and jewelry off. “You’re not doing any more drinking games after this.” He tucked you in but you were fighting the sleep that slowly crept up on you.

“I’m not even tired.” You say just to be proven wrong by your own body as a yawn comes after your statement.

“You worked and drank enough. Go to bed and get some rest. You deserve it.” His voice was softer this time. He shifts to leave but you grab him by his sleeve.

“Stay until I fall asleep?” You asked. He was internally screaming and malfunctioning but you were too drunk to notice. He simply nods and sits on the bed next to you, holding your hand until you eventually dozed off. He gives your knuckles a gentle kiss and smiles.

“Sleep well.” He leaves a bottle of water and some medicine in case you get a hangover the next day on your bedside table.

You wake up the next day to a single text from Vox.

VOX: We need to talk about last night. Meet me in the security room when you’re not hungover

You suddenly don’t feel your pounding headache as soon as the words register in your mind. You don’t remember anything after your 6th shot.

Me: what happened? VOX: :)

“I’m never fucking drinking ever again.”

Taglist: @froggybich @baizzhu @dickmastersworld @matrixbearer2024

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #vox hazbin hotel #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox

356 notes · View notes

indouloureux · 2 years

Text

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐞 (𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐤)

summary: steve picks you up when you crash your car after your break-up. and you both realize things you wish you realized sooner.

warnings: 7k. smut 18+ mdni, blood, car crash, angst, fluff, allusions to smut, accusations of emotional cheating, idiots in love (based on the song 'flower in the dark' by fiji blue). slight sub!steve, facesitting, less dirty talk, small smut beCAUSE, creampie? cum eating, kinda sucky

a/n: takes place several months after s4, meaning this takes somewhere early 1987, which explains the INXS song. hope you all enjoy!

MASTERLIST

It happened so suddenly.

One minute you’re listening to a-ha, the next you’re swerving your car tremendously to the side to avoid a crossing cat. Your car hits a tree, hard and unforeseen, hurling you almost onto the dashboard and through the windscreen had it not been for the airbag. Your forehead meets the hard leather of your steering wheel, hefty enough that it makes you bleed just beneath your hairline.

There’s loud ringing in your ears, your eyesight fooling you into thinking you might be underwater. The hood of the car is bent, bunched in uneven folds and dark smoke seeping through the unhinged bumper, full of dents and thrown onto the ground. And fuck, your head hurts and your nose is bleeding. You know damn well the car might explode in a couple minutes, but you’re too weak to move.

Along with the faint memory of the cars screeching against the uneven asphalt road, there’s panicked chattering behind your car. With a hand on your forehead, you weakly reach over to open the door, but a stranger beats you to it—the woman keeping her arms stretched out to keep you from falling before you feel her hands around your waist, dragging you up from your slowly burning car.

It’s a cluster of are you okay? What happened? Someone called the ambulance! (you almost snapped at the second question. “I hit my car, dipshit. The fuck does it look like?”).

In that blurry haze, you remember being sat down in someone's car, someone saying that a truck’s coming to pick your car up, and if you wanted to be driven to the nearest phone booth.

You end up being dropped off at a phone booth right outside Hawkin’s Post. The woman had been kind enough to give you a cold beer for your forehead, and some rag she found in her glovebox to wipe the blood off your face. You hear how quick she left when the ringing left your ears, the way her wheels screeched the same way yours did before you hit the tree; you’re stumbling your way inside the confined box and picking up the phone, only to stare at the numbers blankly.

You’ve got no one to call.

No one knows where you live other than Robin, who doesn’t have a license and you couldn’t take the risk; Dustin, who’s not of age yet and god knows how he’d drive; Max…absolutely not. Nancy? With Jonathan on a date. Mike? You’d actually prefer having your face smashed into a windscreen than him driving you home. Lucas? Can ride a bike but almost crashed your car one time.

Five of them don’t even have cars.

Which leaves you to one last person.

Your heart pounds at the thought of him. Minds visibly debating if you should be petty and walk yourself home, or if you should suck it up and call him and just let yourself dwell in his passenger seat in this pity blood puddle as he tries to talk to you.

There’s sweat coating the thin epidermis of your hand, the material of the phone buttons burning beneath your fingertip as you dial his numbers. Your head aches, still even after the cold bear that’s now warming on your other hand, and you feel like your nose has been dislocated. And with the bottom half of your face crossing the border of numbness, you could faintly feel something drip down your nose.

Eleven digits pressed ten seconds later, the phone rings. You rest your head on the switchhook with the receiver hot against your ear as you hear the loud ringing. You wait, maybe ten seconds. Until it turns twenty to almost thirty before you hear the sound of a phone being picked up.

“Harrington residenc… ah, screw it. Hello?”

You don't speak, nervously twirling the handset line in your index finger as you stare blankly at the number pads, wondering what he might look like right now. There’s a statical silence filling your ear, and you try your best to let out a hushed deep breath.

“Hello?” he repeats.

Finally, you blink. “Steve?”

It’s his turn to stay quiet, like he’s processing whose voice he heard. You hear his soft huffs through his nose, and you squeeze your eyes shut to get rid of the headache.

“(y/n)?”

You smile a little. “Yeah. It’s me.”

You hear shuffling before he speaks again. “Hey. Um- what’s up?”

“I…” you suck your cheeks in, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I crashed my car.”

“What?!”

“I’m fine!” you reassure him. “Just…can you pick me up? I’m- I’m outside Hawkins Post and I can't really walk to where I was supposed to go. It’s too far…”

There’s a second of silence. An entire second that he’s given himself to decide. And you don't expect him to immediately say, “Yeah, sure. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

He came in five minutes.

You wonder if he’s passed the speed limit, ran through red lights and ignored speed bumps just so he could get to you. And the thought of it makes your heart ache — in the worst way. ‘Cause now you’re thinking if he’s that eager to see you, or that eager to help you, or just to get this over with. And just the thought of him being excited to see you?

It sets a confusing flame in your chest.

Steve exits his car. Striped shirt and tight dark blue jeans in all his disheveled eminence. You push yourself away from the phone booth, the lack of shade straining your eyes, but Steve jogs up to you and blocks the sun with his height.

“Hey,” his eye squints, hair not large enough to block the sunlight. “Jesus, (y/n), you’re bleeding.”

His hand comes up to touch gently on your forehead, where you wince at the contact of his fingertips on something raw. Steve tuts, muttering an apology before he’s fully cupping your face, but his apology doesn’t matter.

Not when he’s touching your face like it’s a normal thing for him to do. Like he used to back in those forgotten summer mornings and winter nights, with the way he cradles your face like a vase full of wilting flowers. But Steve doesn’t look into your eyes. Of course he doesn’t. Instead, he’s looking at the laceration on your forehead. And it feels familiar.

(Maybe when Billy Hargrove had almost beaten him to a pulp. And you remember Steve laying unconsciously between your legs at the back of Billy’s car, his face in your hands, slipping between the gates of consciousness.)

“What happened?” he asks, his hair falling over to cover the worry lines on his forehead.

“Saw a cat,” you murmur, cheeks flushing from his touch and you hope he doesn't feel it. “I swerved and I crashed into a tree. My car’s done for and- and my head hurts.”

“Course it does, ‘y crashed your car,” he mutters. And when Steve finally looks into your eyes, the worry shifts into a quick wave of realization that he’s still holding your face so casually. You see him swallow thickly, dropping his hands to his sides where he palms the pockets of his jeans. “I’ve got um, tissue. And water in the back of my car. We should get-get in. It’s getting hot.”

You follow him, watch as he opens the door for you and guides you in. Steve pushes his hair back as he crosses, walking over to his side until he’s sat beside you and slams the door closed. He doesn’t look at you yet, like he’s still preparing himself to look at you as he reaches behind to pull out two water bottles. Steve hastily gives them to you before he’s opening the glove box, pulling out a box of tissues and a bottle of alcohol, as well as a small box of bandaids.

Pointing at the tissue box, you furrow your eyebrows. “You still have that?”

The box of tissues he bought specially for Eleven. He’d complained to you before, how she always used her sleeve instead of buying a handkerchief to carry around so she’d wipe her blood off. And when you’d told him to do something about it himself, he bought everyone tissue packs — “Just in case one of you is with this kid and she starts bleeding again.”

You still have yours dug deep in a bag hidden in your cabinet. Dusted and unused.

“Yeah,” he huffs. “Kid’s back in Hawkins. God knows what might happen again. Even though the gates are closed now,”

“Dunno. Maybe the Russians are opening a gate again. We weren't so sure last time, right?”

“Only because some burnt middle aged man with powers decides to terrorize teens and open four huge gates,” Steve reaches over to swerve the AC to your direction, taking a bottle from your lap to open it. He shoves it in your hands, elbow on the steering wheel and he finally looks at you. “Drink up. You might get a heatstroke. Or you might pass out.”

You grimace at him.

Steve eyes you like something he’s lost his entire life. That wonder of unexpected reconciliation that makes his heart beat unwinding, because you’re talking to him. You called him for help; and even though Steve knows he’s not exactly your first choice for help, there’s a candle of hope offered to him. He watches you drink from the plastic bottle, trembling hand grasping it tight against you as you drink with heavy eyelids.

He takes it from you when you’ve finished the entire thing, tossing it behind him before he looks back at you with wary eyes. “More?”

You shake your head. “No,” you smile a bit.

Then he points to your forehead, side of his finger grazing the bridge of your nose. Steve’s other hand rubs his chin. “What about those? Need some help?”

“Do you even know how to?” you quip. Steve scoffs, reaching for the box of tissues in your hand and unscrews the alcohol.

“I think I’ve learned. From getting my ass handed to myself three times.” he pours alcohol on the folded tissue, eyebrows raising everytime he speaks. “I think we just got lucky last time. Minus the choking part.”

Steve’s hand raises on the side of your face, hesitant in taking your cheek into his palm once more. When he nods for permission, you allow him; ignoring the way his touch ignites something heavy in the pit of your stomach that causes the butterflies to leave their cocoons and storm your belly.

His touch is benign, delicate, conscious in the way that he knows he’s holding your face unlike earlier. He mutters instant apologies when you wince from the alcohol against your opening wound, the feeling of his thumb stroking the supple skin of your cheek was somehow an amelioration that he hopes would work.

The blood blends with the alcohol infused tissue, staining the soft paper. He wipes a bit harder on the dried morsel of blood surrounding your wound, until a small cut appears once all the blood’s gotten rid of. Steve takes the box of bandaids from his lap, you watching as he clumsily opens it and pulls a yellow bandaid with purple stars around the oval-like bandage.

Your eyebrows raise, bemused. “Cute,”

“Dustin wanted them,” he’s quick to defend. Steve removes the plastic from the bandage, spreading apart until he raises it to your wound and carefully places the pad on top of the cut, thumbs pressing it down until it sticks to your skin. “Or I think Erica did. Dunno. Kids love to take advantage of me.”

“Rich teenager who spends his time with a bunch of kids? Who wouldn't?” you snort. “I’m surprised they haven't asked you to buy them Nintendo.”

“Why? Do you want one?” his brow raises, fingers moving down to press on your nose, a slight throb as he does so.

“Pretty please?” you jut your bottom lip out. “With Ghosts N’ Goblins?”

Steve shakes his head, massaging the bridge of your nose. “Take advantage of me, why don't you?”

You laugh. “You know what this reminds me of?” you murmur. Steve looks at you, hands in a momentarily halt on your nose. “Billy. When we had to carry you to the back of his car and we had nothing but alcohol and bandaids. You know, Mike was actually thinking of stitching the cut,” you reach up to graze the ever faint scar on his jaw, and his face softens when you do so, “right here. But all we had was a fish hook and we couldn’t risk it.”

His chuckle’s short, faint and wilting off into the silence in his car as he looks at you, your hand muzzy on his jaw as your tracing stops, your eyes flitting to his. And Steve’s so close, with his breath fanning your face and the tip of his nose grazing yours; his eyes searching like a sailor on sea, an undulate curve of his thick hair covering his forehead when he dips his head down the slightest. You drop your hand back to your lap and turn your head away, making all his hope break and Steve sinks back to his seat, swallowing thickly. He screws the cap of the alcohol back on.

“So, where were you going?” he turns the key in the ignition, pushing his hair back before they settle on the steering wheel. You hm, an unsure ‘um’ that battles between telling him the truth or not.

“Home,” you lie. “Just, uh, take me home.”

The aether sky disappears behind the cluster of thick, dark clouds; like how paint water would topple over an artwork as it slowly washes over the dull sky of Hawkins, all that optimistic cyan glory replaced by a caliginous silver as its tears slowly fall down to the cracked ground. Your fist on your cheek, the radio quiet, and Steve’s contemplating whether you had told him the truth or not. He heard the slight hesitation in your voice, the avoidance of eye contact and the uncomfortable shift in your seat.

And so as he turns the corner, opposite to where your home was that you surprisingly didn’t notice with your dazed staring, Steve rubs his nose. “Hey, uh. Where’d you crash your car?” your head turns to him, cheek leaving your fist to straighten your back. “Just wanna see if the truck’s gotten it already,”

“I’m sure it’s still there,” You pull nervously at your seatbelt, staring ahead at the windscreen. “But just, um, past Warzone.”

“The one Eddie told us all the illegal shit were?”

“Yeah.”

“That- That’s where you were heading?”

You grimace. “I said past Warzone. Not before or at the Warzone.” your top lip curls in exiguous agitation. “And this is not the way to my fucking house, Steve.”

“Yeah, because we’re not going to your house,” his hand raises to point in front of him, driving past empty houses and rundown buildings that lead outside the town, the rain that forms little puddles beside sidewalks as the windscreen wiper starts moving.

“This is kidnapping!” you gawp silently, incredulous. “Take me home, Steve.”

“No, I wanna know where you’re going that you crashed your car past Warzone,” though loud, Steve’s voice is calm and patient, waiting for your reason. His sudden curiosity is unneeded, you think. Because why should he care where you’ve been? “Tell me so I can…drive you there.”

You sigh, back slumping on his leather seat as you look back at the window. “Illinois.”

The car slows with the way Steve’s foot weakens, eyes taking a double look on you. “Illinois? What- what are you gonna do in Illinois? See Murray?”

“No,” you say. “I was-...I was going to see my new apartment.” you look at him, seeing the way his hands tighten around the wheel. “It’s a couple miles farther from Murray’s, I think.”

It’s like his ribcage shrinks and squeezes his lungs, an ache that spreads throughout his chest as Steve’s mouth parts, head turning between the rode and you. He fixes his composure, the cat killed by his bothering curiosity as he says, “Apartment? You’re gonna move to Illinois?”

You shake your head. “Not forever. Just…indefinitely. Like, like a vacation. Or something.”

“Why?”

“Why?” you repeat. “We’ve nearly gotten killed, like, four times. Do you not think about, I don’t know, taking a vacation to rest? Leaving Hawkins after you got your ass handed to you for god knows how many times?”

Steve lets his shoulders rise into a shrug. “I don’t know. I mean, I can’t just leave them, you know. The kids,” his hand motions behind him. “Especially now that Max’s in the hospital and Eddie’s healing. It’s not like Robin’s the most reliable babysitter- don’t tell her I said that,” he turns to look at you. “And, with Jonathan back, the kids are gonna need you, too.”

“They don’t need me,” you squirm a little in your seat. “They have you. And Robin, who can do well with babysitting. And they’re not kids anymore, Steve. They don’t need babysitters. There are no more monsters slipping out of gates, or people randomly dying. I can- take a vacation if I want to.”

“Yeah, indefinitely,” he scoffs. “You’re just gonna leave everything behind?”

“I’m not!” you almost yell. “And besides, I’m always gonna call. Everybody's got phone’s now. So what if I don’t come back? They’re gonna be fine without me, Steve,” you think it’s the truth, with the way you said those words. Because they had each other: Max had Lucas. Eddie had Dustin, Will had Mike, and Steve had Robin. You? You’re just this random crayon drawn onto a piece of paper that disparities its colors. You didn’t have your own contrast, your own someone. Not after what happened with Steve.

“Why,” you continue, licking your lips. “Why do you care, anyway?”

You look at him, see the way everything behind him moves in a fast blur; trees fragmented by the raindrops coating his window. His nose wrinkles into a quick sniff, his eyes trained across the wet road. “You’re leaving—”

“—indefinitely—”

“—yeah and still, I don’t know if I’ll see you again,” his voice softens into a whisper, his cheeks turning pink at his confession, maybe also because you’re staring at him. “I mean, you’re moving to Illinois for god knows how long. What if you decide that you’ll stay there forever? How will the kids reach you when they need your help? What about Robin, or- or Nancy?”

Nancy’s name makes you wince.

His reason veils what he truly wants to say, even though what he said was a genuine concern of his. Steve gives you occasional glances, sees the way your eyes get clouded as you lose yourself in a thought, hears the way the song switches to the new released song Never Tear Us Apart.

You can’t read his mind, but you’ve got his tones and body language memorized like the entire map of hawkins. But maybe you’re wrong, because his tone is new and confounding — misleading in his words. You know he’s using the kids to mask up what he wants to say. And you, with your overthinking mind that has been giving you suffocating trepidations and agonizing maybes and what-ifs, your mind bears on a fact you refuse to believe but makes you scoff out loud in disbelief, anyway.

And despite its dubiety, you say it out loud anyway. “Yeah, Harrington. Go act like you care, why don’t you?”

In that snarky tone that puts a rock on your heart, Steve glowers slightly. “I always care about you, (y/n).”

“Well, you sure did a lot to let me know,” you roll your eyes, sinking into your corner. “Sure. Go flirt with Nancy Wheeler in front of me. Maybe in front of Jonathan, too! That totally shows how much you care, Steve.”

“Jesus Christ,” he runs a hand down his face, the pattering of the rain getting louder the farther you go out of Hawkins. “What’s this got to do with Nancy?”

“Really? You’re gonna act like you didn’t just almost tell Nancy you were still in love with her two weeks after we broke up?” Steve furrows his eyebrows at you. “Do you know how anxious and hurt I was to see you act like that around her? Thinking about how what if Steve was in love with Nancy the entire time he was my boyfriend? What if he just used me to get over her so that’s why he didn’t care that I dumped him? Didn’t even fight or ask why, like- like we were nothing. And now you’re telling me that you care? Did it even occur to you that maybe you’re the reason why I’m moving to Illinois because seeing you just hurts?”

There’s nothing but the turbulent radio and the loud rain hitting the roof of his car that fills the thick silence. Your chest heaves, now unburdened with the weight of your premonition. And his mind registers your words slowly — Because no, it hadn’t occurred to him that he’s the reason you’re moving; it hadn’t occurred to him that you had a sense of doubt tribulating you even as you prepared to kill Vecna back then. ‘Cause he’d been too worried to think about how to make it up to you, all while he tries to rekindle his friendship with Nancy. To the point you’d mistaken it as flirting with his yearning stares and lingering gazes.

“You really…felt that?” his voice is small, like he’d been yelled at by his own mother for his stupidity. You blink rapidly, forcing yourself to not look at him, afraid of breaking down when you do.

“Yeah,” you rub your nose with the side of your finger. “I mean, I guess it’s a sensible reason, right? Seeing as I didn’t exactly have the truth to confirm my thoughts; we got together a week after you and Nancy broke up. I don’t think a week’s enough to move on, yet we went on a date. And, I don’t know, I guess maybe I thought you’d only gotten with me because I was there, and we were both healing, and we both kinda needed some anchor. Except I really did like you and, it’s- It’s not like you told me you loved me, anyway.” you laugh sadly. “So what’s the point? Why would I stay here if I didn't have my own anchor anymore? I could just…float.”

It’s not like you told me you loved me, anyway.

There’s a rip on his heart when you wipe a tear away, pushing your hair behind your ears. Steve feels a lump on his throat, getting heavier and threatening as you continue.

“I cried a lot. When I broke up with you. Maybe because I saw the way you didn’t care. You didn’t even ask why. You just…said ‘okay.’ With your hands in your pockets, watching me leave your house. And- and then Vecna happened and I didn’t have time to grieve until- until you told Nancy about this dream of yours that I thought was really fucking stupid. And I said, well Steve Harrington totally is a douchebag because what are you doing telling your ex-girlfriend about your future like you want her to be there?”

A hand leaves the steering wheel as he scratches his head. Steve is an idiot. A man who’s shit at communication, a man who acted like he didn’t care when he broke your heart, a man who shamelessly gave Nancy stares that he used to give you when they were together. A man who’s nothing short of obliviousness to what you feel, who thinks that you were okay this entire time when really, you’d just been digging yourself a hole to hide yourself into. A hole that’s three hours away.

And despite his naivety, he’s appalled that he ever made you feel like he only liked you because you were there. Someone who’d been near and available to him. Steve wonders what else could you have felt that hurt you, that made you move to Illinois after what he did.

Steve slows down much to your dismay, just a few minutes after he passed the Hawkins sign. He parks beside the empty road, the ones passing by filled with boxes and eager families that don't seem to care about the both of you as he pulls on his gear and faces you with a hand to the back of your headrest.

And he sees you: the way you’re silently hurting while relishing in the relief of a confession. When you take a quiet inhale when you realize he’s leaned closer, your eyes widening the slightest because this was the third time he’d unabashedly leaned closer to you.

“Well, I am an idiot,” he finally spoke. “Because I never told you that I loved you,”

Your heart pounds, loud and hard, almost painful with it. contact against your chest. And you eye him suspiciously, staring deep into those umber eyes of his, searching for any kind of fathomless reason for him to use this opportunity for a sadistic joke just to hurt you. But alas, you knew Steve. He was never the type of man to hurt a woman’s feelings over an insensitive joke, let alone hurt a woman with cruel words other than ignorance (speaking from experience).

But still, you’re left befuddled. Why now, out of all the opportunities, has he decided to tell you he loves you? Is he using this to make up for all the pain he’s caused you? Or because he thinks you at least deserve to know that he does love you, just not in love, and now he’s got the opportunity to say it to you.

And why, out of all times, do you feel bile rise up to your throat?

“Steve…”

“Babe,” he reaches over. But you squirm away from his touch that makes his face fall, eyebrows raised into a small melancholy hill of pain when you flinch by the faintest touch of his hand. “(y/n), come on,”

“I think I’m gonna throw up,”

Steve pales. “Fuck,” he looks behind him, hand rummaging over the random shit on the floor before he looks back at you in panic. “I don’t have bags—”

“Fucking hell,” you unlatch the door, hurling it aside until your feet hit the wet asphalt and rain starts to pour on you. Steve stares at you in disbelief.

“Where are you going?” he yells, but he follows right after you slam the door shut, tracing your footsteps as you walk away from his car and hunch over the side. “It’s raining! Just, puke in the trunk or something!”

You shake your head, gasping as you place your hands on your knees, heaving. Steve walks over to you, raindrops falling on the tips of his eyelashes that make him blink rapidly. “Stay there, Harrington. Come any closer and I’m hurling at your shoes,”

His hands raise, scrutinizing you out of worry. You compose yourself, straightening your back and running your hand through your hair that’s been dampened by the heavy rainfall. And Steve — Steve looks so desperate, even more now that the rain has fallen upon him and makes him look like a sad puppy. With his eyes twinkling and his hair fallen into a thick mop that he slicks back, lips parted to breathe.

“You’re not sick, aren't you?” he says softly in the thunderous impact of rains on road.

You shake your head, finding the courage to walk over to him and pull on the shirt that sticks to your chest. The rain on your wound hurts, but it doesn't matter anymore.

“Let me rephrase my words then,” Steve readjusts himself, finally letting his whole body turn to face you. “I love you, and I’ve been in love with you since you told me that I deserved being called bullshit by Nancy. I love you because you’re the second person to give me that bump in the head right after she did and that made me realize that you were it for me. I love you because you put me right on track. You actually told me that I was an asshole and if you hadn't, maybe I’d still be that asshole till this day,

“The thing about my future? The six, stupid little nuggets that I told Nancy?” He takes your chin into his hand, rubbing the skin below your lips. “I always saw you in there. It was never her. I thought it was her until you hit me in my goddamn head. It’s always been you, (y/n),” Steve murmurs. “All it took was three bumps to the head for me to realize all that. And — and I’m sorry if I acted like I didn't care when you dumped me. But I’ve always cared.”

“Then why didn't you?” your bottom lip wobbles. “Why didn't you care when I broke up with you?”

“I was pretending,” Steve reaches over to push the hair sticking from your face, rubbing your eyelids with his wet thumbs so you’d see clearer. “I just- I was an idiot, okay? When you broke up with me, I thought it was for the best because both of us were just processing things. I had work and you had to go back to school and we’d drifted apart after Starcourt. I wasn't there for you. And you deserve someone who’s going to be by your side everyday. Not someone who… can barely finish a fight they started.”

Steve Harrington, a man whose language was dipshit and the surnames of his kids, astounds you with his lengthy confession. Steve Harrington, who thinks cheesy rom coms are full of unrealistic scenarios and shitty plot lines, tells you he’s in love with you with the rain pouring down on your trembling bodies, like a scene from a movie he hates. Steve Harrington, the man you swore to forget and to never look back to when you leave this town, has his face in your hands and his lips pulled to yours.

His mouth’s hot, familiar and welcoming like it always was. Like a missing puzzle piece found beneath the couch, his lips locking with yours in a kiss so tender and balmy it puts the cold rain to shame as it warms you. Steve puts his hands on your waist and pulls you closer to him, drowning out the sounds of passing cars that honk at the both of you and the thunder that claps in the grey sky.

You pry your lips apart, wet with the rain and the slick of his pink mouth. And you push the thick strand of hair from his face, Steve slowly opening his eyes to stare deeply into yours.

“You don't have to say it back,” he mutters. “Not now. Only when you want to.”

“I can't believe I kissed you,”

He smiles a little. “Me neither.”

“That was kind of stupid,”

“... I liked it.” He takes your hands off his face, running his thumbs along the little scars scattered all over. “Let me make it up to you, please?”

He kisses you again. And again. And again; making up for all those sleepless nights he hadn't kissed you and curled to his side instead. Making up for all those times he made you feel like he didn't care; making up for all those times he wasn't there when you wanted him to. A kiss, although almost futile to rid of the pain he’s caused you, brings you to cloud nine and makes you putty in his large hands.

Steve walks backwards, taking you with him until he blindly hits the backdoor of his car, a hand leaving you to grasp its handle.

“Steve—”

“Let me—” his eyebrows furrow, words muffled with the touch of your puffy lips, “—make it up to you. Come on, babe.”

You nod against him, your own hand finding his to pull on the door handle. Steve dips his body and falls onto the leather seat, taking you with him that you land on top, your chest smushing against his, your clothings dripping to the carpet and onto the leather of his car.

“We’re gonna get your seats wet—”

“I don't care,” he sits up, making you straddle his lap as he reaches behind you to close the door. “Can just wipe it off after.”

“But what about our clothes?”

Despite this, you pull on his shirt. Steve discards it swiftly, a rip faintly heard before dropping it onto the floor with a wet thump. “You’re really concerned about that right now?”

Scars from the bites. Brazen and threatening, bumpy when your fingers traced its uneven and cruel mark left on his skin. At nights, Steve would stare at them. Think of how hideous they were, thought about how they'd ruin him forever. But with your admiring, soft touch, he feels as if its a reminder that he'd survived because of you. Because of your persistence despite the pain he's caused you; you look at it as if it's that perfect flaw in every painting, uncanny, grotesque, but beautiful.

You place your hand on his chest, feeling the hair damp against your palm as you break away from him. Steve grasps your waist, bunches the wet material of your shirt in his hand as he looks at you with the dusk of arousal blooming his pupils. Eyes wide in anticipation and lips puffy for more, he slides his hands beneath your shirt to warm the coldness of your flesh.

“You sure about this?” he finally whispers. You push his hair behind his ear, giving him a chaste peck.

“We’re here now, aren't we?” you tell him. Steve smiles, bright like the lightning that hits the road. He kisses you again, his hands grasping at your shirt from beneath until he rips it apart. The tear makes you gasp, agape as you watch him throw it aside. “I bought that from The Gap, you know? It was kind of expensive.”

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he starts kissing your neck, nipping and sucking the rain off your skin. And when he sucks harder, there’s a light prick that stings your neck, only to be soothed by his warm tongue that he lathers over, his teeth grazing your flesh but never biting.

Steve’s hand comes up to toy with the clasp of your bra, hands positioned to push but he never does. Not when you’re holding his face against your neck like he’s feeding off you, stuffing your nose in his hair and inhaling his rich cologne drowned out with the smell of rain.

“Jus’ take it off,” you kiss his temple.

“Alright,”

He does, untroubled as he easily unclasps its tiny hooks and lets it fall to your sides. Steve’s hand cups around your shoulders, hooking his fingers on the lace strap and pulls it down your arms as his lips stay planted on your neck, watching as they fall off flawlessly and onto your lap.

Leaving one last kiss to your neck, he moves down to wrap his lips around the skin of your bare breasts, throwing your bra to the passenger seat. You gasp, head throwing back with your hands grasping at his hair.

“Fuck, Steve,” you whimper, moving your hips on his thick crotch with the guidance of his hand, the other massaging a tit into his mouth as he suckles at your buds, looking up at you adoringly.

“Baby I want you to,” he kisses you again, slowly laying down but his hands keep you in place. Steve looks up at you with heavy eyelids, grasping at your tits as you grind down onto him. “Want you to sit on my face.”

Your grinding slows, hands palming at his chest. “Really?”

“Yeah— fuck, honey. Just want you to. Please,” Steve pulls on the waistband of your jeans, unbuttoning them. “C’mon baby.”

“Okay,” you raise your hips, a foot coming down to the carpet to remove your jeans, head bumping slightly onto the roof of his car. Your back hunches awkwardly, embarrassed that Steve’s seeing you struggling but he doesn't care, not when his tongue darts out between his lips in anticipation as you bring your panties with your jeans.

Steve pulls you immediately to him, until your knees are on either side of his head and his hands hard and heavy on your thighs to keep you levitating above him. He’s kissing stars on your thighs, knows with the way your hips jut impatiently that you want more other than sorry, coaxing kisses. With your hand on the backseat and one on his hair, he leans up to take a whiff of your leaking arousal, groaning when he smells the sweet honey.

“Christ, (y/n),” he kneads your ass. “Don't be shy. Just sit.”

And you do, carefully lowering yourself onto his mouth opens and his tongue darts out to lap at your dripping hole. You moan loudly, looking down to see him dig his nose on your clit and his hair all disheveled from your pulling. “Oh, Steve,”

He hums against you, dragging his tongue on your folds until his lips wrap around your clit. You grind on his face, small pants and whimpers leaving your mouth when he groans. “You taste amazing. Like fucking— fucking amazing. Sweet little pussy stayed the same.”

A finger prods on your wet entrance, tracing your small hole until it slips in, incessant until his pointer’s buried knuckle deep. And when he pulls out with a slick gush, he puts in two without warning, stretching your hole open with two of his thick limbs, scissoring them as he laps up at your swollen clit.

“That’s it,” he growls, sucking harder on your bud with a little head shake as his fingers begin scissoring at a pace so tantalizingly slow it drives you insane. “Ride my face, baby. Use me.”

He finds himself falling a bit more harder when he looks up to see your face scrunched in all your heavenly glory as you lose yourself in that rainstorm of rapture with your eyebrows joint and your jaw slacked to emit its euphonious moaning. Finds himself submitting more than he expected as he digs himself deeper into you, your own taste marking him more than he’d marked you when your slick coats half of his face.

Your hand finds itself using his stomach as leverage, leaning back to give Steve a better perspective. And the other remains on his hair, tugging deeper when he removes his fingers and continues using his tongue instead, taking your hand off his hair to lace it with yours.

“Shit,” you puff, hand tightening around his. Steve opens his eyes, the tip of his nose glistening as he flicks his tongue up and down between your folds. He uses his other hand to spread your petals with his fingers shaped into a v, prodding his tongue in your tight hole until it’s fully fucking you. “Ngh—ah, oh god, your tongue feels so good,”

A taste of forbidden fruit, has him drunk and fucking his tongue deeper to venture more of your sweet walls. You squeeze around his thick muscle, mewling louder that you worry you’re heard amongst the continuous roaring thunder. Steve groans against you, his own stomach clenching beneath your hand, tongue exploring everything that’s wet, flicking it against every spongy spot. He’d suck at your swollen nub, lap at your hole like some faucet, knead your ass to urge you harder on his tongue.

“I’m close,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “I wanna cum, Stevie.”

“Then cum,” he untucks his tongue from inside you, licking up from your hole to your clit. “Cum for me, baby. Come on.”

And when the thick substance of your sweet cum smears his tongue, he swallows and he swallows like it's the last water in this world. And he’s greedy for more, pushing his tongue in until he’s milked you and dried the cum off your walls, lapping up at the juices of your sticky cunt until you pull yourself away from him.

You hover on his lap as Steve slowly sits up, chasing your lips as if your pussy wasn't enough; but you let him kiss you, nonetheless. The taste of him and your cum evading your mouth as you sit on his lap, soft wet clicking made by your lips every time your mouths closed on one another. Your hands find the button of his tight jeans, toying with it.

“I want you,” he whispers. “Please, baby. You can have me now. Make up for all those times I haven't been there.”

Steve lifts himself to untuck his jeans, stopping only below his knees so you’d rest your cunt right on his thick, hard cock that slaps against his stomach. You run your palm through your wet heat, using it to jerk him off that makes his forehead fall against yours from its sensitivity.

“I have you now, right?” you position his tip at your entrance.

“You’ll have me always,” and when he looks at you devotedly, like the moment wasn’t so unsanctified, you find yourself kissing him again. Like you’d found a place with someone to escape like a flower in the dark, blooming in the twilight just by your palliating touch. That hesitant love you’d felt blossoming from the broken ground and grows in the uncut grass, just enough for him to pick up and cherish.

You sink down to him, hole gaping for him to slip inside your tight walls. Steve moans against your lips, hands tight above your ass as you go down on him.

“Slow down, hon,” you shake your head. You hate being told what to do, deciding to just drop down onto him until your ass slaps against his heavy balls full of cum. “Jesus Christ—”

“So big, Steve,” you slur, head falling to his shoulder. “Cock feels so good…”

“Yeah, baby?” he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “This cock’s made just for you. Use it babe, come on.”

And you do, slowly grinding on to him, his thick cock stretching you more, his hands guiding you and urging you to a pace you wish to move on.

You don't know how long you’d been riding him. Alternating between teasing grinds and greedy bounces that has your walls squeezing around him. And god, Steve finds himself submitting more to you, despite the amount of marks he’d left on your neck and chest that muffles the loud moans threatening to leave his throat.

Steve wraps his mouth around your nipple, his cock disappearing from your cunt, the wet squelching turning him more to the edge whenever you’d slam down onto his balls. You moan in his ear, soft and small, almost innocent. But it’s not innocent at all — not with him balls deep, or his mouth on your tit, or the wet sounds created. Steve looks at the reflection from the window, a mischievous glint in his eyes when he urges you faster.

Everything felt familiar. Everything felt the same; everything felt like he never stopped loving you. Not with those gentle, lascivious touches. Not with the way he kisses you. You find yourself back in his arms just a year ago, being comforted in this heaven of his that keeps you from what hurts you, right before he'd pushed you off the clouds (and before he'd caught you himself).

“I missed this,” he huffs. “A lot. Touched myself to the thought of this. Then I’d feel so guilty. But now I don't have to,” you push on his shoulder, bumping your nose with his. “I missed you. And this tight little pussy. And your sweet, dirty sounds — ah. Fuck. Missed the way your cunt would just squeeze around me. Always using my cock hm?”

“Shut up,” you furrow your eyebrows, mouth parting. “I’m close again, Steve. God, you’re such an asshole,”

He chuckles. “What did I do?”

“You and your— your words. Fuck!” you squeal, clutching hard on his shoulders. “Are you close?”

“I’ve been close since you sat on my face. Think I even came in my pants while I was doing it,” he chuckles. “God, I’m gonna cum.”

You both do. Without warning but simultaneous. When both your seeds would mix when you kept on pushing his cum deep into you with every slow bounce you’d make. Steve exhales into your sweaty skin, both your hairs dried but slick with sweat.

When he looks at you again, like a star he’s found in the polluted sky of Hawkins, like a miracle fallen onto the palm of his hand, your heart flutters and builds itself again right in his touch. And it’s filthy, the way your cums would slip down to his thighs and onto the cushions of his car, but his touch’s clean and innocent in its intentions. A promise of never letting go; a promise of always being there to love you and being enough.

—

“I’m still going,”

The storm's gone. Left with nothing but the light rain that taps gently on his windows. The smell of Steve comforts you, despite the sticky smell of sex and sweat stings your nose from the leather you lay on.

He wraps the blanket he found beneath the seats around the both of you, your head on his chest and your hands linked together. Your squirming doesn't bother his concerns, but your sudden declaration does and Steve lifts his head to look at you.

Your eyebrows raise, legs tangled with his and your chin on the bush on his chest. “I’ve got a lovely apartment. A job that I found. I’m gonna work at the record store,” you trace the slope of his nose, sculpted by the hands of gods who’d given him all this sweet handsomeness. “And… It's got a lovely view, too. I need this, Steve.”

His hand runs through your hair, twirling your drying strands in his fingers. “I won't stop you. But I don't want to watch you leave again,”

“Then come with me,” you whisper. “It has a huge bedroom. And a kitchen, Steve. A pretty kitchen and a huge living room. A TV for when the kids would come and visit.” he chuckles at your pout. “Only when you want to.”

Unhesitating and prepared, he nods. “Alright. I’ll come.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” he kisses you. “I’d follow you anywhere. Robin has Vickie now, anyway. I can— I can work at a coffee shop. Wear a cute little apron and drink coffee.” he smiles softly, deep lines decorating his tan skin. "And I'll be there when you get home. Smother you with love."

“Wouldn't be opposed to that," you smile at him.

reblogs and feedback are appreciated <3

4K notes · View notes

seijorhi · 3 months

Note

Tendou and Ushijima are such scary yanderes! Tendou cause he's already kinda insane and Ushijima is like a brick wall when he puts his mind to something.

i feel like ushiwaka's the type of guy that could pretty easily convince you to start a relationship with him. cuz let's face it he's stupidly attractive, a crazy talented volleyballer and an olympic medalist (to me) to boot, and he's not actually a dick, he's just a little intense. blunt. some might say slightly awkward.

but at the start of it all, you don't see the red flags. you like ushijima. he's surprisingly attentive for an athlete playing at his level, which you weren't really expecting but it makes you feel special. wanted.

and then you meet his friends. tendou, specifically.

the thing is, wakatoshi's kind of a possessive guy. not jealous, exactly. he's not glaring down every guy that dares to look at you that's just his face and throwing punches, he's not even that big on PDA, he just likes it when you're close, when he's got his hand wrapped in yours or resting on your thigh. he enjoys that physical touch, a tangible reminder that you're there, you're his.

he doesn't take it well when other people try it.

tendou, apparently, is an exception to that rule.

while you've been walking around with rose tinted glasses this whole time, ushiwaka's got full on blinders on – at least where his high school bestie's concerned. he almost growled the other night when eita went in for a hug hello, but he's sitting right next to you, seemingly unbothered by the redhead practically draping himself over you, the long fingers fiddling with the hem of your skirt.

you'd knocked his hand away – he keeps sliding it back.

not wanting to make a fuss, you'd kept your mouth shut, only bringing it up with wakatoshi later, when it was just the two of you. but he shrugs, like it's no big deal – no, like he doesn't understand what the issue is to begin with. why you're uncomfortable with tendou being friendly.

and so you drop it. maybe you are reading too much into it. tendou's an odd guy, maybe that's just how he is and you haven't known him long enough to get accustomed to it.

except it gets worse. it's uncomfortable and a little creepy. you're out for drinks one night at a bar, and when you come out of the bathroom, tendou's right there, almost caging you in. it's always a joke, or you think that's what he's aiming for, because he wears that same too wide, glittering grin and laughs when you get flustered and uncomfortable.

he shows up at your job to drive you home when wakatoshi's held up with training. lets himself into your place to 'hang out' while you wait for your boyfriend to get home. always staring. amused, apparently, by the six feet of distance you seem determined to keep between you and him.

the next time you go to one of wakatoshi's games, he's got tickets too, his seat right next to yours, and spends the match with his arm slung over the back of your seat, playing with your hair and asking whether you let your boyfriend cum inside you before the game started. y'know, for good luck.

it's too much. you've tried to talk to ushijima about it but you might as well be talking to a brick wall. in the end, you make a choice.

you like ushijima, you even think there might've been a future there, but if being with him means letting yourself be subjected to tendou's friendliness, then it's not worth it.

when you explain this to him, however, trying to break it gently, you see an odd stoniness cross over his features. the hand enveloping yours tightens for a beat, bordering on painful, before he exhales. 'you want to break up with me?'

swallowing, you nod. it's not what you want, really, but you're not going to keep putting yourself in this position. you're not going to be uncomfortable in your own relationship – and you're not going to have a third party involved at all.

'yeah.'

he breathes in, a muscle in his jaw ticking, and when he speaks, when he looks at you with dark, flinty eyes, there's nothing but iron determination, 'no.'

#rhi answers #hoo this one got away from me #it was gonna be two sentences i swear

298 notes · View notes

watercloud7 · 2 months

Text

BATFAM PROMPT:

Feral Talon Dad Bruce Wayne AU

The bat kids are raised by a Cryptid zombie horror murder man who loves them very very much❤️

Bruce is sent to kill the Graysons by the court of Owls and kidnap their child to make him a Talon.

Dick witnesses the whole thing but because he’s so young in this AU like basically a toddler he’s terrified and when Bruce picks him up to take him back to the Owls Dick snuggles into him and sobs and screeches and he’s angry and confused and scared and tiny but This massive murder monster who killed his parents is the only comfort he has.

Dick is alone and he has no one. No one is coming to save him, no one is coming for him , his mama and daddy are gone and the only thing left is …. Whatever the hell this cryptid horror zombie is.

So Dick, takes his comfort where he can, which today comes in form of zombi does Bruce Wayne and that’s what it takes i guess.

Bruce breaks out of conditioning and vanishes into thin air with the kid. Only he doesn’t go back to the court.

Maybe this Bruce takes baby Grayson away and raises him as a feral murder baby.

They live secluded and away from anyone and anything. Maybe the mountains in Nanda parbat. They’re so discreet and good the league of assassins doesn’t even know their mountains are technically compromised.

Bruce raises Dick in complete secrecy. Literally like a wild child, Bruce occasionally travels to the town over to bring back toys and books and whatever he finds that he thinks would make Dick happy.

Dick sees and longs for peoples and connections and more. He loves Bruce but Bruce is basically like Ariel’s dad WORSE he’s basically mother gothel, he’s seen so many horrors and he’s so paranoid. He just wants his son to stay alive and away from any harm.

keeping Dixk locked away and safe from the Owls that mean him horrific torture and agony. Safe from the world, Safe with Daddy😭❤️.

SIGN LANGUAGE ENTHUSIAST BATFAM HEADCANON.

Bruce’s voice is … zombified and uncomfortable to use, so he teaches himself sign language and then teaches Dick. They invent their own dialect. Just for them😭

Dick gets big enough to want to see the world, to understand what happened, to find himself outside of his adopted eldritch Dad, and MAYBE! Make a damn friend like he’s been seeing in those picture books Bruce brings for him every week.

He “runs away” in a fit of teenage rebellion or whatever you wanna call it, after Dick gets caught sneaking into a village a couple kilometres from their Cosy little cave they like to call home.

Bruce is furious and terrified and he’s everything a scared father is after finding your kid missing from their room when they were supposed to be home hours ago.

Dick explodes in frustration and tears and off he goes.

He goes back to the beginning. To Gotham.

A half deadly Half sunshine all Feral Dick Grayson is roaming the world all alone when he stumbles across a considerably less feral

Less deadly Jason Todd.

Jay is an orphan and this weirdly affectionate clueless terror of a guy just imprinted on him

and won’t leave him alone.

I mean Scary bird boy is a stage 5 dumbass, zero bark, Zero bite 100% cuddles kinda guy.

(Seriously this dude has no concept of personal space and it’s bordering on infuriating) but Jason is like 99.9% sure he just saw him down crime alley snapping the resident rapists necks.

The men that call girls avoided and the police did isn’t care to arrest, so clearly bird boy is not a bad guy but he’s definitely not Harmless either.

Jason likes his style though.

Maybe the court of owls tries going after Jason or tries to kidnap Dick again.

Bruce finds them in the nick of time and slaughters every single one of the Owls once and for all.

Shenanigans ensue and they all bond.

Love love love. Bruce literally adopts him the minute he sees him.

Bruce and Dick teach Jay sign language.

Jason teaches Bruce and Dick how to read.

Jason loves his feral dad and brother.

MAYBE! Tim parents were Owls.

The rich wealthy elites of Gotham succumb to their nefarious ways in an ironic and cathartic end, survived by their heir Timothy Jackson Drake. Who up until now they had been grooming into becoming the next Owl man, he’s been trained to kill and torture and every other bad guy skills he needs to be their evil little successor.🫡

Bruce gets rid of them though.

WOMP WOMP.

Maybe after killing Timmy’s parents Bruce is just like…

Bruce: awwwwww this reminds me of how Dick’s surprise adoption went!

Tim:…. Bro you can’t just murder my parents and call this a surprise adoption.

Bruce: we can call this a kidnapping if you wanna keep it 💯 but either way you’re coming home with me

Tim: …. I ain’t even like em like that fr. Let me just pack a bag real quick.

The Drakes parenting was abhorrent so after Bruce kidnaps him ,Tim is viciously violent at first but after Bruce shows Tim patience and kindness.

Tim develops Stockholm syndrome like instantly and just latches onto Bruce like it’s the first instance of true love and care he’s ever felt.

Jason is actually the most normal and well

adjusted out of his Psychotic family. Ironically he’s the only one out of all of them that hasn’t killed someone lol.

Tim latches on violently to Dick & Jason, it’s adorable and scary and very creepy in a wholesome way. Tim absorbs any kind of attention like a sponge and has separation anxiety. He likes to watch them sleep and follow them every where they go like a puppy, only he does it in the shadows and takes candid pictures of them he collects religiously.

He’s a complete weirdo.

Dick finds him Absolutely delightful, he wants to gobble him all up and cuddle at every opportunity, he enables all Of his bad habits and Jason does his best to damage control and encourage Tim to dabble in more healthy hobbies and ways of showing affection but ultimately Dick Grayson remains undefeated as a bad influence.

Dick is a good big brother, so obviously he’s gotta participate in his baby brothers love language so Timmy can feel seen and appreciated.

So now Jason has TWO stalkers shadowing him everywhere he goes. 3 when Bruce is feeling sentimental.

Jason tolerates his families psychotic and feral behaviour because he loves them more then life itself and if anyone else said anything like that about them he’d snap their necks.

Jason shows his affection in normal ways like beating up peoples trying to start a fight with his brothers and cooking for them because they can’t cook to save their lives.

Sometimes Jason will wonder on how exactly Dixk survived all those years in that cave with an immortal Bruce who doesn’t need to eat.

(Bruce would catch wild animals and Dixk

Would eat the meat raw, sometimes he’d hold his blood soaked hand full of flesh out wanting to share with dad, but Bruce would just drag Dick closer to him and nudge him to keep eating his dinner)

Jason feels bad and bakes him sugary monstrosities included but not limited too:

Oreo chocolate chip maple soaked marshmallow pancakes.

Sour candy lucky charm jam filled donuts.

Triple Chocolate Nutella and peanut butter Reese cookies.

Jason is appropriately horrified at what he’s created every time.

But Dick tasted sugar for the first time and doesn’t know how to act.

The kids are living their best lives but Bruce Is SPIRALLING.

The more kids Bruce acquires the more stressed he gets.

There’s a really angsty scene where Bruce breaks down holding onto his kids and crying. He’s not a monster, he just wants these kids to be safe. He doesn’t wanna kill anymore, he doesn’t wanna hurt things anymore.

He wants to go home with his babies.

He wants to take all of them back to their busted creepy cave in nanda parbat.

But Dickie Isn’t a baby anymore, he wants his family close but he also wants MORE, he wants to be around people he wants to discover the world. Jason was born and raised in Gotham and Bruce can’t in good conscience rip his life apart like that.

And then there’s Timmy. Honestly the Tim is this AU is an unhinged obsessive gremlin, he just goes wherever his family wants to go, nothing else really matters to him but them.

And so Bruce decides to stay in Gotham and hides them all in an abandoned building. It’s kind of like a nest.

Bruce stashes his babies in a Makeshift safe house until he can figure out a way to make all this work.

Maybe Alfred finds their weird little makeshift Family when he stumbles into their safe house and manages not to get immediately killed.

Alfred is VERY worried about the state in which these kids are living.

He vows to lure them and their Dad to a safer better living arrangement.

Maybe Bruce gets severely hurt and the kids kidnap Alfred to patch Bruce up.

Alfred is appropriately horrified at the undead creature growling and hissing while he treats their mortally terminal wounds, but keeps as much composure as an ex-military general would about it.

Bruce like totally imprints on Alfred And like a cat, he drags each and every one of his kids into Alfred life for him to babysit and look after while Bruce goes out to do whatever zombie dads do.

Alfred has no choice in the matter and has effectively acquired spontaneous grandkids and a son.

Bruce: daddy?

Alfred: …. Boy do I look like-⁉️

They move in with Alfred basically over night.

Damian is either created Through the league of assassins who stole the courts strongest talon’s DNA (Bruce’s DNA) to recreate it. Or any other way I guess I donno? Maybe Talia and Bruce got jiggy with It at one point when they were in those mountains. PFFFF LOL GIVE ME IDEAS.

Gonna run with the first idea ?

Damian is created in a lab, Maybe the Drakes latest project was too recreate their greatest success which had been Talon!Bruce.

Tim revisits his parents lab randomly and discovers this. An abandoned lab and abandoned cryogenic chamber containing a baby.

Tim grabs the kids and runs back home.

Jason is exasperated and Alfred panics a bit cause…. Huh?!?!

Jason: Seriously guys? We can’t afford Another surprise adoption right now.

Alfred: do you mean a “kidnapping”

Jason: don’t be mean! It’s their love language 😡

Alfred: wonderful… is it safe to assume I’ll be raising yet another grandchild?

Jason: that’s the spirit, anyway we gotta find a much bigger apartment than this, it’s getting crowded.

Alfred: Ah, my sincerest apologies for the inconvenience caused by my oversight. It seems I should have anticipated my being abducted by a feral street urchin and his entourage of lethal pets. Quite the oversight on my part, I’ll begin apartment hunting right away sir.

Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian: *living their best life while Alfred tries to wrangle them out of shenanigans*

Anyways They take Damian in and he’s just as feral and eldritch horror as his daddy. He’s got his big brother’s trademark behaviours too!

Tim’s severely anti social mess , Dick’s creepy uncanny valley nature and Jason’s love for baking!

It’s so sweet how much he takes after his sibling and Bruce couldn’t be more proud of his litter of horror.

Alfred is honestly such a trooper through all this, salute the GOAT.

I wrote this on a whim! If y’all wanna hear more about this AU, if you want it written, let me know!

162 notes · View notes