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trashogram · 3 months

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He Chose You (Pt.1)

Lucifer/Reader

Hazbin Hotel AU where Lilith never existed, Lucifer has been lonely for over a millennia and Charlie will be born one way or another. Rated E for explicit sexual content of the raunchiest variety in later chapters and also weird old people.

There was a knock at your door. It sounded like someone rapping their knuckles against the wood whimsically, as if following the beat of a song you couldn’t hear.

The methodical folding of your clothes into garage sale-quality drawers came to a halt. You looked over your shoulder, shifting on your feet hesitantly.

It had been little over a week since you moved into the grand old Donner apartment. Apart from a quick tow-in of shoddy furniture from your hired movers, no one had come calling.

You definitely weren’t expecting anyone either, not in a brand new city you’d spontaneously decided to live in.

After another moment of uncertainty, you pivoted to the door and inched it open to a slit you could peek through. “Hello?”

Your brow furrowed as you stared at the empty space ahead of you. Pulling the door open fully, you peered down one end of the hallway to the other.

Nothing but cracked and crumbling crown moldings on wainscoting, a matted-looking saxony carpet, the same musty, stale air…

‘Quack’

You nearly jumped out of your skin, head snapping down to see a real, live duck standing just outside your doorframe.

“Oh!”

You immediately squatted down to marvel at the animal. It gazed back up at you with beady red eyes and a curious gait.

“Hey little guy,” You cooed, smiling despite the incongruous image of a waterfowl in your building.

You raised a hand and reached out slowly, instinctive desire to pet the cute little creature warring with a minuscule yet no less embarrassing fear.

Were ducks typically friendly? You knew so little, ornithology not being your thing.

“Will you let me pet you?” Your fingers hovered over the surprisingly patient animal before it decided to nudge itself under your palm.

The duck shivered with delight at your touch, all-white feathers ruffling excitedly and tail wagging, looking akin to a very happy dog.

“Oh my god.” You gasped, heart melting. “You’re so cute!”

Soft feathers brushed against your bent knees as the duck drew close enough to rub its body against you. It had gone from doggish to cat-like effortlessly, and you couldn’t help giggling over how silly it looked.

“Where did you come from?” You asked after a bit of cuddling, glancing from side to side once again. The hallway remained empty, no one running to fetch what you assumed was a beloved pet.

‘That’s… weird.’ You thought. ‘So, who knocked on my door?’

It was tempting to ask the bird that was currently bouncing on its webbed feet. You couldn’t help but snort with laughter before positioning yourself so that you were sitting. In an instant, the duck made to climb into your lap, allowing you to carefully lift it onto your legs when it couldn’t reach.

“You’re so silly!” Grinning, you continued to stroke its head. “Your owner is probably worried sick about their silly little guy.”

‘Quack’

The duck burrowed its head against your stomach as it settled on your lap, and you sighed. “I’d love to keep you, but I don’t know how to take care of you, sweetie.”

Little red eyes bore into you from below, seemingly wide and beseeching. It was too precious, and too perfect (to the point where you idly wondered if someone was somehow scouting a way to scam you via adorable duck shenanigans).

Aside from the guttural, sad ‘wek’ you got in reply, a slow creak of hinges drew your attention back up. The door across from you had visibly opened the barest amount. You squinted, just able to make out frizzy red hair and a red-rimmed, down-turned mouth in the dim lighting.

“Oh hey, hi!” You stopped yourself from standing, instead of bracing the bundle in your lap close. “Is this your duck?”

A tingle went up your spine as the door opened fully and an old woman appeared. She was dressed in green capri pants and a ruffled tan blouse, hair red as an open flame and barely kept in-check by a cheetah-print scarf. The makeup she wore was caked on, harsh red lipstick smeared around her thin lips and black kohl-rimmed eyes popping out of her wrinkled face.

The sour, almost suspicious look on her face softened but did not completely go away, even when she smiled.

“Oh Lou!” She cried, making you jump. “You didn’t get very far, did you? I almost didn’t notice you were gone, you little scoundrel!”

“Well, thank goodness for that I guess. He’s got those little legs, ya see,” She nodded down at your lap, “but he’s so darn fast anyway, might as well be a midget racehorse!”

You chuckled and smiled politely. That persistent tingling at your back had you holding back a shiver, and the skin on your arms prickled and rose.

“I didn’t know we could have pet ducks in this building.” Your words belied a confidence, as well as interest in having a conversation with this woman, that you didn’t truly have.

As a matter of fact, despite the inner scolding you gave yourself for being judgmental, you were quite off-put in the woman’s presence. The want to return to your apartment and shut the door in her overly-painted face was rising like a lump in your throat.

“He seems to really like you, that’s so sweet. He’s not usually this friendly with anyone but my hubby. That’s Mr. Farrow, honey, have you met him?” The woman - presumably Mrs, Farrow, leaned down just a few feet away.

She still looked to be examining you and your avian companion, the bland pleasantness oozing yet unable to suffocate the shrewd glint in her dark eyes.

“Oh, uh, no. I’m afraid I haven’t -” You started.

“Oh, that’s alright! That’s fine! Matter of fact, he’d get an earful from me if he was talkin’ to a pretty thing like you without me knowin’!” Mrs. Farrow laughed. “Just kiddin’, honey. You’re new to the building though, aren’t you? Well, welcome! It’s nice to see a new face here! ‘Specially a young one!”

“Thank —”

“Maybe that’s why Lou is so taken with you! Animals just thrive off energy and sunshine and all that. Not slow, almost dead things. I’m sure you’re birds of a feather that way.”

Again, your soft laughter is polite, teetering on nervousness.

You took a moment to rise, humming apologetically when Lou squawked as he was jostled. On your feet, you instinctively stepped back. One foot over the threshold and solid in your apartment.

“He is really sweet.” You said, holding the animal out as carefully as you could. “I’m glad he didn’t get lost.”

Mrs. Farrow stared, arms falling to her sides. She didn’t attempt to take the bird from you for a long, long moment.

Confusion and disbelief clouded your mind as you stood, waiting, watching as Mrs. Farrow’s throat bobbed when she swallowed forcefully.

What? Was she afraid of the duck?

In a split-second, she returned to smiling animatedly and waved a geriatric hand in the air so flippantly that the uncomfortable moment ceased to exist.

“Oh honey, you can put him down if you want. He’ll come back over now that our door’s open.” Mrs. Farrow laughed. “Lou’s not my biggest fan. He’s such a prideful thing, you know. Just like Mr. Farrow - it’s probably why they get along so well!”

You blinked, then slowly bent at the waist to let Lou down. The duck made another disdainful quack, red eyes looking at you morosely.

It’s little legs eventually rowed through the air in an effort to gain footing. You lightly placed him over the carpet and let go, allowing Lou to jump down.

The duck began waddling away, though it appeared to hang its head as it did so. Occasionally, he turned to look at you, somber and sullen as if bidding farewell before walking on death row.

“Aww, poor little thing.” Mrs. Farrow drawled. At your side. “Looks like my Lou is sweet on you! Poor guy, I can see why! Again, a lovely young thing like you is probably a gift from above in this stuffy old place.”

“Say, how long have you been here?”

You turned to the old woman. “About a week, I’m still getting settled.”

Mrs. Farrow nodded vigorously, eyes bright but mouth pursed. “A week, a week?! A week and no one’s introduced themselves to you?”

“Holy Toledo, you must think we’re all a bunch a’ snobs in here! That’s no good. Oh! Why don’t you come over for dinner sometime and me and my mister can show you some proper hospitality?”

“Oh, that's really nice of you —”

“Sure! Sure! It’ll be great, how ‘bout tomorrow night? It’d give us some time to get prepared, have things cleaned and settled. Do you like steak? That’d be perfect, actually. I’ve got some in the freezer just waitin’ to be defrosted.”

“Um, well — That’s a little short notice…”

“I’m sure Mr. Farrow won’t mind. He’ll be glad for the company, and if he isn’t, well he will be when I’m done with him.” She chortled. “Just another joke, honey. He’s always dyin’ to talk to someone that isn’t me. It’d be a real treat to him. Treat ta me too! What do you say?”

Your mouth opened and closed as a light sheen of sweat broke over the nape of your neck. Mrs. Farrow’s sharp eyes were wider, attempting to beguile you while your head was still spinning.

“I-I guess, maybe —” You stammered.

“Wonderful!” The eccentric woman’s eyes lit up like fireworks, cigarette-smoker’s voice becoming truly raucous in her delight. “I’ll go ahead and get started. You go get back to what it was you were doing before Lou and I interrupted you! And don’t worry about a thing! We might be old timers, but a good meal and good cheer never go out of style.”

Mrs. Farrow laughed, pretending to shoo you away until you were back inside your apartment and she was pulling your door to a close for you.

“Have a good night, honey! We’ll see you tomorrow! 6 o’clock, don’t be late!”

Before you knew it, you were staring at the back of your own door again.

‘What the fuck just happened?’

#hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel

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yuwuta · 1 month

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JUST KEEP LOVING ME THE WAY I LOVE YOU LOVING ME — SATORU GOJO

pairings. satoru gojo/reader

content, warnings. non-curse au, doctor au (reader), ceo au (satoru), no real content warnings, fluff, satoru is nothing but a romantic at heart

word count. 3k

notes. this exists in the post-completion au of a larger universe/incomplete fic of mine, that i will hopefully finish someday lololol but this is way easier to write than that so here you go 🥳

“There are four chairs worth a collective seventy-five hundred dollars in this office, so, pray, tell, why is your ass on my desk?”

Satoru grins at your words, too distracted by taking in the sight of you to take into consideration the underlying threat. It’s been far too long, almost three whole days since he’s last seen you and, god, you look good. He knows if he said that you’d roll your eyes and insist that there’s nothing good-looking about your worn-in business attire and lab coat that was in desperate need of laundering, but it wouldn’t change his opinion: you always look good, and Satoru really fucking missed you.

Which is why he doesn’t say the words, but makes sure to throw a deceivingly charming wink your way so that you get the message anyway. As expected, you still roll your eyes, but he doesn’t mind; you look good doing that, too.

“Seriously, Satoru, what are you doing here?” you question, closing the door behind you when you fully step into the room. You make pace towards your desk, attempting to get to the other side, but this is exactly why Satoru chose to lean against it instead of sitting on any one of your very expensive and comfortable chairs—because this way, he’s in the perfect position to intercept your path and pull you to fit neatly between his legs before you can even think about reaching your office chair and ignoring him.

He pulls you by the loop of your lab coat, but his hands quickly find their way to your shoulders, unpeeling the white layer just enough so that your blouse is exposed to him, and he can slowly rub his palms against your arms and shoulders with just enough pressure to hopefully release some tension. You won’t let go of all of it, but that’s alright, because Satoru’s got other methods for taking care of you.

“Hi,” he calls, smiling gently down at you, “I missed you.”

This close, Satoru can see the exhaustion clearly in your eyes. There’s more, too: frustration, guilt, worry—and it takes everything in him not to coo and pull you into his chest and do his best to shield you from the world forever.

There’s a beat before you speak, a small sigh, that’s quickly painted over with a tired smile and a remorseful, “I missed you, too. I’m sorry for being so short, the interim chief has been getting on my last nerves, and—”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Satoru cuts in, leaning forward to press a reassuring kiss to your forehead. He likes that he can feel you relax under his touch. “I know you’re busy. I just missed you.”

It’s not easy to share you with anything or anyone, but Satoru knows that even on the hardest days, you love your job, and that so many people need your brilliant mind. What he does mind is when people make your job harder than it needs to be, and he’s been getting an earful about this new interim chief from just about everybody—you, Kento, Yuuji, Ieiri, even some of your favorite scrub nurses have indulged him in the gossip about the newest common enemy—and he doesn’t appreciate that someone is putting extra stress on his baby. So, even if it is a makeshift massage in your office and distracting you from your paperwork, Satoru will do what he can to help you relieve tension.

You reach your arms to wrap them around his shoulders, taking a half step closer to him, peering up at him. Satoru loves when your arms are around his neck like this; he can’t quite pinpoint why—maybe it’s the way you have to crane your neck to look up at him, the way you’re perfectly nestled under his view, the feeling of being wrapped in you. He does his best to close the loop of your intimacy, resting his hands on the small of your back and pulling you impossibly closer and pressing a kiss to your forehead. He likes that he can feel you relax into his touch.

“You’re sweet,” you smile, rubbing your thumb against the shorter hairs at the back of his head. Satoru feels himself melt into you, too. It’s been too long since you’ve been this close, three whole days too long. “Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for, baby,” he smiles, stealing a gentle kiss. Satoru loves this the most, loves the feeling of your lips on his—and it’s definitely been too long since he’s kissed you, so he makes sure to do it again, and once more after that for good measure.

But it’s not enough. He’ll have to take you home, sit you on the couch so he can kiss you all night and make up for the lack of kisses and touches and youness he’s been deprived of these past few days. But first, he’ll have to pull you away from your work, and that’s not easy work.

“Come home,” he muses, leaning his forehead against yours, “We can order in, and share your favorite bottle of wine, and watch a movie.”

You lean up to kiss him briefly. “Every time we share a bottle of wine, we end up making out and not watching anything.”

“Do we?” Satoru feigns innocence, “I never noticed. Doesn’t sound like a bad idea, though.”

“Satoru,” you whisper, quiet but firm, with a smile that lets him know you want to, but you can’t. It’s a tone that Satoru knows all too well, and isn’t particularly fond of. “I have charts to finish.”

“Finish them tomorrow,” he steals another kiss, “Or pawn them off on Kento,” another kiss, “Or Yuuji. Residents always need more experience—isn’t that what you and Ieiri always say?”

You let him kiss you again, and again, and again. Each time a little longer, a little warmer, a little less innocent than the last, growing from a little, to a lot, to all-consuming. Satoru hums when he feels your nails raking through his hair; an unfortunate move, as the sound pulls you back to reality and away from him in a decrescendo of kisses.

“You’re really good at that,” you laugh, voice soft.

“At kissing?” Satoru dips his head down to taste your laughter against his lips, “Thanks, I’ve had a lot of practice with a very pretty girl.”

“No,” and you’re laughing again, louder this time, and Satoru counts every little giggle as a victory, “You’re good at... seducing me without saying you’re seducing me.”

“Oh, that?” he grins, tucking his pointer and index finger under your chin to meet you in a knowing kiss, “Yeah, that’s a talent of mine, too.”

You let him steal one more, and Satoru doesn’t take it for granted. “Come home,” he whispers against your lips before slotting them in yet another kiss, “I miss you.”

And he can feel it when you finally break, sighing into the kiss, and melting into his touch completely. One more, he just needs one more kiss to seal the deal, and then—“Fine,” you concede, “But I get to choose where to get dinner from.”

“Of course, sweets, whatever you want,” Satoru grins, pulling back to kiss your forehead again, “Now—shall we? If we order in the car, we can probably pick it up on our way home.”

He’s in the home stretch now, but he’s not completely free: if you catch a glimpse of your work, or someone comes in to find you, or your godforsaken pager beeps then all of his plans could come crumbling down before him. The key to transitioning from the “you’ve agreed to come home with him early stage”—if you can count 9:45pm, coming off of a 17-hour work day as early—to the “we are actually leaving this hospital and nobody can stop us phase” is swiftness. This time period is critical, and Satoru is ready for the sprint.

He shimmies your lab coat all the way off of your body for you, checking for the weight of your pager in your right pocket, before hanging it on the back of your chair. He shoos you to grab your coat, and makes sure you don’t get within three feet of this side of your desk—taking your purse out of your locked drawer and closing an open file folder in the time it takes you to slip out of your heels and into your sneakers, and by the time you’re turning back around, Satoru is already there next to you, with your purse in one hand, and his other hovering on the light switch.

He makes sure you’re out the door first, and flickers off the light with a satisfied grin. His baby was coming home early with him, and there is nothing else he’d rather do than spend time pampering you.

You must truly be more tired than you know, because you make no protest when he slings an arm over your shoulder on your way out of the elevator. Usually, you chastise him for any PDA within hospital walls, but tonight you let it be, even leaning some of your body weight against his as you walk. Satoru’s not complaining at all, maybe he’ll try his luck and sneak a kiss on your cheek.

He decides to go for it, leaning over for a kiss, when you suddenly pull away, turning and patting against your side. Confused, and disappointed, Satoru pouts, “We’ve really got to work on this fear of affection you’ve got going on, sweets. It’s the leading cause of makesatorupout-itis.”

“We’ve been over this—you can’t just add “itis” to the end of your words to make them diagnostic,” you giggle, “I was looking for my keys.”

Satoru’s frown deepens. “You have the fancy reserved doctor parking space, they can’t tow you. So, we can take my car home.”

“No, we cannot, because I do not trust you to wake up and drive me back tomorrow morning.”

“Then I’ll get you a cab in the morning, or—even better, I’ll call Ichiji to pick you up.”

“Ichiji is still in Paris,” you remind him. Satoru purses his lips. He did ask Ichiji to stay with Megumi. Damn it.

“I have other cars, you can drive one of them in the morning.”

“And park it where?”

“In your fancy reserved doctor parking—oh, okay I see the flaw there,” Satoru pulls back. You find amusement in his disappointment, but he doesn’t think there’s anything funny here.

He shakes his head. He should have taken a cab from his office, but this is okay, a minor setback, nothing he can’t think around. “New plan: we take your car, and I’ll come by to get mine tomorrow. Easy peasy.”

“Yours will be towed by then.”

“That’s fine,” Satoru shrugs, “I can afford a tow fee.”

“Satoru,” you call, reaching your free hand up to place your palm against his cheek, “We both drive home. It’ll be thirty minutes, tops. Forty if there’s traffic, but if you stop pouting and we leave now, we should be fine.”

Satoru sighs. He knows that’s the most reasonable plan of action, but the simple truth is that he doesn’t want to be away from you right now, even to go the short distance home. He’s already spent the last few days without you, and even though this is calling it in early for you, he only gets maybe four hours awake with you before you’re off again. Thinking about that makes him miss you again already. Pathetic, maybe, but he doesn’t care.

“Oh, Dr. (_____), hey!” Yuuji’s voice is an easily distinguishable interruption to your petty argument, and Satoru’s sulking, “Perfect timing—I’m glad I caught you before you left. Is it okay if I ask you to sign something before you go?”

You easily warm up to the younger boy and agree, fondly making conversation with Yuuji as he scrolls through some documents on his tablet. And just as you’ve finished scribbling your signature along the screen, Satoru has a bright idea.

“Hey, Yuuji, you can drive right?” Satoru questions rhetorically, already reaching for his wallet and car keys, “Great! Here’s two grand, it’s all yours if you drive this car home tonight.” Satoru smiles widely, shoving his keys and some cash into the pocket of Yuuji’s white coat.

“What—really? Awesome! But, why—”

Satoru dismisses his disbelief with a wave of his hand. He steps a bit closer to Yuuji, just enough to lean into his ear and tuck a couple more bills into his pocket, “And between you and me, that’s an extra three grand if you finish up a couple of charts for my lady so she can sleep in tomorrow. Not a bad deal, right?”

“Sure, no problem!” Yuuji salutes, “I’d do anything for Dr. Almost-Gojo. Plus, if I’m busy working for her, then I don’t have to babysit cells in a dish for Dr. Gakuganji.”

“Atta boy,” Satoru ruffles his hair, “Catch you later, Yuuji, I’ve got a hot date to get to. And tell Nanamin I say hello!”

You elbow Satoru shallowly, a silent warning to keep his voice down, and a verbal chastising of, “It’s Dr. Itadori and Dr. Nanamin to you.”

“More like Dr. Nanameanie,” Satoru laments, resuming the position of his arm around your shoulder, “I’ve left him six calls this week! He’s so cruel—he knows I have to leave next week and he’s depriving me of one on one time. I think I’m gonna have to sneak into his office at lunch tomorrow and confront him.”

Despite his crass words and dramatics, you laugh, and so, Satoru smiles. He finally gets that cheek kiss right as you two reach your car, bending down to plant one for you at the same time he steals your keys from your hand and banishes you to the passenger seat. He’s not much of a driver himself, despite his excess amount of cars, but you’re his baby and you deserve to be driven around no matter the case, but especially when you’ve spent all day taking care of other people.

Plus, on days like this, if he’s real careful and smooth, you fall asleep in the car and he gets to carry you inside. He makes that his goal for the next thirty minutes, and he succeeds in twenty, confirmed by your soft snores just as he pulls into the curbside pick-up spot of your favorite restaurant. He retrieves the take-out as quietly as possible, before making the rest of the journey home, taking the time to glance over at you during red lights.

Satoru loves the way you look when you’re asleep, loves to see you well-rested, but something even more dear to him than that is a fact that Nanami let slip in the aftermath of a dinner party he’d hosted about a year after you two had started dating: “She never sleeps outside of her bed, for as long as I’ve known her,” he muses, nodding to your sleeping figure on Satoru’s couch, “Not even in the on-call rooms during our 72 hour shifts. She must... she must really trust you, Satoru.”

(He also recalls the awfully strong grip on his shoulder and subsequent shovel talk Kento gave him a moment later. Not that Satoru ever had anything but pure intentions with you, but the threat of breaking Kento’s best friend’s heart was more than enough to keep his commitments in check).

Satoru peers at you fondly in his arms, held bridal style with the takeout in the grip of a pinky finger, glancing up only to nod and thank his doorman for pushing the penthouse button for him. Satoru prides himself on many things, but the one thing he always holds in his highest regards is you: call him cocky, but he thinks he’s quite good at caring for you, that there’s nobody else fit to look after you the way that he can; and knowing that you feel safe in his arms is the highest honor he could achieve in this life.

He sets you carefully on the couch once he steps inside the apartment, and places the food on the coffee table. He debates whether or not he should wake you up now; he hates to, but he knows you need to eat, and, selfishly, he wants to cash in on those few hours he has with you to hear your voice.

He’ll dish out the food first, and then wake you up to eat, he decides. He leans down to kiss the crown of your head, eyes flicking to your face, and pausing at your neck, where your engagement ring rests crookedly against your skin. You must have had an emergency surgery today, he thinks; your schedule for today was originally just to round on post-op patients and attend some meetings, but you knot the ring into your chain when you have to scrub into the operating room.

Carefully, Satoru reaches to undo it from the chain, and slips it back onto your ring finger. It looks pretty against your skin when it’s around your neck, but personally, he thinks it looks best this way, the sparkle of the aquamarine against the halo of diamonds fits perfectly across the width of your finger, just the way he had it made to be.

Satoru bends down even further to kiss the back of your hand, before laying it to rest on your stomach. He might need to bribe Yuuji to take care of some more work for you, you two really should get a move on that wedding planning, and you’re going to need at least a week off to fly and visit his grandma’s pastry shop in Osaka for cake tasting.

He smiles at the thought. He doesn’t feel so bad about waking you up now—wedding talk seems like the perfect way to end the evening if you ask him; there would be no sweeter sound than hearing how you imagine the start of the rest of your lives to be.

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runninriot · 4 months

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...✍️

“I want that too, y’know. The touching and kissing, everything. But the problem is, that I- I want all that from someone I can’t have. And that sucks.” Steve chuckles bitterly.

Isn’t that funny? That there he is, the wonderful man that stole Eddie’s heart, being just as miserable, just as heartbroken as Eddie is. It’s hysterical, really. Eddie wants to laugh, wants to ask who Steve is talking about. Finds it impossible to think there could be a single person in this world that would pass on the opportunity to be with Steve in all the ways Eddie would kill for.

“Guess that makes two of us,” Eddie confesses and Steve perks up at his words, opens and closes his mouth as if he, too, doesn’t know if it’s okay to dig deeper.

There’s a sadness in his eyes Eddie thinks must mirror his own; two sets of brown eyes searching for comfort in each other. Eddie feels so small, so angry for Steve and himself because love could be such a beautiful thing but isn’t when the rhythm of your heart doesn’t match the one it’s beating for. When love is a one way road with no exists.

“What do you mean?” Steve asks but Eddie just shakes his head and smiles weakly, trying to take some of the heaviness away for both their sakes.

People don’t choose to fall in love, it just happens. And when it does, there is always a fifty-fifty chance that your love is requited. That the person you fell for likes you in the same way, wants you just like you want them.

Sadly, Eddie has yet to be one of the lucky ones to experience that. The real thing. And while they are still staring at each other, each wallowing in their own sorrow because being in love hurts – he realises that this is so much more than a stupid crush. That this goes deeper than anything he’s ever felt before. That maybe for the first time in his 25 years on earth he understands what true love feels like. Feels the crushing weight of it. Knows it won’t fade so easily. But-

“You’ll always have me.”

He can pretend. He can be Steve’s friend even if it hurts. Eddie would rather pull his own heart out than not to have Steve in his life. He’d rather be Steve’s friend than nothing at all.

“What?” Steve seems confused at his statement and Eddie can’t blame him.

“I’m sorry you can’t have who you want but you’ll always have me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I mean it, Steve. No matter what, you’ll always have me. It might not be enough for you and I get that. But for me, this is everything I need even if I can’t have all I want. You wanna know why I came home so early? Because when you texted me, I realised that I don’t need to be anywhere else, with anyone else.”

I just wanna be here. With you.

Eddie bites his tongue to stop himself from saying more, knows he’s already said too much. Probably shouldn’t have said any of it.

The confusion in Steve’s eyes turns into something else – anger maybe? Frustration? He pulls away from Eddie, jumps up off the sofa and walks a few steps back.

“You- you can’t just say things like that, Eddie.”

Eddie hates that there is so much space between them, so he stands too, approaches Steve like he would a scared animal, taking slow steps to close the distance between them.

“I can’t say the truth?” He doesn’t think about his own words, just lets his emotions take over his brain and mouth, doesn’t care about the consequences.

“N-no! You can’t just say it like it means more than what you’re actually saying. You’re doing this enigmatic bullshit I never understand because I’m too dumb to read between the lines!”

That causes Eddie to freeze on the spot. He’s only inches away from Steve now, could lift his arms easily to reach out for him. But Steve’s words stop him.

He’s right, isn’t he? Eddie does that a lot. Says only half of what he means or says one thing and means another entirely. He just never realised Steve knew. That he can see right through him.

“You’re right,” he agrees.

Steve huffs annoyed, rubs his hands roughly over his face.

“Then tell me what you mean. What you really mean.”

It doesn’t matter now, does it? He already said too much anyway. Steve is already onto him, knows Eddie is playing a game of hide and seek with himself – hiding the truth and seeking for an easy way out. But it’s too late to try and turn this conversation around.

“What I mean is-“ Eddie takes a deep breath, summons all the courage he can find in himself. “It makes two of us because I feel that same way you do. Wanting someone I can’t have? Because you’re my friend, Steve. I can’t have you the way I want you and that’s fine. It hurts like hell but it’s fine. I can live with that. You’ll never be alone because you’ll always have me as a friend.”

Steve stares at him with eyes full of rage.

“But I don’t want you as a friend.”

Steve’s words hit him like a fist to the face. But before Eddie can let them sink in and start spiralling about the meaning behind them – Steve not wanting to be friends anymore because of Eddie’s confession, obviously – Steve closes the distance between them in one swift motion, grabs Eddie’s face on either side, looking at him with determination in his eyes.

“I want you as more than a friend, Eddie.”

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #idiot friends to lovers #wip

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science-lings · 10 months

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okay this has been going through my mind for days and I have to get my thoughts out before I explode

Disclaimer, this is not talking about a specific artist/person and would never condone or participate in anon hate or online bullying for any reason but especially this one.

I get why people are mad about Link being portrayed as this buff, hypermasculine, tall guy. I am too (again don’t fucking attack people over it though) and it seems like such an infuriating way to change the character just to fit into some ideal of hypermasculine attractiveness or to make a ship fall into a more hetero lense by making him a decent foot taller than whatever girl he’s being paired with.

The world of video games and action movies and every form of media ever is extremely saturated with male characters that are swole and manly and whatever other descriptors people are trying to push onto Link that don’t fit into his actual character. There are so many characters out there that already fit this male standard and having a clearly androgynous elf guy was like a breath of fresh air.

Link was literally designed to be a character whose lines on gender were blurred, ‘a girl with a masculine touch or a guy with a feminine touch’ so that anyone could project themselves onto him. His physical design in botw/totk was specifically made to be feminine enough to wear a certain outfit to pass as a woman (which includes a nearly mandatory cutscene where he puts on the clothes and blushes after being called pretty, like you have to be blind to think that its an experience that he doesn’t like at all) and in totk there are a bunch of outfits made for Link that are blatantly gnc, ones that are practically dresses, include nail polish and lipstick, you can even dye his hair bright and vivid colors and that’s half way to giving him new pronouns. The whole reason Linkle isn’t included in more mainline loz games was because her existence would force Link into a gender dichotomy, if there's a clearly female version of the main hero, that means the main hero has to be a man, and they would rather abandon a potential reoccurring character than make Link conform to a gender binary.

So pardon me when it feels disingenuous and even malicious for him to be morphed into these clear masculine ideals, where he towers over any female romantic partner (even when in canon he is regularly depicted as noticeably shorter than her) or even in m/m fanworks he’s really beefed up, perhaps to make the scene feel more gay or something.

Perhaps it’s because his more twink-y/ femboy body type is so heavily sexualized (though obviously when people are sculping abs on him it’s totally not because they’re horny about it) and that’s an issue in itself that bothers me. But it’s just so tiring to see one of the very few popular main characters who is short and feminine and androgynous be molded into just another bland muscle-headed action hero over and over and over again.

I’m not mad at the creators for portraying him differently than how I like him portrayed, I’m mad because we really do get so few characters like him in good popular media, and to be honest, I really like him the way that he is. I love that he’s tiny and has long hair and has the option to dress any way the player likes. It seems a little distasteful to make him taller than a female love interest just because that’s how straight couples have to be, there’s just never been a real straight couple where the guy is shorter than the girl, that’s just Impossible! (/s)

#i doubt anyone read this all i just needed to get it off my chest and this felt like the best place to do it #again i don't think it's a reason to bully or even just say mean things to people over their portrayal of link #but i get why it's so frustrating to people #like... link is lowkey a hero for trans guys who aren't tall and aren't ending up as masculine as they had hoped #but he's still exceptionally capable and he's still there to be an image for people who see themselves in him #idk this is just a rant #rant #zelink #loz #botw #totk

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blossom-hwa · 2 months

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the words I say, and the words I mean | h.k

pairing: Huening Kai x gender neutral!reader genre: fluff, a touch of angst, high school!au, childhood best friends to lovers!au warnings: cursing word count: 2.5k notes: this was originally a story for jay written for chip as a lovely birthday present, I've repurposed it for hyuka because I think he'd fit the lovely lovestruck trope just as well :) hope you enjoy! On a cool golden afternoon on the cusp of winter, Kai falls for you again.

Jay (Enhypen) Ver. | TXT Masterlist

At precisely five fifty-three on a Friday afternoon of a crisp fall-turning-winter day, Kai comes to this conclusion:

He says a lot of shit.

Which, in hindsight, any of his friends could have probably told him. Taehyun for certain—and Beomgyu too just by virtue of him being a paragon of evil or something. But there’s that whole saying about having to realize things about oneself by oneself, or whatever, because you’ll never listen to anyone else, not for real.

Or maybe there isn’t a saying. Maybe someone just told him that and he’s remembering it now.

Doesn’t matter. The point is, Kai walks into the coffee shop where you work at exactly five fifty-two pm on this wonderful Friday afternoon in the crisp intersection between fall and winter where the sun is beginning to set noticeably earlier but not so much so that it fucks up his entire brain, locks eyes with you behind the counter, and says:

“Hey, doofus.”

Which is certainly a substitute—if not a very good one—for what he says in his brain:

You look really beautiful in this lighting, and I kind of want to kiss you.

You roll your eyes and it’s still beautiful, somehow, in the golden afternoon sunlight spilling through the cafe window, and once again Kai is reminded of how hard he’s fallen for every single bit of you—the childhood best friend who lives next door, who’s seen him from his grubby little toddler days to his ratty pre-teen years to his ungodly mess of existence in this last year before college. You’ve seen everything about him, he’s seen everything about you, and if Kai hadn’t realized it before (a year ago, you fell asleep in the passenger seat as he was driving the two of you home from school and he got a slap of cold reality from God Herself when he looked over to see drool trickling down the side of your face and the first thing he thought was cute) he’d certainly realize it now, at five fifty-two pm on a Friday afternoon at the cusp of fall-turning-winter where the sunlight shines so warm on your half-annoyed, half-fond expression that Kai can proudly say is reserved solely for him.

But it’s kind of like a second realization of love, he guesses. Because apparently once wasn’t enough. And it comes in the form of him calling you a doofus when he just really wants to kiss you instead.

He really, really says a lot of shit. More specifically, a lot of shit he doesn’t mean. Mostly because you don’t know how he feels, and he’s too scared to ask if you might feel the same way.

“Good afternoon to you too, doofus,” you snip, sliding a cup of coffee across the counter. He hands you the exact amount for the drink like clockwork because it’s a routine at this point, and then, also in routine, he eyes it exaggeratedly.

“There’s no poison in this, is there?”

There it is. Again. There’s no poison in this, is there?

How about this instead:

Thanks for the drink, I really love you.

You roll your eyes again and he has to curb the smile on his face, in case it betrays the way his heart is pounding in his chest like it does a lot these days at the sight of you. “No, asshole,” you intone. “If I wanted to kill you, I’d make sure there was blood.”

“Aw, so you don’t want to kill me?”

I’d probably let you stab me for free.

“I’m waiting for the right time.” You snicker. “You know, Beomgyu already offered to help me hide the body.”

Kai would respond, and if he did he’d probably say something equally dumb that he didn’t really want to say because his heart keeps screaming for him to tell the truth of his emotions but his mind keeps telling it to shut the fuck up, but the door opens again with a little ring of bells and even though it’s now five fifty-four pm, six minutes from the end of your shift, six minutes are still six minutes and he’ll have to wait those six minutes to walk you home.

Your manager’s a bitch.

So he parks himself at a table, idly scrolling through his phone while sipping at the bitter Americano you gave him (perfect for keeping him somewhat awake for the late night studying that will definitely happen tonight), and also sneaking glances at you when he’s more or less certain you’re busy. He does good today, doesn’t manage to get caught staring even once before you disappear into the back, presumably to strip off your apron and clock out.

Soobin sends him about five cat pictures in the several minutes it takes for you to change. Kai giggles into his drink and hearts them all right before a shadow looms over his seated figure.

“What’re you laughing at?”

In response, he lifts his phone and watches a smile bloom across your face at the cat pictures. “They’re adorable,” you coo.

Kai’s brain reacts before his mouth does, which sucks because it only gives further proof to his realization earlier which he’d kinda hoped was a fluke but was pretty sure it wasn’t.

So are you.

He doesn’t say that, because he doesn’t have the guts. “Yeah, if only I could convince my parents to get one,” he pouts instead, pocketing the phone. “Let’s go home.”

The bells above the door chime merrily as the two of you walk out into the golden sunshine, a subtle warmth that curls even through the sharp bites of wind that nip at his nose and cheeks. When winter comes with its snow and ice, you’ll switch to taking the car home—him driving over to pick you up instead of walking in the snow—so he cherishes the walks for now, a bit of peace and calm in the silence of the neighborhood air.

Well, not exactly peace and calm. Because the two of you are best friends, and so you bicker, and most of that bickering gets pretty loud and your neighbors probably hate you both even if they haven’t said it out loud yet, but to Kai it feels peaceful anyway. Calming. A breath of fresh air, a moment in which he can forget about the stress of school and college applications and just focus on being here with you.

You’re telling him a story about work today, gesticulating wildly as you reenact some woman telling you that her drink wasn’t frothy enough, that she expected two full fucking inches of froth so you’d better shake it again or remake it. Kai laughs, and cackles, and commiserates when you say you’d like to hunt her down and put her six feet under, and all the time his heart feels like it’s blooming, blooming under not the sun itself but the light of your smile as you laugh with him.

Like a sunflower, he thinks. A sunflower, always chasing the sun across the sky.

Holy shit, Yeonjun’s poetry is rubbing off on him. This is terrible.

And then you laugh again, this brilliant sound that’s like a cross between a pig’s snort and wedding bells, and yeah. Okay. Whatever. Maybe Yeonjun’s poetry is fine. Because at least it’s getting things right.

“I never want to work in the food industry again,” you complain, shaking your head. Your scarf seems to be slipping around your neck and Kai’s fingers itch to rearrange it, but he keeps his hands to himself because you’ll notice it, right? You’ll notice the slipping scarf instead and then he won’t have to risk having you feel the tenderness in his fingers that isn’t supposed to be there because he’s only supposed to be your best friend, not someone who has a crush on you. “All the horror stories are so real.”

“Okay, but have you considered...” He pauses dramatically as you look at him, eyebrows raised. “Maybe you’re the problem.”

“Kai Kamal Huening—”

“If everything’s happening to you, I’m just saying, maybe there’s some correlation there—”

You punch him in the arm. Hard.

He wails.

“Oh my God, you fucking baby,” you hiss, all the while also holding your sides that are shaking with laughter as Kai flops to the ground, gripping his arm like you just attempted to cut it off. Good. Because he’s exaggerating, clearly, but only for your sake—so you can laugh. Just a bit. Enough to bring light back to your face that isn’t just from the sun.

“You punched me,” he whines, “and you’re calling me a baby?”

I’d let you punch me any day. And if I deserved it, I’d probably punch myself in the face, too. For you.

He’s going insane, he really fucking is, with the disconnect between the shit he says and the shit he wants to say. But the banter comes so easily, too easily—maybe that’s the reason why he can’t speak the words buried in his heart. Because it’s so much easier, so much simpler, to just pretend. To just bicker his way out of ever revealing anything to you.

“Oh my God, just shut up.” You haul him up and—holy shit, maybe he’s just some Victorian woman in disguise or whatever because he could swoon into your touch. He really could. But he doesn’t, because even to his dumbfuck lovesick heart, that’s overkill. “Come on, punch me. We’ll call it even.”

Kai stares at the arm you proffer to him, covered in the coat you’ve worn for several years at this point. He doesn’t know why, but for a moment, he can’t move. Can’t bring himself to.

Which is dumb as fuck. Because this is a thing you two have always done, jokingly hit each other at one point and when the other complains loud enough to cause a neighborhood ruckus, let them hit back to call it even. It started with your first fight as kids and it just...stayed. Until now. At this moment at sometime past six pm on a Friday evening, now, on a crisp fall-turning-winter day where wind has mostly carried away the coffee smell from your job and Kai is having a crisis about punching your arm.

But he has to do it. So—

He punches you.

Very softly.

Nothing at all like you punched him.

You blink. So does he.

“What the fuck was that, dude?” You narrow your eyes at him playfully, though something uncertain dances in your gaze. Alarm bells start ringing at full force in his brain—fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—“Are you going soft?”

He’s looking at you and you’re looking at him and a gust of wind blows the scarf around your neck and fuck you still haven’t noticed that it’s loose and he wants nothing more than to grab it and fix it so you won’t get too cold but he can’t, now, because he’s already revealed too much by not punching you the way you (and he!) expected and the uncertainty is still there in your expression and FUCK he needs to say something, he needs to say something—

No, it’s because I like you so much it hurts.

“No, it’s because you’re weak and you wouldn’t be able to handle a real punch.”

You screech and Kai screams and then you’re chasing him down the block, one fist held high as you yell something like I’ll give you a real fucking punch to whine about and even as he runs away from you he can hear the laughter in your voice even as you spout bloody murder and promises of revenge behind him, your screams blending with his gasping laughter as he stops, sides heaving with cackles, and you bowl him onto the cold sidewalk that still feels warm, somehow, warm with your giggles as you slap him in the shoulder, threats of violence still dripping from your lips—

“I give up,” he gasps, tears squeezing out of his eyes as he tries to stop laughing. “I give up.”

In other words:

I’ll let you win, always, because your happiness means everything to me.

You collapse to the ground beside him on the cold concrete, and there has never been anything more beautiful, Kai thinks, than the medley of your cackling laugh fading in the air and your expression scrunched in giggling happiness as you sit up to face him. “Good,” you sniff, eyes sparkling in the fading sunlight. “Glad you know your place.”

Kai watches you stand, then extend a hand to help him up. His eyes linger on that hand, the hand he held so much as a kid, the hand he stopped holding in middle school because it’s icky and we aren’t dating, the hand he’s wanted to hold for several years now and even more so since last year when he saw you drooling in the car and thought you were so, so cute. He reaches up, takes it, and in the moment where your palms are connected, his heart aches, aches so much for him to just say—

I love you.

But you let go of his hand, still smiling, so oblivious to the way his heart sags and cracks with the weight of those three words he can’t say as the warmth of your palm leaves his, and he knows—it isn’t meant to be, you loving someone as ratty and messy and damaged as he. You’re best friends. Nothing less, but certainly nothing more.

So he leaves the words in his overflowing heart, locks them away with a cold key made of the sudden absence of your hand’s warmth against his. “Come on,” he says instead, smiling the crooked smile that you always say makes him look like a stupid little rugrat on the streets. But he gets the patented Kai Kamal Huening smile on your face in return, annoyance and exasperation and fondness all mixed into an expression that nearly explodes the box where he keeps those three words, eight letters, carefully locked away, so it can’t be too bad. Not really. Not if it gets him the sunlight of your smile on your face.

Nothing’s so bad, really, not even the weight of all the words he means but can’t say, not when you smile at him like this under the shimmering golden sunlight of a fall-turning-winter evening, not when the two of you are alone in the street glowing warm with laughter, not when it feels like nothing in the world can tear the two of you apart. It’s enough, really. Having you here, and knowing you’ll always be here, even if it means keeping secrets locked carefully away in his heart.

“Come on,” he repeats, and his smile isn’t even that strained as he jerks his head towards the end of the street. “The sun’s setting. Let’s get home.”

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

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trans-eddie · 2 years

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Steve’s favorite color is yellow.

He’s given a lot of thought to his favorite color. It’s one of those things people always ask, from your very first interactions on the playground. When he was a child, it was easy; blue, because that was the normal color for boys.

When he got a little older, “normal” was no longer good enough. Tommy H told him that “normal” was boring, and didn’t stand out. If he wanted to become a Popular kid, he needed to stand out as much as he could.

Steve wanted to stand out. He wanted people to look at him, so that his parents might see how popular he was, and realize he was someone worth paying attention to.

“You need a strong favorite color.” Tommy had told him.

In middle school, Steve decided his favorite color was red. Red caught people’s eyes, red felt powerful, red got Tommy’s approval.

But his favorite color being red did not make his parents look at him, even as he graduated and moved on to high school with a buzzing reputation and all the popularity he could have dreamed of.

In high school, Steve’s parents stopped coming around. Their vacations and business trips took longer and longer, and eventually, they stopped coming home altogether.

And the thing was, he didn’t really care all that much about the color red. When he lost the title of King, when he stopped caring about being popular, when he hated who he had been and couldn’t figure out who he wanted to be, and gave up any hope of his parents ever giving him any kind of positive attention, Steve‘s favorite color stopped being red.

He never did learn how to stop masking, though. Favorite colors, favorite movies, music preferences, they all tie into those masks, into the person you present to the world. A little adrift, Steve lost sight of any person he wanted to be, and all those things he maintained for the sake of a mask started to slip away.

“I’m worried I might not be a real person in here underneath it all,” He had told Robin once in the middle of a drive, spiraling about the void he encountered when he tried to dredge up any of his own opinions. “I feel like if no one is telling me what to do or like, or I’m not trying to meet their expectations, then I don’t know anything about myself.”

And she had calmed him down in her own awkward way, patting his shoulder like she was afraid the touch would tip him over the edge, smile a bit manic because she had no idea what to do when the driver of the car was currently bawling like a baby (her words, and a little exaggerated at that, he was tearing up at best.)

He had eventually pulled over, and she had stared him down, and rattled off a bunch of personal questions. He could find answers for none of them.

“So find them.” She’d said. “Find the things you like, what makes you happy. Don’t listen to anyone else about it, don’t think about what they want. Maybe start simple? Like your favorite color.”

So he’d tried. He’d thought, maybe it was red after all? The color of Max’s hair. Or maybe blue, because it made him think of Dustin’s ridiculous hat. Maybe green, because it was the color of spring and new things, or maybe pink, because it was pretty.

He felt lost in a sea of choices, all surrounding the one, simple, basic, childhood question most children have an answer to by the time they go to school.

Then in walked Eddie Munson.

Eddie changed a lot about his life. He hadn’t expected him to, had sort of expected him to be a blip in his radar; but Eddie is incapable of existing in the peripherals. He sauntered in with the electrifying energy of a leading man on stage, even as he cowered in a boat shed scared out of his mind, and Steve had been unable to look away.

If Robin had asked him about things he liked in the months that followed, he would have been able to confidently say Eddie Munson was among them, and wasn't that a kicker?

It was just that, Eddie was capable of walking into a room and immediately projecting every single thing about himself and what he liked into the space. You couldn’t get away from the impression of exactly who Eddie was just by the very nature of his existence.

Steve wished he were like that.

Wished he could be so self confident that he could decide what he liked without a care for what others think or how they judge him, wished he could wear it as proudly as Eddie did the patches on his vest.

(The same vest Steve still hadn’t returned.)

But he hadn’t just stolen the vest; it had been somewhat of a trade off. He had thrown his sweater at Eddie’s head shortly before diving to the depths of Lover’s Lake, only for it to never be seen again. Part of him had assumed it had just gotten swallowed up when the gate had ruptured through Hawkins.

Then Eddie had walked through the doors of the Family Video, big, dark eyes all wide and his hair piled up on his head, wearing the bright yellow of Steve’s sweater.

Steve had short circuited. Upon reboot, his first thought was, for some reason, It’s yellow. My favorite color is yellow. Yellow yellow yeLLOW YELLOW!

The second was, I like him wearing my things.

The third was, Oh. I like Eddie.

So at age twenty, Steve Harrington knows two whole things about himself: he likes Eddie Munson, and his favorite color is yellow.

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #long post #fic

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betterfettered · 11 months

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Bruh can I be honest and say your Yan! Leviathan kinda scares me because Levi already lives rent free in my head and I kinda don’t wanna know what would happen if he figured it out?

I’m literally not joking about leviathan straight up living inside my brain rent free, like he actively takes up a shit ton of my thoughts enough for me to get the Tetris effect when I sleep.

And idk why but something tells me that if he knew that I’m practically obsessed with him, I wouldn’t be touching grass or seeing anyone else ever again for my entire existence.

Hey anon!! I am sorry this took so long, it got really long (3k words!!) and kind of went in its own direction hahaha. I hope you like it!! It turns out that you were right, and no one will ever find you in his clutches LOLL Let me know what you think?

(AFAB!reader x AMAB!yandere)(Plus size reader💖🫡)(noncon)(stalking)(18+ readers only please, mdni)(sort of kind of an AU but not really?)[This is fetish content and rape and stalking are disgusting and inexcusable in real life.]

Your reaction was strange to Leviathan because he'd imagined it over and over again in his head no less than a thousand times but had not been able to divine what you actually reacted like. In his mind when he'd intentionally spilled his drink on himself you'd make a little surprised noise or say "oh no!" or laugh, but in reality you just frowned, your eyebrows lifting in shock.

The important part, however, you still did: you turned to your bag, rifling through it for some napkins, and offered them to him like it was nothing, like making his heart jackrabbit to the point of nearly shattering was nothing. He snatched them quickly so that you wouldn’t see how his hands shook in anticipation.

Okay, next say thank you, he said to himself and tried his hardest but was unable to pry his lips open or make eye contact with you or even breathe. When the elevator reached the floor that the both of you lived on, he sprinted from the elevator to get to his door, spilling plenty more cherry slushy on himself in the process. He could barely get his hands steady enough to get the key into his door, but the second he was inside and had slammed the door behind him he tossed his soiled jacket and the half empty slushy to the ground and hurried into his bedroom, dropping on his knees in front of his shrine of you.

Well, it wasn’t a shrine just yet. It was too small – he had only the things he could salvage from your trash, like an empty lipstick tube, a plastic fork from some takeout, a debit card statement listing all of your purchases six months ago. This was the first thing you had ever given to him, though, the first gift with your scent and blessing on it. He shut his eyes and held the napkins up to his nose, inhaling deeply and summoning the image of you to his mind.

Leviathan focused on your eyes, thinking about how your gaze meeting his meant that you were not looking at anyone else and, he imagined, not thinking about anyone else. It didn’t take long for the memory to become a fantasy: he imagined you looking at him still, but now with your bottom lip caught between your teeth out of sheer lust for him. Reaching into his nightstand for lube, he imagined your outfit, which was the standard button down and pencil skirt combination that was something of a uniform for office workers. It was unremarkable but for the way it hugged the soft protrusions of fat on your body. He liked to imagine that your larger size made you unpopular on the dating market, so he would (in his fantasies and occasionally dreams, when he was lucky) be the first to touch and squeeze and lick you – he’d be the only one that you granted such access to, because he and only he was that special to you.

He placed the stack of napkins on his bed and pushed his face down into them to free both hands to undo his belt and slather his cock with lube. Even just touching his shaft made him shiver and clench his jaw, but he didn’t start pumping just yet because his fantasy was still incomplete. First, he needed you to turn to him in his mind, walking towards him until you had sandwiched him up against the wall, every plump part of you pressing up against him like a full bodied hug. Then, when he nearly collapsed with desire both in reality and in his mind, you reached a hand down to his pants, running your hand back and forth over his cock and looking up at him and only him. Only then did he begin stroking, murmuring your name to himself and clutching his bed. It was only a minute or two before he reached his peak and came so hard into his other hand that he became incoherent, his own moans shoving your name out of his mouth to take its place.

Once he caught his breath and the immense pleasure receded, he was filled with a longing that made his eyes begin to tear, his mouth pressing together as he tried to hold himself together. He needed you. At this point, his fantasies were almost as torturous as they were alluring. Just imagining was not enough and never could be, because while he was here with you, you were off thinking about or talking to someone else. He needed the entirety of you and he needed to show you with his body just how much he worshipped you, the same way he did in his mind every night before sleeping.

His hands were slick with cum and lube, so he shut his eyes for a moment once more and rubbed two fingers into the other palm, imagining that it was your tummy covered in his cum instead, but could only tolerate the fantasy for a few seconds before climbing to his feet to go clean up both himself and the mess he’d made in the entryway. He spent the rest of the night hugging a pillow on his couch and watching the old Ruri-chan OVAs from his favorite season and trying to hold back the tears pressing against the backs of his eyes.

Leviathan did not see you again for another week – perhaps you had been working early or late. When you once again met in front of the elevator, he felt downright giddy and reflexively covered his face with the back of his hand, but the glee turned to pure shock when you turned to him and said “Oh, happy birthday, Levi!”

What he did not know was that the day before, a pair of gentlemen (one ginger, one with hair graying only at the tips) had mistakenly knocked on your door. The shorter one pointed and released a party popper right at your face, and the taller one held out a cake that had bites taken directly out of it. Surprise! They had said, and then the three of you were surprised indeed, because you were not who they were expecting and you had not been expecting anything but still could never have imagined this would happen. They asked for a Leviathan, you pointed them next door, and the one with the frosting on his face apologized around another bite he had taken right out of the cake. The other apologized, too, but distractedly, as he was preoccupied with sadness that he had wasted his only party popper on you instead of his brother.

No, Leviathan was not aware of any of that, because Beelzebub couldn’t control himself around the cake and Belphegor wanted a new party popper, so they gave up and planned to come back tomorrow, the actual day of, without saying a word to him. If Leviathan could have spoken in that moment, he would have asked you how you knew, but he could not, so instead he stared at the ground and tried to figure out how you knew. He didn’t generally think of himself as disposed to illogical thinking, so when it occurred to him that maybe, just maybe, you had been just as taken with him as he was with you, he figured it was the most obvious conclusion.

He imagined that you had gone home after giving him the napkin and touched yourself, too.

Maybe you also had a shrine for him in your home, and one of the things in it told you when he was born.

“Have I said something wrong…?” you asked, eyeing his stunned expression.

It was all he could do to shake his head, because you had actually said the best possible thing that you could have. Was he dreaming?

When the elevator arrived to the right floor, he allowed you to get off first and then trailed behind you, not even noticing the antlers starting to sprout out of his head and the scales started to spread across his skin. It was as though he was mesmerized by you and couldn’t do anything but follow.

You got to your door, opened it, and then cried out when you felt his full weight against your back, pinning you to the ground. His tailed whipped out and slammed the door shut behind the two of you, and he pressed his nose into your hair, inhaling and shivering a little, feeling his common sense melting away to be replaced with only intoxicating lust.

“What are you doing?!” You demanded, your voice wavering with fear. “Get off of me right now!”

He didn’t reply, only focusing on how the way you were struggling was rubbing your ass up against his cock and making him pant. Was it really possible that you were here beneath him, all his for the rest of your lives together? Distantly he wondered why you were struggling if you were obsessed with him, but brushed it away as not important.

“Please, just get off of me and leave,” you said, your voice becoming thick with the tears starting to pour down your face.

He got to his knees, putting one hand on your shoulder and one beneath your tummy, pulling both upwards to flip you onto your back. You only resisted for a few seconds before allowing him to turn you over onto your back, your shimmering wet eyes meeting his crazed ones and drawing another sob out of you. This did not seem to stop him, as he almost immediately rested back on top of you and pressed his lips to yours, jamming his long tongue into your mouth before you had a chance to clench your jaw. You gagged a little at the length of it, long enough to reach the back of your tongue, and tried to push him off of you, which he merely ignored until you stopped.

He only pulled away and sat up when he noticed your elbow working against your side, at which point he wanted to observe what you were doing with your hand. You were holding your cell phone and trying to type something into it, but as soon as you saw him notice it you pulled it closer to your face, typing as quickly as possible. He felt his heart sink: even though you were in love with him, you were thinking of someone else while he was kissing you. Despair settled over him until it gave way to a sort of panicked jealousy: would you ever unlearn this? Could he trust you to commit to only him? You were going to be his first (and already had been his first kiss)…was he really ready for this? This would be your first fight with each other as a couple.

While he was thinking, he snatched the phone from you and crushed it in his hand, tossing the broken bits aside and pouting.

“Who were you going to call?”

“N-no one.”

“O-okay, well then! Who were you g-gonna text?!” he asked, being able to hear how pathetic he sounded himself.

Try to sound like Lucifer! He told himself, and sat up a little straighter. You can do this, you can do this.

“Th-that…was cheating,” he said, and then tried making his voice a little deeper. “Don’t think of any one else. Ever again….uh, d-do I make m-myself c-clear?”

Complete fail, uggghhhh

It took a moment for you to calm yourself enough to speak.

“Please just let me go,” you repeated around sobs. “I won’t call the police or anything. I won’t even mention it to my friends. Just…please don’t....”

He climbed to his feet at that, though he didn’t leave you even a moment to think your pleas had worked on him before he wrapped you up in his tail, lifting you off of the ground and above his head. You cried out and struggled, kicking him with your feet a few times until he held you further away, but he paid no mind and instead locked and deadbolted the door behind the two of you, then walked deeper into your apartment, checking all of the doors in his path until he found your bedroom. He wanted to pause to look around and examine every last bit of you that the room contained, but he was so hard that it was starting to hurt, so he darted over to your bed and slammed you down onto your back, unwrapping his tail so he could sit down, push your legs up and put them on either side of his waist.

Unfortunately, you still had not learned your lesson about struggling, so he clamped his tail down on your neck to hold you still, tightening it when you started to move around too much, and grabbed both of your wrists to hold them beside your head where the end of his tail could wrap around them, too.

You were talking, or maybe just crying, but he couldn’t focus on that. His attention was completely absorbed by his cock pressing into the heat of your core and your writhing body.

He reached out with shaking hands and undid the buttons of your shirt, taking a while not because he was savoring it but rather because he was trying to undo them too impatiently with his uncoordinated fingers and not being that successful to the point that he ripped the last few buttons open in his haste. His hands pressed down into your plush stomach and then, after a moment of enjoying your inviting softness, he ran them upwards until he held your tits in both hands, squeezing them in a circular motion the way he had seen in a few hentai movies and then pushing his fingers into your bra to touch your bare skin and catch your nipples between his fingers, pinching them until you gave a short whimper that made his cock twitch. He slid his hands out and yanked the bra down to reveal them, then leaned down into your chest and shoved his face right in the center of it, squishing your tits against either side of his head while his hips started to buck against yours, greedily craving the friction between you. His face felt so hot at this point, and yet was no match for the warmth of lying there against your heart.

While he’d had plans to lick and suck your tits and maybe bite them a little to see if he could get you to make noise again, he didn’t think he could wait any longer to penetrate you, he sat up and shoved your skirt upwards around your waist until he could reach your panties, then pushed your legs together in front of him with his arms so he could pull them off of you (and stash them in his pocket). He felt so relieved that he’d only worn joggers today and didn’t need to bother with a belt or a zipper, so there was only a second between your panties being removed and the head of his cock pressed right into the folds of your pussy.

“Don’t! I’m begging, please don’t!” you wailed.

“But y-you’re wet,” he observed, rubbing his cock up and down your slit to spread your juices.

You didn’t reply fast enough; he lost patience and shoved into you with a desperate whine. It felt even better than he had imagined day after day all of this time, so he didn’t move at first to try and avoid cumming immediately. Instead, he reached for your hands, freeing them from his tail so he could weave his fingers into yours and press them into your sheets on either side of your head.

“L-look at me,” he panted, tightening his tail around your neck when you didn’t obey. “I s-said to look at me.”

It took a few seconds for you to run out of air and begin struggling to breathe, but you did eventually look at him, instantly making his heart pound. Suddenly, he felt unbearably shy, so he buried his face in your neck as he started to fuck you, slowly but insistently, his pelvis grinding up against yours like he couldn’t get deep enough inside of you, his moans muffled beside your face. Feeling your breasts jolt against him with each thrust he couldn’t help but start to fuck you a little harder, too, just to feel them bouncing beneath him.

He didn’t think to tell you when he was about to cum, since his mind was completely whiting out from the pleasure and his moans sounded frantic and irregular because he couldn’t quite control the sounds he was making, so you only knew that he was filling you when he stopped suddenly, releasing your hands to grab your hips hard enough to hurt and pull you as close into him as possible. His entire body shook against yours for a while. Once he relaxed, still panting but not digging his fingers into your flesh as hard any more, his entire frame draped over yours with exhaustion.

Ten minutes later, he finally sat up to address you, lovingly stroking your hair and cheek.

"That was so much better than in my head. I don't think I've ever been this happy in my life.

“Um, I don’t think you finished, right? S-sorry, I’m…anyway, I’ll read a little more about how to satisfy you on reddit! Then I’ll show you what I learned. We have a lot of time for me to practice until I get it right. I'll definitely make you feel as good as you make me feel.”

“Just let me go,” you murmured, out of tears.

“I never will,” he answered, his voice so resolute that it grew steady even if for only a moment as he promised that. “I’m in l-love with you, a-and you’re going to love me. And only me, no one else. If you think of anyone else, I’ll…I’ll hurt them. And you, too.”

Perhaps you weren’t out of tears after all, as the words made you start to cry again.

This time, he pulled you upwards and wrapped you in his arms while still inside you, grateful for the opportunity to feel as though he was taking care of you. His mind was already starting to wander to plans of where you both would live, how he could punish you to make sure you never spoke to any one else again, and what he would tell his brothers and closest gaming buddies about the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Dreams really did come true. The two of you only had happily ever after in store for you.

#yandere #yandere x reader #betty fetty #tw noncon #cw noncon #tw: noncon #obey me leviathan #leviathan x reader #obey me levi x you #obey me levi x reader #yandere smut #omswd smut #obey me smut #obey me levi

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coralinnii · 1 year

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Under a mistletoe with them feat: Idia, Sebek, Epel, Cater genre: fluff note: relationships is up to interpretation, no pronouns were used, I have no idea how mistletoe traditions actually work so that’s something to note,

“Grim, would you please help me with the decorations?” You pleaded, exasperated with the lazy monster laying on the couch while you hung up lights in the living space.

“Why should I? This was your idea anyway” Grim grumbled which left you to sigh.

You realize that Christmas doesn’t exist in this universe (or at least your version of it, anyway) but feeling nostalgic and a little homesick, you thought decorating the Ramshackle dorm would bring your mood up a little…if your dorm mate would be a little bit more cooperative.

“Well, the faster we finish decorating the faster I can get started on making cookies and some hot drinks”

“Myrah, why didn’t you say so? This place will be Crust-mas ready!” the young monster was quick to his feet at the mention of a sweet reward, yanking the decorations around to hang them in a haste.

“It’s Christmas” you chuckled but decided with Grim motivated well enough, you thought you could head into the kitchen to get a head start of the treats you promised. You already told the cat-like creature where things should be.

To be fair, you should have expected for things to not go as planned when the mistletoe you made in good fun falls atop of your surprise guest

Ortho convinced his brother to give his thanks in person when you offered to take his place for in-person presentation (Crowley refused to let him do it through his tablet). Idia figured he could quickly give his thanks then run back to his dorm. That’s fine, right?

He was close to a heart attack when the mistletoe fell on his head, poorly attached by Grim and you kept yourself from laughing while you plucked the decor from Idia’s flames.

You explained the mistletoe and its old tradition, which Idia just can’t believe the gall of your world.

“What crazy normies would ever think of this nonsense?! You’re jumping someone with this boss-level task without warning or prep! That's practically mission impossible!”

Despite the complaints, you saw that he didn’t move from his spot. He wasn’t trapped as he said he was and he could have walked away after saying his thanks, as he planned.

So, you took the chance. Hovering the mistletoe between the two of you, you gently place your lips onto his pale cheeks. A light feather-like touch but it set the senior’s heart racing and hair ablaze as he stumbled back onto the cold pavement.

Idia’s felt his body burn along his fiery locks as he clutched the fabric atop his chest in poor hopes to calm his speeding heart. His senses are going into overdrive as his mind replays the sensation of your soft lips on his cheeks over and over. He’s seen animes with lucky protagonists who get the chance like this and he's ashamed to catch himself occasionally switching the fictional couple as the two of you in his mind. But dreaming about it is vastly different from the real deal.

“T-This is why I can’t understand you extroverts, doing this like it’s no big deal! Don’t you have any mercy for poor souls like me?”

“Hey,” Idia flinched at the way you crouched to his sitting level, leaning your close to him. “Aren’t you being a little harsh?”

“H-Huh?”

“I wouldn’t do that with just anyone, you know?” You pouted before half-hardheartedly glared at the blue-flamed man, who couldn’t look away from such a cute sight “I did it because it’s you”

It was a Christmas miracle Idia didn’t pass out on your front porch.

Sebek was on his way to drop off some blankets and other warm materials to keep you from freezing in the dilapidated building you and Grim call home. Afterall, your weak human body can’t possibly withstand the cold unlike him (which is true, but he shouldn’t just say it).

He was about to go on another rant when he caught the decorative plant before it could touch his hair, appalled by the crumbling state of your dorm before you explained that Grim probably didn’t hang it properly.

He questioned the strange plant in his hand and you explained an old-fashioned tradition from your world, to which made the mixed fae to blush profusely.

He’s flabbergasted by the audacity of your world, to give away kisses so freely. He grew up learning the legend of a princess who shared her first kiss with her true love that broke her curse and he secretly hoped the same for his future love.

“You humans are so imprudent, so flippant with something that should be treasured!”

“Well, we don’t have to do it” you frowned, a little disappointed “Though, I wouldn’t mind it if it’s with you”

Now, Sebek was caught in a dilemma. Despite all his expressed displeasure, the chance to finally kiss you literally fell on him and you’ve given your consent to him. It may not fit the expectations of his first kiss with (not that he has ever thought about, of course!) but he wonders if another chance like this would ever come again.

Coughing into his fist to cover his nerves, he straightened his posture but his line of sight shifted to the side, avoiding your gaze which shook his confidence. “Since it is part of your tradition, I would be a disgrace to Lord Malleus’ name to disregard such a thing as his knight”

You would still have to be the one to close the gap however as Sebek shifted closer to you but with his eyes screwed shut and slightly shaking, he doesn't realize that he was still too far to reach your lips.

You took pity on the poor boy and closed the gap yourself, your lips gently on his shaking ones. You felt the green-haired student flinched but you said nothing about it, opting to lean your weight onto his built body. You could feel the green-haired fae relaxed under your touch, slowly leaning towards you himself to prolong the intimate moment.

When you separated, you saw that Sebek was slow to snap out from his daze, taking a while to open his bright green eyes and realize you already leaned away.

Quickly correcting his posture, he gave you a short goodbye and a nod before turning to walk back to his own dorm, taking quick but stiff steps at a time. You wondered if Sebek remembered that he still had the mistletoe in his grasp. You smiled, hoping to yourself that he would come back to return it.

Epel was making his way to your dorm with a crate of treats from his hometown. He was excited to share his family’s apple jam, hearing that you were planning to make cookies with jam fillings.

But imagine his surprise when he suddenly saw a strange plant land atop of his crate when you opened the door, with you softly cursing Grim for his lazy decorating.

You explain your reasoning for decorating and the strange plant to Epel and he suddenly felt the heat in his cheeks. Growing up without too many kids his age around, the idea of such a lovey-dovey tradition would never cross his mind.

“….Does it happen a lot to you?” He carefully asked as he placed the crate down to inspect the plant, hoping not to sound too jealous of the idea of you kissing other people. It may be a silly tradition but still, having the idea of others having such a chance with you rubs him the wrong way.

“Ah no, never” you replied, feeling a little shy. Despite making the mistletoe yourself, putting it up and doing it are two separate experiences. You explained that not many people do it anymore because “only the boldest” would ever go through with it, and you’ve never had such a chance.

Epel saw this as a chance to prove his confident, masculine side. Boldly, Epel picked the mistletoe and placed it as high as he could between you two. With a cocky grin, he asked you “Wanna give it a try, then?”

Perhaps a little too enthusiastic, Epel crashed his lips onto yours a bit too harshly, shocking you from the pressure of the kiss. After the shock however, you found a rhythm between you two and you closed your eyes to fully indulge in the touch. Be it his natural genetics or Vil's regime, you enjoyed the feel of Epel's lips on your own which felt soft to the touch despite the dizzying passion behind it.

Epel was the first to move away, breaking the spell. He’s brimming with pride looking at your dazed expression. He picked up the crate once more, bringing it into the kitchen.

“Come on, I’m curious about the cookies you told me. Could I stay and watch?”

You didn’t notice how the lilac-haired boy pocketed the mistletoe, already planning a trick or two that night.

The redhead ordered a few magicam-worthy pastries but since he doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, he thought you would appreciate them more than he would (plus he wouldn’t mind taking a few pictures too).

When you opened the door, he was intrigued over the decor you and Grim put up and he had to stick around for some good shots when he felt a soft weight landing on his head. He saw the cute decor and asked you about it.

The more you explained the old tradition of the mistletoe, the more excited Cater was. How could he not with such a cute premise and the picture-worthy opportunity he could have with you. He had to try it, with your consent.

Since it was his idea (even though it’s your mistletoe), he decided to take the role as the initiator of the kiss. You trusted Cater so you closed your eyes and nervously waited for his kiss.

But Cater instead took the time to admire your face. He watched how your hair complimented the frame of your face, the pretty shade of your lips, the curve of your nose he would love to boop, and especially the plumpness of your cheeks.

He also saw the slight shake from your nerves, perhaps he made you wait too long, he mused.

Slowly, he captured your lips in his with a sense of gentleness you weren’t expecting. You could swoon with how soft Cater’s touch was, how careful he was with you to ensure your comfort.

The two of you separated, both a little light-headed from the experience. You felt hot from the sensation of the kiss but you can’t say you hated it.

“Ooops, my bad” you heard Cater, which you worriedly looked to. Cater himself looked a little embarrassed but not too upset.

“I totally forgot about taking pictures” you also realized that you didn’t sense the flash of his phone. Cater did pull out his phone this time and smiled coyly at you.

“Mind if we do another take?”

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hottiehotline · 1 year

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CONFESSIONS | Leon S. Kennedy

Content Warnings: mentions of religion, church sex, implied virgin reader, unprotected sex. Shameless smut if i’m being real.

Pairings: a little after re4 Leon kennedy x F!reader

authors note: if god does exist, i’m going to hell for this one. also SIDE NOTE: i think i might make a part two or make a small series, lmk!!!!

smut under the cut sluts!

——————————/Minors DNI/———————————

Leon was never one to go to church, and never really considered himself to be religious in any way. Until the day he found himself buried between your heavenly thighs.

You and leon had met a couple of times in passing. You knew Leon was an agent, but he was always off limits. The only guy you always wanted but couldn’t have. The one your parents had always deemed trouble, and not good enough for you.

Today just so happened to be sunday, “the day of the lord” as your father called it. You go in the church and sit by your mother. There’s a person you’ve never seen before, with their hood up sitting next to you.

After the service, you tell your mother you’d volunteered to clean up the church. Curious to know who the stranger is, you go back inside to notice the stranger hasn’t moved.

“Sir, may I know your name?” you ask softly not wanting to startle them. a gruff voice responds while pulling of their hood, “I think you already know it, don’t you princess?” it was the one and only Leon Kennedy, unsure of how to react.

“I-I never took you for the religious type.” you respond surprised to even see him in this setting. He watched as you admired his face, noticing he grew his hair out a bit. After not seeing him for 3 years, he was still the same Leon that saved you. “See something you like sweetheart?” you blushed ignoring his question because you knew that he already knew the answer. “Any way, don’t you have some mission to be on?”

“No, after all i’m probably due for confession anyway”

“Oh? for what?”

“for the way i’m thinking about taking you right here in this church even though I know I shouldn’t be.” your cheeks flamed, not knowing how to react you just stood there. “my turn to ask you a question princess.”

“what is it.” you whispered in a low voice that only leon could hear scared that someone may be listening even though the church was completely empty. “Have you ever thought dirty things about me before?”

“W-what no” you stuttered embarrassed he’d even ask you that type of question, but the truth is you’ve thought about Leon almost every night since the last time you seen him. Touching yourself, imagining it was him doing it. “Now y/n, I heard lying is a sin.” he smirked, of course he knew you were lying. you were easy to read, always have been and leon read you like a book. “f-fine…you’ve caught me.” you looked down ashamed you’d thought such things about him, but there was still apart of you that didn’t care. “have you got any confessions for me, y/n?” he questioned with a wide smirk, you looked down at your feet…waited for a moment and whispered “i’ve touched myself to the thought of you.” his eyes widen, he knew you’d had a crush on him but he didn’t realize you had even thought about him like that. “fuck, baby. guess you’re not as innocent I thought” he whispered, looking you up and down. “There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me leon.” you replied, he stood pulling you close to him, and kissing you.

“If we do this princess, you’re mine and i’m not sharing with anyone.” looking up at him you smiled “Leon, i’ve always been yours. please, I want this.”

leon moved quickly laying you on the church pew, spreading your legs and lifting your skirt. He hesitated for a second and looked back up at you to make sure you were okay with this, you quickly nodded. “look at you princess, so wet all for me.” he teased your clit through your underwear, you moaned in response. Leon began pulling your underwear off and discarding them to the floor. You hissed at the sudden feeling of cold air, “shh it’s alright baby, i’m gonna take care of you” Leon slowly started to eat you out, cherishing your sweet moans he added a finger and started going faster. determined to make you cum for him “Oh, fuck leon.” of course leon took that as encouragement to go faster, feeling you tighten around his finger he knew you were close. “Cum for me baby, let me taste you.” few more pumps of his finger and you came. Leon quickly undid his pants, and pulled his boxers down.

As his cock sprang free, your eyes widened at how big he was “um are you sure you’ll even fit?” he chuckled, “trust me princess i’ll fit.” he lined himself up with your entrance, and slowly pushed himself. He groaned at how tight you were, “fuck baby look at how good you are at taking me.” you moaned as he was fully inside of you, he started thrusting himself in and out of you slowly trying to be gentle. He began going faster, using your cum as lubricant. “goddamn baby, you’re like my own slice of heaven”

“O-oh leon faster please.” you moaned. leon sped up and started rubbing your clit as he fucked you.

“you’re such a slut for me huh, not as innocent you let on.” leon grunted feeling you begin to hit your climax right when he was about to hit his “Where do you want my cum baby?”

“pretty please cum inside me.” you asked sweetly, as his hips began to stutter. you felt as he came inside of you, and then pulled out. leon sat there in awe watching the mixture leak out of your pretty pussy. Leon quickly got you cleaned up, and handed your panties. As much as you wanted him to stay he couldn’t due to work. So he gave you his number, and told you to text him anytime you needed him.

-THE END-

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kenendy x reader

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dilfsonic · 8 months

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Okay so, unpopular take that applies specifically to my Service Animal AU: Shadow and Maria are not siblings/“sibling coded.”

If you’ve read the notes on the original lore post describing them, you probably already know what I mean. While they can and will have moments of inspired ‘sibling’ like love for each other, that’s simply too disingenuous a way to describe them. They’re so much more. They’re each other’s only friend, they’re charge and ward, they can mimic the attitudes of siblings but never fully understand them, they have no romantic interests (until sonic shows up) and so mimic certain attitudes in that way with each other as well. But all of these are mere approximations and mimicry without fully encompassing any of those relationships. Shadow’s “affections” can be easily misconstrued for holding more weight than they actually are intended, as gestures such as hand holding/cuddling/purring are all utilitarian expressions meant to ease Maria’s physical discomfort or anxiety in accordance to his job as her service animal. Nothing more, nothing less. Maria knows this, but others can and do easily make their own assumptions.

I’ve been a little nervous to express this interpretation as I feel it can be really easily misunderstood, and I don’t want to give people the idea that even the immensely “”romantic”” or affectionate gestures or affiliations applied to them are actually meant to be shippy. Their love is an all encompassing one, and to call it sibling-like or romantic are both incorrect, as they’re neither. Ultimately applying any real world label to this au will be incorrect and a little too extreme in either direction; the closest possible relationship that may most accurately describe them is that between a service dog and their owner, if such a service dog was as intellectually capable of their human.

They’re what you get when you’re the only two people in your whole world. They’re what you get when you pair together someone who’s indebted to the other for their existence, which goes both ways. And by normal relationship standards, I would disagree to consider it a ‘healthy’ dynamic, but it also cannot be judged by the milestones of what a normal and healthy dynamic even looks like.

Shadow is nothing without her (in his own mind), and this lends itself to an inability to conceptualize a ‘self’ to even express. Maria hates how Shadow views himself — a tool, a trained dog, a guard, a companion of necessity — but she also can’t avoid using him accordingly. That means having no choice but to treat him not as a person, but as her crutch. Shadow is little aware of her internal struggle with the dehumanization of him because they communicate this almost never. Nor does he mind being dehumanized, he has never been a ‘person’ since the day he was created anyway.

Maria would love nothing more than to call Shadow a little brother, her best friend, someone who she could’ve had take her to prom because nobody at her school wanted to indulge the sickly child, nor did anyone even know her well enough considering she spent most of her time out of school than in it. She’d love to call Shadow these normal things, but she can’t. Not yet at least. Sonic will slowly change them and the way they can view friendship and the world and what it means to belong to each other, but it’s hard work on Shadow and Maria’s part.

They are something that can’t be easily defined, because it’s complex, and messy, and while there are bright moments of wonder and joy, is also overwhelmingly dark in its implications, and they can feel utterly alone even when standing right next to each other. Shadow owes Maria everything, and Maria owes Shadow everything, but each underestimates the full gravity of how their own existence touches and expands the other. They consider themselves worthless compared to the other, and that’s what gets in the way of them truly being able to open their hearts to each other. The way Sonic later teaches them HOW to open their hearts.

So yeah. I hope this concept of blurring the lines doesn’t scare too many folks, but this is based on my personal interpretation of how I feel a continued existence between them in canon or a canon adjacent world might have been like. I know it’s easy and delightful to see em like wholesome siblings — which is also an interpretation I wholeheartedly endorse and adore, particularly the way my bud @ratrrriot draws them (please go follow them if you don’t already, their shadow and maria artwork is to die for!) — but this is just a slightly different and admittedly darker take on them that I hope won’t ruffle too many feathers. Sibling coded relationships between characters are so wonderful, but in this case doesn’t feel satisfying or like it can possibly cover the scope of them for this particular au. I dislike labeling them or comparing them to another dynamic, like Sonic and Tails who are very explicitly brotherly with one another.

I may make a separate post on Sonic’s impact in this world and how he touches the lives of Shadow and Maria, Helen (when she comes along), and this world’s version of Robotnik (Julian) if people are interested in that. I take a lot of inspiration from his characterization in the Adventure games and Sonic X for this AU, as he’s most closely canon-aligned compared to Shadow and Maria who are a little different; though I’m gonna try my best to fit their “canon” personalities into a completely different scenario. Such as, Shadow lacks the innate hatred he has for mankind as he never loses Maria, but he will retain the “my body is a tool” mentality and the general uncaring of others opinions of him, etc.

#I would love to hear thoughts so long as they’re civil #I have a playlist for them but I’ve been waffling on whether to share it or not #ultimately this is a Sonadow au as much as it’s an exploration of shadow and Maria’s peculiar relationship here #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #Maria Robotnik #service animal au #my post

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lunarbuck · 1 year

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Baby, It's Cold Outside (Stuckyxf!reader)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x f!reader (any race)

WC: 4.3k

Summary: You’ve been friends with Steve and Bucky for quite some time, but when you accept to spend the holidays with them in a cabin, friendship evolves into something more.

Warnings: friends to lovers <3, stucky, fluff, smut (p in v, p in a?), anal, oral (m and f receiving), threesome - F/M/M, polyamory, pet names [doll, baby, princess], unprotected sex

A/N: not only is this my first time writing a Steve fic, it’s also my first time writing for a threesome… please let me know how I did/if this is something you’d like to see more of :) please also let me know if I did anything wrong!!! I want to learn <3 beta’d by the literal best, @lfnr-blog-blog-blog 💕

main masterlist | bucky one shot masterlist | my ao3

The holidays are always a tricky time of year. No one has a perfect family, and even if that problem-free family exists, you bet even they have some trouble around the holidays. You know from experience that the holiday season brings out the worst in people, so when Bucky and Steve offered to have a holiday celebration with just the three of you, you couldn’t pass it up.

You’d gone just a little overboard with their presents, but how could you not? The two of them treat you better than anyone else in your life, and you just want to show them you’re thankful.

So now, as you sit in the backseat of the car, watching the world fly by, you’re thankful that the world brought the three of you together.

You’d been working at the Tower for some time before you ever crossed paths with Captain America and his friend, the Winter Soldier. Honestly, working in legal, it was bound to happen. It was an instant connection, and you’ve been friends ever since. Inseparable, practically attached at the hip.

Steve drives carefully as he eases off the highway and onto a little side road, taking the three of you further away from civilization and closer to the cozy little cabin you’ll be staying in for the next few days.

It’s easy to lose yourself as you watch Steve drive. The way his strong hands grip the steering wheel, the way his blue eyes reflect the bright winter sky. You’d be lying if you said you’ve never thought of him that way. Who hasn’t? He’s America’s golden boy, the man of your dreams.

And Bucky… oh Bucky, your thoughts about him are simply unholy. The quiet, brooding partner to America’s sweetheart. As you’ve gotten to know Bucky, you’ve come to understand that there’s more to him than meets the eye, but you love the darkness that settles just below the surface.

As if he can hear your thoughts, Bucky turns and glances back at you from the passenger seat. “How you doin’ back there, doll?” He asks, a soft smile on his lips.

“Oh, I’m fine, Sarge,” you reply, smiling back. He gives you a wink before turning back in his seat.

You’re not sure how you’ll survive three days in a cabin with the two of them; there are so many variables… so many different ways this could send you up shit’s creek without a paddle.

You’re not going to lie; the past two days have been… tough, to say the least. There have been so many innocent touches and sweet smiles that you can’t tell what’s real and what’s your fantasy anymore.

Tonight is the official gift exchange. You’re excited for the boys to open your gifts; you tried so hard to find the perfect items. After changing into a pair of flannel PJ pants, you make your way out into the cabin’s main room.

You each have your own rooms, but each night you’ve been desperate to sneak into Steve or Bucky’s room and just see what happens. You haven’t had enough courage to do it, and part of you had hoped that one of them would do the sneaking.

You push the thoughts from your mind as the three of you gather in front of the roaring fireplace. There’s a sizable pile of gifts scattered around, more than you’d expect for a group of three, but you certainly don’t mind.

Steve and Bucky both wear similar attire to you, tight short-sleeved t-shirts, Steve in white and Bucky in black, as well as matching flannel pants.

The boys hand out the gifts, making three separate piles for each person. Butterflies flit in your belly as you run your eyes over their straining muscles. Their shirts are too small, and you can practically see everything. But you’re not complaining. No, not one bit.

“Okay, who’s starting?” Steve asks, sitting back on his heels.

“Youngest to oldest,” Bucky suggests, grinning. Steve rolls his eyes but nods, looking to you to pick your first gift.

Torn wrapping paper litters the floor, and Steve waves around the garbage bag again in an attempt to get you and Bucky to clean up after yourselves. The two of you just laugh and crumple up the paper into little balls, chucking them at Steve.

“You keep that up, and I’ll take away the rest of the presents,” Steve scolds, though his smile is big and bright, so you know he’s not upset.

There’s only one gift left for each of you, so once the little paper fight has ended and you all settle down, you begin to peel the paper off your gift.

Inside is a thin black box that you know for sure contains jewelry. Your heart thuds in your chest as you pop the box open. Inside is a simple silver necklace with a beautiful blue topaz stone shaped like a teardrop hanging from the chain. Even though Steve and Bucky have different shades of blue in their eyes, somehow, this stone perfectly encapsulates both.

Tears well in your eyes as Steve and Bucky both move to sit beside you. Bucky sweeps your hair to the side, freeing your neck for Steve to place the necklace.

“What’re you crying for?” Steve asks, brushing a stray tear away from your cheek. You sniffle a little and laugh, wiping your face.

“It’s just the perfect gift,” you reply, looking between Bucky and Steve. The way they look at you is heated, possessive, almost, but you shake your head a little and tell yourself you imagine it.

Bucky lets his fingers linger on your skin for just longer than he should before the two of them return to their seats on the floor.

Steve opens his gift next; it’s from you. He tears open the present like a little kid, grinning from ear to ear. Inside, he finds a new set of paints that were a bitch to find. He’d been talking about trying out a new style, and this one brand of paints would be perfect, so of course, you had to find him.

He gapes at the paints for a moment before wrapping you in a giant hug. “You’re the best,” he whispers into your shoulder before releasing you.

By the time you recover from the embrace, Bucky is already opening his last gift, also from you. It’s a first-edition print of The Hobbit. The way Bucky looks from you to the book speaks volumes, and you’re about to tear up again.

Tonight went so much better than you thought it would. You’re so happy to be here, with them, in this cabin, on a perfect winter night. The snow has been coming in pretty steadily, but you don’t care one bit.

The three of you clean up, casually talking about work and other things happening in your lives, and once the main room is tidied, you realize how late it is.

It’s almost midnight, and Steve never shuts up about his bedtime. Bucky gives him shit for it, teasing him for needing the beauty sleep, but a good sleep routine is necessary for your line of work, so you don’t mind.

But you don’t want tonight to end. Tomorrow, you’ll have to pack up and return to the real world.

Fuck that. Fuck the real world.

“You headin’ to bed?” Bucky asks Steve as the two of them toss the trash bags by the back door. Instead of responding, Steve just stares at you, lips slightly parted. You cock an eyebrow at him, confused.

“It’s way past your bedtime, old man,” you tease, hoping to clear the air of the odd tension that’s fallen over the three of you.

“Why don’t we watch a movie?” Steve suggests, leaning against the wall. “My room has the biggest TV.” Bucky smiles, and you nod along. A movie sounds nice.

Never mind, a movie is torture. Bucky and Steve lay on either side of you, and you’re practically frozen where you sit. If you move even an inch, you’ll be pressed up against a muscular chest. As much as you’d like to be pressed against one of them, you’re not sure how they’d feel about it. Sure, it was Steve’s idea to watch the movie in his room, but that doesn’t mean he was consenting to you being all over him.

Bucky’s vibranium fingers trace little patterns on your arms, sending shivers through you, but you try to pretend like you don’t notice. You’re worried that if you acknowledge it, he’ll stop.

The credits roll on the cheesy holiday movie Steve had picked, and you slowly push yourself upright. You huff a bit of a breath, and both men look at you curiously.

“Well, it’s late,” you say, shifting yourself down the bed to avoid crawling over Steve or Bucky. “I should probably head to bed.” You nearly run into the dresser, feeling around for your slippers.

“Awe, come on,” Bucky practically whines from the bed. “The night is still young.” Even though you can’t see him in the dark, you know he’s wiggling his eyebrows in a way that makes your heart squeeze.

“I– I really can’t stay,” you say, fumbling over the words as you make your way toward the door. There’s movement behind you, sheets rustling, then suddenly, a presence right behind you. If you took a big breath, you’d be pressed against him.

“But baby, it’s cold outside,” Bucky tells you, placing his hands on your hips. His warmth envelops you from behind, begging you to sink into his embrace. You shiver.

“Tonight was,” your voice falters as you search for the words. “Amazing, but really, I should head to my room.”

“Baby,” Steve whispers, suddenly stepping in front of you, blocking your access to the door. “It’s cold outside.”

Even in the darkness, you can see the way he’s looking at you. You could drown in it. The heat of his gaze sends fire sweeping through you; it settles in your belly and makes you ache.

Bucky gently tugs you back into his chest, pressing you against him. Steve closes the distance, and you’re surrounded by them.

“You’re like ice, princess,” Bucky mumbles into your ear, nudging your neck with his nose. “Let us warm you up.”

Steve’s hands cup your jaw on either side, tilting your head up. His bright blue eyes shine despite the lack of light. “Is this okay for you?” He asks sweetly, thumbs brushing over the apples of your cheeks.

“Yes,” you breathe, a weight seeming to lift from your shoulders. Steve leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your lips, sending electricity shooting down your spine. Steve kisses you like he’s tasting you, like you’re a porcelain doll he doesn’t want to damage.

Bucky litters kisses along your neck, sucking and nipping at all the sensitive spots. He’s leaving marks, but you don’t mind. Your right hand reaches out for Steve while your left feels back for Bucky. Both men react to your touch, pressing even closer to you.

“You know how long we’ve wanted this?” Bucky whispers into your ear. Steve keeps kissing you, swallowing the little moan you release. “The day we saw you, we knew.”

Steve releases you from the kiss and uses his grip on your head to turn you toward Bucky. His eyes are darker than Steves’s, not only in color but in intention. It makes your legs feel like jelly.

“I want you too,” you reply, the words slipping from your lips before you can stop them. Bucky grins and leans down, capturing you in a heated kiss. Steve’s hands drift down your neck, feeling the little marks Bucky left before reaching the neckline of your shirt.

You pull away from Bucky only long enough to tug your shirt over your head, tossing it somewhere in the dark room. Steve sucks in a breath at the sight of you in your bra, and you practically glow at his reaction.

“You’re so beautiful,” Steve mumbles, leaving a trail of kisses from your collarbone, down your sternum, and between the valley of your breasts. He kneels in front of you as his fingers find the clasp of your bra at your back. He undoes it and carefully slides the garment off you, exposing you to his gaze.

“Stevie’s been craving you,” Bucky muses at your ear, hands sliding beneath your arms to grasp your tits. His vibranium fingers are cold in contrast to his flesh hand, and you moan at the feeling. “He’s so eager to please you.” His fingers tweak your nipples before heading south. His left hand finds Steve’s head, spearing his fingers through the blond’s hair. “Why don’t you tell our girl what you told me before this trip,” Bucky says to Steve. Your blood rushes in your ears. How is this real?

Steve gazes up at you with stars in his eyes. “I want to taste you,” the man practically moans. “I need it.” Bucky makes a sound, and Steve’s eyes shift to him. That must not’ve been the answer Bucky was looking for.

“Come on, Stevie, tell her exactly what you said.” You reach out and run your fingers along Steve’s jaw, silently telling him that you won’t judge him.

“I need you like I need to breathe, I need to feel you, need to taste you. I want to taste you on Bucky’s cock. I want to taste myself in your pussy.” You were already wet before, but now you’re soaked. The needy tone of Steve’s voice, the possessive grip Bucky has on both of you, it’s almost too much. It’s not quite enough.

Steve brings his lips to your breasts, swirling his tongue around one of your nipples while his fingers play with the other. You lean back into Bucky’s muscular body, and he holds you upright, letting his hands roam your body.

You’ve never been with two men, but the thought had undoubtedly crossed your mind when fantasizing about these two.

“You gonna let him taste you?” Bucky asks, teasing the waistband of your pants, slowly dipping his fingers beneath the elastic. “You gonna give Stevie what he needs?”

All you can do is nod and let Bucky and Steve tug your pants down. They help you step out of the pooling fabric before Steve is pressing his lips against your panties, breathing you in.

His fingers grip your hips and ass, digging into your flesh and muscles. He eats you out over your panties, driving you wild with the need to feel him directly.

“Please, please,” you beg, arching your back to get your point across. Bucky chuckles and reaches down to help Steve pull your panties off. You catch the way Steve balls them up and tucks them into Bucky’s pocket, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

Steve dives back in without another word, lapping up your arousal eagerly. He works your clit in perfect circles bringing you right to the edge. You’re so worked up that when Bucky bites your shoulder, it sends you spiraling. Your legs buckle beneath you, but they’re both there to catch you as you come down from the high.

“That was perfect, princess,” Bucky praises, kissing you sweetly. You smile into the kiss, feeling him lift you up and place you on the bed.

“Your turn,” you say, reaching out for both men. Bucky groans at your suggestion, palming his erection. He directs Steve to sit on the bed and gets everyone into position. You love how he commands the room; he’s in his element.

You slip off the bed and kneel between Steve’s legs while Bucky kneels on the bed, hips at Steve’s head. What you’d give to be a fly on the wall watching this…

The men both remove their pants and boxers, and you shamelessly ogle them. They’re both built like gods, sculpted from marble and fucking magic. Their cocks are just like the rest of them, and it dawns on you that you have no idea how they’ll fit.

Even so, you reach out and wrap your fingers around Steve’s hard length, bringing his attention down to you. As you begin to circle your tongue around his tip, he tangles his fingers in your hair. He doesn’t push you, just moves with you. Bucky then guides his own cock to Steve’s mouth, and you notice that the more eagerly you please Steve, the harder he works Bucky.

You grin at the power you hold over both of them and work your mouth down Steve’s cock. You take him into your throat until you’re sputtering, and Steve moans around Bucky.

The way Bucky guides Steve’s head has you moaning as you try to replicate the movement. Steve strains around Bucky’s cock but takes him so well. Bucky praises both of you, grunting about how good the two of you are, how perfect you are.

A moment later, Steve pulls you off his dick and tugs you onto the bed. Bucky is repositioning himself as well, and butterflies flit in your tummy.

“We don’t have to do anything else tonight,” Steve tells you, running his fingers down your back. “I don’t wanna push you or anything.” Bucky nods in agreement, vibranium hand cupping the back of your neck.

“This is all pretty new to you; we won’t be upset if you want to take things slower,” he adds.

“What if I don’t wanna go slow,” you reply, sucking in a heaving breath. You want them so bad you’re practically vibrating with need. “What if I need to feel you?”

Steve whimpers at your side, and Bucky moans.

“Fuck, princess, that’s music to my fuckin’ ears.” Bucky kisses you, pressing you down into the mattress. He hovers over you, caging you in. His right hand reaches between your legs and runs along your sensitive flesh. Steve does the same from the other side, two hands working you in tandem.

Their fingers open you up, stretching you in a way you’ve never experienced before. They work without needing to speak, a singular goal in mind.

“You’re doing so good,” Steve praises, running his free hand along Bucky’s back. “So good for us.”

Once Steve and Bucky are satisfied with their handiwork, Steve guides Bucky’s cock to your entrance. “You ready, baby?” Bucky asks, leaning his forehead against yours.

“Yes, please fuck me, Bucky,” you plead as he presses into you. Even though they prepped you, Bucky is still big, and you’ve never taken anything quite so large before. It feels so good as he thrusts deep and hard inside of you.

Your eyes roll back into your head while your hand seeks out Steve, needing the connection. Finding his cock, you wrap your fingers around him and pump at the same speed as Bucky. Steve hisses in a breath at the feeling and bucks into your hand.

“You feel so fuckin’ good, princess,” Bucky moans into your ear, hiking one of your legs onto his shoulder. “So tight for me.” Your mouth falls open, your lips forming an ‘O’ as the band in your belly tightens.

“Oh my god,” you whimper, getting closer and closer to snapping.

“That’s right, baby,” Bucky urges. “Come all over my cock. That’s it; you’ve got it.” You burst at the sound of his words, coating his cock with your orgasm. He keeps fucking you, making you ride the wave for what feels like an eternity.

He pulls out once you’ve caught your breath and tugs Steve down. Steve eagerly takes Bucky into his mouth and moans at the taste. You can’t tear your eyes away from the sight of Steve sucking the cock that had just been buried inside you. It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

“You like what you see, princess?” Bucky asks, one of his fingers drifting to your clit, circling it slowly. “He can’t get enough.”

Bucky guides Steve off his dick, and the two men turn to face you.

“I want both of you,” you whisper, barely able to muster up the courage to admit it. Bucky cocks a brow at you before turning to Steve.

“You hear that, Stevie?” Steve nods, seemingly in a trance. “She wants both of us.” You watch in amazement as Bucky positions the three of you in the way he wants, quickly figuring out where everyone needs to be to make your fantasy come to life.

Bucky then steps away, digs through the bedside table, finds what he needs, then returns. “Okay, Stevie, lay back and let our princess ride you.” Steve does what Bucky asks and helps you straddle his strong hips. You guide his cock to your entrance and sink down on him, watching his face contort as you squeeze his length. He fills you perfectly, hitting spots inside you that make you see stars.

From behind you, you feel Bucky’s fingers, slick from what must be lube, slide against your ass. You shiver at the feeling but welcome it, angling your hips so he has better access.

“You feel so perfect squeezin’ me,” Steve moans from below you, hands reaching out to grope your tits.

“Isn’t she tight, Stevie?” Bucky asks, pressing a finger into your ass. You hold your breath at the feeling, but Steve just whispers calming words to you. You relax into them as Bucky slowly moves his finger.

One finger becomes two, and you ride Steve a bit harder as you warm up to the feeling. He grips your hips and guides you on his dick, working the pleasure from you.

Bucky adds a third finger, and you feel like you’re going to explode, but a good explosion. You’ve never felt so full, and you can’t imagine how amazing it’ll feel when it’s his cock and not just his fingers.

“Please, Bucky, please,” you beg, leaning back against his chest. He kisses your neck and smiles at your neediness.

“You ready for me, princess?” he teases, thrusting his fingers at a quicker pace.

“Fuck yes, Bucky, I need you so bad.” Bucky pulls you into a bruising kiss as he removes his fingers and replaces them with the tip of his cock.

“You’re doing so good for me, baby. For us. Be a good girl and let me in.” Bucky keeps kissing you as he presses his cock further and further inside of you. Steve helps you relax, but you can tell it’s difficult for him. His strokes are getting messy as you get tighter around him.

Only a thin wall separates Bucky and Steve’s cocks, and that just turns them on even more. It turns you on even more.

They pump into you simultaneously, finding the perfect rhythm that makes your heart stutter. You’re at mercy to them, putty in their hands. Bucky and Steve worship you; they chant your name like a prayer.

All you can do is moan and beg, your brain becoming jelly the harder they fuck you. With their supersoldier serum, they last so much longer than other men. They bring you to orgasm after orgasm, pleasing you seems to be their only goal.

“I’m gonna come,” Steve whimpers from below you, fingers digging into your hips with bruising force. “Please, I’m gonna come.” Bucky leans over your shoulder, pumping into your ass with deeper strokes than ever.

“Give her your cum, Stevie; she wants it so bad. Right, princess?” Bucky’s vibranium fingers wrap around your neck, and you come again just from that.

“Oh my god, Steve, please give it to me. Please come inside me,” you moan, gripping Bucky’s arm.

Steve comes on a long, drawn-out moan, sending Bucky over the edge right after. He thrusts into you a few more times before he becomes too sensitive, then they’re both pulling out.

The three of you fall into a heap on the bed, panting and sweating. Bucky kisses you deeply before shifting to give Steve the same treatment. Steve carefully slides off the bed and grabs a warm washcloth from the bathroom to clean up with.

He takes care of you sweetly, ensuring not to irritate your sensitive skin. You clean him up, and together you care for Bucky.

Once you dispose of the washcloth, Bucky and Steve tug you down into bed between them. Your limbs tangle with theirs, and you melt into their embrace.

“You were so perfect, baby,” Bucky whispers against your head, thumb rubbing circles into your arm. “You are so perfect.” Your heart tugs in your chest.

“I hope you know,” Steve interjects, clearing his throat. “We both have feelings for you, more than just for the physical stuff. If you feel the same way, we wanna make this work out in the real world. The three of us.” Your breath catches, and you feel like you’re dreaming. No way is he saying this.

“Really?” you ask, turning to see Bucky’s reaction.

“Really, princess. You’ve been ours since the day we saw you. We’ve just been waiting for you to realize it. We’ll take it slow, it’s not gonna be as easy as a ‘traditional’ relationship, but we’ll make it work. We want it to work for you.” Tears brim in your eyes and Steve kisses your cheek.

“Yes, yes, of course, I want this,” you reply, holding their hands. “Who gives a shit about easy? Nothing is ever easy. As long as we’re in it together, that’s all I care about.”

Bucky’s eyes crinkle in the corners as he kisses you. When he breaks the kiss, he turns you to Steve, who presses his lips to you sweetly. It all feels so natural, so easy.

Even though the winter wind whips at the windows, you’re comfy and warm in the embrace of your two supersoldiers. Nothing could be better than this right here.

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obsessedelusional · 6 months

Text

drunken jealousy (stupidity)

Konig x fem!reader

The crew is out celebrating a successful mission, everyone is having fun. Except for Konig who’s so focused on you from across the bar. What happens when he takes his drunk coworkers advice? Only they’re not interested in helping, only wanting to see him make a fool of himself.

2.1kish++++

feedback & reblogs appreciated ♥︎

⊹ ꙳ ✦ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹

“Are you going to say something or just keep glaring at her?” Ghost speaks, breaking Konig’s unrelenting stare.

Bringing him out of his thoughts long enough to feel embarrassed for staring so hard that others noticed. The crew is out celebrating a successful mission at the local dive bar. It’s a few hours into the night and everyone is started to feel the effects of their drinks.

“You wait too long and you’re going to miss your opportunity.” Soap adds, motioning to where you’re sat.

Konig looks back at you, greeted by the sight a newer recruit flirting with you. The worst part you seem to be enjoying it, laughing along as the recruit whispers something Konig can’t hear into your ear. He’s immediately filled with jealousy, that even he is aware that he has no right to.

The two of you never got along that well. Not because of anything you did. You were nice, friendly to everyone around you. From the start Konig wanted nothing to do with you. At least that’s what he wanted you to believe. Everyone but you knowing the real reason that was afraid to get close to you. Knowing how easy it would be for him to fall for you. He can’t do that, he wouldn’t allow that. His only focus is and should been his job. Not the stupid crush he formed that made him feel like a teenager again. But you simply existing made that so hard for him.

All of this lead to a very uncomfortable relationship between the two of you. Well aware of the constant gaze, his eyes always seemed to be focused on you. He would often be the first to stick up for you or get in a new recruits face when they were being disrespectful to you. Then follow it up with some back handed advice aimed at you about how it was your fault. Or what you could do in the future to prevent it from happening again. Which only confused you more and pushed you farther away. He’d spend the rest of the day replaying the incident in his head, wishing he had said something different. Only to repeat the same mistake over and over again.

“You just going to let that happen?” Soap snickers, causing Ghost to laugh with him.

“I don’t have a choice.” Konig mutters, eyes never leaving you. Watching you take a sip from your drink, taking note of the way your lips touch the glass as you drink. Noticing the lip stamped shape from your lipstick on the glass. Thinking of all the places on his body where he would want those lips to taste. He groans, annoyed at the voice of his coworker taking him out of his thoughts. Pulling his attention from you again and back to the two idiots sat next to him.

“What’s stopping you?” Ghost asks.

“It’s inappropriate. We work together. It would never work.” He responds, quickly as if he’s said this to himself many times before. Like a mantra he says over and over again, to try and make himself believe that it’s for the best.

“Is it frowned upon? Sure. Does it really stop anyone? No.” Soap responds, drunken grin plastered on his lips.

“Even if I wanted to. I wouldn’t know how to approach her. She thinks I hate her.” Konig sighs, sitting back in his chair eyes still on you.

“Girls eat that shit up.” Soap says, laughing as he takes another drink.

“Yeah. They like to be dominated, told what to do. They like when you’re a little mean.” Ghost adds, intoxicated laugh following. These three men too drunk for their own good. Two of them ready to get the third man in trouble.

“Serious?” Konig questions.

“Yeah.” Ghost and Soap say in unison, they look at each other before erupting into laughter.

“You know what you should do?” Ghost says between laughter, trying to catch his breath.

“You need to let her know that she belongs to you, text her right now. Get her attention, steal it away from that new recruit.” Ghost suggests, Soap agreeing with him. The two of them trying everything in their power not to laugh more than they already have.

“Nein. She does not belong to me.” Konig huffs, shaking his head.

“You see something you want. You have to take it. These American women are nothing like the woman back from where you came from.” Soap says as he reaches for Konigs phone, wasting no time to type out a text before Konig can notice. Only to notice because Ghost is leaned, looking over Soaps shoulder as he types. Laughing his ass off, clutching Soap in an attempt to keep himself from falling.

“What are you…” Konig reaches for his phone, trying to take it from Soap. It’s too late because Soap is done, passing it back to Konig. He was in a rush to send out the message it’s filled with errors and makes little to no sense. The best his intoxicated brain can come up with such a short notice.

K: “Knck it off!! If he touches u he will sleep with the fishys.”

Konig reads it and his face drops, filled with dread for what’s about to happen. He can’t believe it until he looks up and sees you pulling your phone out from your pocket. He watches your happy mood, turn to confusion and then disgust. He watches your eyes scan the bar, looking for him. Stopping when you see him, giving him a dirty look. Ghost and Soap are sat next to him laughing so hard they’re close to tears.

Konig has always had this weird protectiveness over you but this takes the cake. You shove your phone in your pocket, deciding it’s best to ignore him. Obviously he’s drunk and they’re all playing a joke on you. You try to pretend like nothing happened.

The recruit you were once flirting with now gone after noticing your change in mood. This brings a smile to Konigs face, starting to wonder if maybe Ghost and Soap know what they’re talking about after all. It worked, it got your attention and now the recruit left you alone.

“What now?” He asks, expecting guidance from his friends.

“Here gimme your phone.” Soap says and Konig doesn’t argue this time, letting them help him. The three crowd around his phone, constructing the perfect text. A few moments later your phone goes off again.

K: ”Good girl.”

The scoff that leaves your mouth is loud enough for him to hear from across the bar, you refuse to turn his way this time. Unaware of the fact that Ghost and Soap are drunkenly helping Konig construct these texts to you. This time you respond.

”Why do you care what I do?”

Ghost and Soap cheer as the text comes in, already planning their next message. As Konig watches in anticipation, too drunk to realize he shouldn’t be allowing this. That maybe his two friends don’t actually have his best interest at heart. More concerned with watching Konig making a fool out of himself.

K: “Because you belong only to me! Do I make myself clear?”

”Since when?”

K: “Since now. Because we say so!”

”And what if I don’t want to be yours? Do I get a say in this?”

K: “No.”

”if you’re being serious, this is not the way to go about it. this is not making me want you more.”

K: “you love it. I don’t want u to like me we want u to love me bc I need me.”

”then stop being a giant dick head.”

You type the last message out and it hits you, why are you having this conversation over text? You shut your phone off, putting it away. Standing up from where your sat and heading to the bar. Some of your friends gathered around it. They’re all chatting away, unaware of your arrival. Doesn’t matter much because you’re not mentally there in the moment. You mind racing trying to understand where this is coming from. Aware of English not being his first language but that doesn’t make his use of ‘we’ make any sense.

While you’re trying to make sense of this situation Konig is being hyped up to approach you. Ghost and Soap filling him with more advice that isn’t going to help in the end. Just trying to get him to say some out of pocket things to you, try and get a reaction out of you for their own viewing pleasure.

You can see out of the corner of your eye Konig walking over, he’s very imposing, a mountain of a man, and he seems determined. He stands next to you, in front of the bar, his eyes lock onto your eyes, he doesn’t say anything for quite a while. As if he’s trying to find the words to say. Suddenly not nearly as confident as he was over text. Eventually you’re the one to speak up.

“What do you want?” You question.

“I want you. You belong to me and only me.” He says, voice shaky not conveying that he even believes it.

“Whatever this is you’re doing. It’s not cute. Quit being an asshole.” You respond, waving your hands in his direction. He looks at you, he doesn’t understand why you are still standing here despite him acting like a total ass. He sighs, and lowers his gaze.

“Süss, I am being mean to you because I need to show that I am dominant, and you need to be dominated. Do you understand?” He explains, reiterating Soap and Ghosts advice.

“Where did you hear this?” You ask and watch as his eyes flicker to where Ghost and Soap are sat. You follow his gaze to find them sat at their table, the two of them doing a terrible job at pretending to not be listening. Avoiding your eyes, only to return theirs when you look back at Koing and away from them. This whole incident starting to make sense.

“If I don’t dominate you, someone else will, süss.” He adds with confidence. It takes all your strength not to roll your eyes at his archaic way of thinking. That was obviously inspired by his friends to make him look like an asshole.

“Don’t you like when I tell you what to do?” He asks, his face falling to confusion. Unsure why his friends would lead him astray.

“No. Konig I don’t.” You respond flatly.

“I thought you would be into that? A dominant man who’s in charge of you?” He questions, genuinely wondering. You look up the man, trying to decide how to react. You think about how Ghost and Soap are expecting a negative reaction from you. You decide to not give them what they want. He waits for an answer.

“No. If anything I like to be in charge.” You finally respond, barley a whisper to not give the peanut gallery the slightest idea of your reaction. As you say this you move your hand to his chest. His eyes widen when you touch him.

"You...want...to be in charge?” He says slowly, you just obliterated every thing his friends said about you. Leaving the man more confused than he’s ever been. The thought of you taking charge, making a heat grow inside him.

“Mhmm I like my men to beg.” You say, shocked as the words come out. It’s not a lie but usually you aren’t so forward with this information but it’s obvious this man is an idiot when it comes to you. Getting a strong feeling that he’d do anything you’d ask, the thought fueling your ego.

"You...you want men...to beg?” His voice has a slight tremble in it, it seems like he's getting more and more excited.

"Beg for what?" He asks.

“For a taste.” You smirk, moving closer to him. His face turns red, he looks like a school boy, the excitement and heat is undeniable. He can't seem to control his facial expression and his voice, it's hard to describe, but he looks like he's very close to melting.

"Süss, please…” His voice is barely a whisper now, his eyes are glued onto your lips.

“Nuh uh, after the bull shit you made me endure with those texts from your friends. I think you can do better than that.” You demand, your serious tone letting him know you mean business.

"Bitte süss… please..” He's whispering, begging for you to give him what he wants. You look up at this man, he towers over you yet he’s the one begging. He leans down, getting closer to you.

“Pretty please, süss, I need you.” His voice is quivering, it's almost hard for him to get the words out. He’s never done anything like this before but for you he would learn to enjoy it. You let him stand there for a few moments, letting him think about what he’s doing before you close the distance. Pressing a quick kiss to his lips, only allowing it to go on for a few seconds.

The moment your lips touch each others, a flood of emotion and heat rushed through both of your bodies. Time stops, and his breathing starts to become irregular, he's breathing in and out heavily, he's growing excited. He finally understood what you meant by "a taste."

"You...you taste...so sweet..." His voice is still quivering, and his hands are still grabbing your body, showing that he still wants more. He was right about how easy it’d be to fall for you because all it took was one kiss and now he’s imagining all the things he’d do for another one.

“See what is possible when you stop being an asshole?” You tease.

“You like this…You like when I’m not an ass…and when I’m nice to you…?” He ask, trying to process everything, he can barely speak now.

“Yeah. So stop listening to your stupid friends.”

"If I am being honest, I was just trying to be mean to get your attention…” He admits.

“That’s not how you get a girl’s attention.”

"I hope you can please forgive me for being a jerk. May I ask for your forgiveness, süss?" He's still holding onto you, he seems to want to be as close to you as he can, he can't let go of you.

“Yeah I can.” You smile.

"Thank you for forgiving me, süss. Please kiss me again, it'll make me feel better." He has a cute, sincere smile on his face now, and it's hard to deny that you like him now, he did everything to impress you, even if he's still very clumsy with his words.

“If you want a kiss, you know what to do.” You say with a grin, which results in a sigh from him. Knowing exactly what you want and ready to give in.

"Pretty please, süss, ich brauche es..." He says this desperately, he really wants you to kiss him again.

It crosses his mind that he’s going to beg on his knees if this continues. He’d do it if you asked even in front of all these people. It’s a rare sight to see him like this, your emotions are going wild, all this begging seems to do something to you. You grab his face bring him down to your level, kissing him slowly. His hands further wrap around your waist, pulling you closer. Yor hear the sound of Ghost and Soap cheering you two on. Mid kiss you flip them off, causing their cheers to grow mixing with laughter.

#konig x female reader #konig x y/n #konig modern warfare #konig call of duty #konig mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig x you #konig x reader

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interpolanticssuperfan · 8 months

Text

nothing natural | ken x fem!reader | part 5 | 18+ only

hi everyone!! wow, i did not mean for this chapter to be so meaty!! i sort of had fun setting up the building blocks for ken's return, so i hope it makes sense and feels necessary. thanks for reading and supporting <3 <3 SMUT IS COMING!! DO NOT WORRY (:

tags: @heyareyoulistening @itsametaphorbriansblog @alyeria @chrispontiass

After Ken leaves you, the weekend passes by without notable interruption. Life goes on, and you have no choice but to keep going with it. If the blues of the sky pale, the whorls of white clouds disentangle themselves into nothing; if the pastels of colored buildings all seem duller afterwards, you don’t say anything about it to anyone.

Not like you had anyone to tell.

Your supervisor ends up buying the flimsy lie you’d concocted as to why you were so behind on reports and emails. To compensate for the hindrance and cover your ass, you worked a handful of hours on Sunday, barely functioning after fighting sleep that night. Blinking blearily into your weak homemade coffee.

The first night without Ken was impressively quiet. Hours of tossing and turning, counting stippled designs on the ceiling and squeezing your eyes shut when the blue or white light of your television grew too intense, your mind repeating on a loop that you’d never see him again. Funnily enough, the obtrusive screen could have easily been turned off, but the idea of laying cocooned in silence was worse than any other punishment imaginable.

You remembered how clean and aromatic Ken had smelled in your kitchen, as you observed the featherlight movement of his stomach, his breath tense under your catatonic stare. Like fresh linen, the initial wave of those pink tulips planted in tiny little rows in front of the library, the relief of a clean, spotless home.

Ken had smelled like a long-awaited sigh, like comfort, like the warm tailend of a nap that you couldn’t be shaken out of. A home you’d never known. Each element of Ken’s ever having existed had blown out the front door and followed him back to a place that didn’t sound real. Maybe wasn’t real.

How could you miss someone you hadn’t even really known at all?

Perhaps you could traipse out of the bedroom, wait out there in silence to see if you could still pick up any lingering traces of him in the dark, if you could pick up any notes of the pure bleach of his hair, pungent like a drying ink stamp.

Something told you even if you had nuzzled against Ken’s head, it wouldn’t smell like chlorine, wouldn’t smell like sodium hypochlorite or aluminum foil, because Ken didn’t need to seek out alterations to make himself beautiful, didn’t need to add to or take away from any part of his physicality to fit some type of standard.

He was naturally impeccable. Easily unmarred.

(Astonishing, really, how little time it had taken for your every waking moment to be consumed with thoughts of Ken.)

But now your living space was stoic. Fragmented by a deficit of light and life and sparkling teeth that glowed like ethereal cave moss.

(Teeth you desired to feel with your own tongue, battling for dominance in his sweet, pink mouth that curved like a marble bow. You wanted to memorize the dips and juts of his molars, his canines, wanted to know them each by shape alone.)

The cold right side of your bedsheets felt freezing to the touch once you’d spent three hours awake in the small of dawn imagining how wonderful it’d be to share it with someone. Picturing the rise and fall of thin fabric as Ken rested, let his body go lax next to yours. The way he wanted to. The way he’d been angling for.

You frowned to yourself, twisting a fraying thread on the empty pillow around your pinky, the silk too plump, too… devoid of blonde companionship.

How could you have pushed Ken away? Was it mere loneliness that had conjured this visceral reaction out of you? The feeling that deep down, you’d never really been seen for who you were and subsequently accepted? Let alone fawned over?

Your head bobbed as if underwater, tumbling out of wakefulness and into disappointment.

The second night without Ken had been fretful. Restless. Two bottles of pink wine sent you straight to sleep, and after brushing Willa’s hair and ordering in ten dollar pad thai, the only flashes of blonde you saw in your conscience were drifting through sleep, hazy through lackluster dreams.

You tried cleaning. Tried scrubbing the tiles of the kitchen for something to do. Anything to remind yourself that you had responsibilities, that life carried on outside of the compelling stranger you’d met at the library.

When Sunday rolled around your work bag felt about as heavy as the ones under your eyes, twin weights that refused to be alleviated.

You wished you understood why this was taking such a toll on you. Even Willa seemed to be raising her eyebrows at you from her tiny enclosure.

You’d been the one to suggest that Ken leave. That he pack it up and go right back the way he’d came.

You’d never really been one for accepting good things that rolled into your life. Whether they made sense or not, had been earned or not. Displays of paranoia at even the most throwaway compliment.

It’s how you’d reacted to receiving a scholarship – awkward declinations that catapulted house parties or family dinners into palpable silence. “No, no. Really, it’s nothing, I don’t even deserve this. Don’t mention it. Can we please stop talking about this now?”

You didn’t even like celebrating your own birthday.

How ironic, that the pinpricks of attention from your loved ones made you shrink under the pressure, but the laser-tight surveillance Ken directed towards you had the opposite reaction. You came to life under his scrutiny. Felt your heart swell and twist with each moment he spent watching you.

The cashier at the corner store nearly dropped his jaw in horror when he caught a glimpse of how ragged you were looking. Hair a mess, eyes barely open, your fingers fumbling with your wallet as you paid for another pack of cigarettes.

“Been a minute, (Y/N). Everything going alright?” What he really wanted to say was, what the fuck happened to you?

You ignore the stilt of his worried voice. “Fine. Thanks.” The kid doesn’t push it, just adjusts his baseball cap and shrugs, watches you shoulder out the front door with a loaded sigh.

Setting up at the library reminded you too much of the sweet, breezy morning you’d met Ken, the sunshine that had wrapped itself around you. You just couldn’t anticipate how you’d react while trying to pay attention there, surrounded by so many reminders of the only interesting, worthwhile thing that had ever happened to you, so the most sensible course of action seemed to be the patio.

You lasted about an hour in the sunshine before the glare bothered you and all you wanted was darkness.

Monday proved to be worse.

Reluctant to leave the apartment, you work again for the day in the kitchen, pouring a glass of wine at noon and logging off early at four when the carpet starts to spin, when email subjects blur into train tracks of nonsense that you can’t make sense of.

Your sister calls unexpectedly at dinner time while you’re dozing off at seven, drooling on the pillow. It goes straight to voicemail. How nice of her to find time away from her son to remember your existence.

Rubbing your temples, you chide yourself. Not nice to think things like that. Grow up.

Not calling her back, you throw your phone on the bed and follow suit, dropping down again and sipping a crushed can of beer from the night before, stale and tasteless.

Tuesday plagued you with the promise of nice weather, a drop in extreme temperature, but again, the second you got dressed to head down to the library, you felt laziness tug at your mind, felt depression sink into your chest.

Why even bother, you wondered? Why bother when I’ve a perfectly comfortable bed just around the corner where I won’t have to be looked at.

It should have concerned you. The drastic, melodramatic changes you’d been experiencing, the intense highs and lows of your emotional wellbeing all because of some guy you’d only met last week.

Then again, you’d always been like this. Building up fantasy lives and scenarios in your head so fondly (stupidly) that when faced with reality, actual human beings tended to let you down, so this exercise always resulted in disappointment. Locking yourself in your childhood room, scrawling on the walls in pencil and then erasing what you’d written for hours. Your parents left clueless without any idea as to how to handle your outbursts.

Wednesday seemed to tease you. A pointless company retreat at corporate meant your supervisors were all out of town until Friday, inviting you to slack off as much as you wanted – ergo, no one would notice your idling.

So you slept diligently until noon, fed Willa her special pellets during a fleeting moment of salience, and then got ready to catch a taxi to your favorite bar.

Who said you couldn’t work from a sticky countertop surrounded by shots of tequila and boisterous strangers?

Not like you’d be paying much mind to your laptop anyway. You showered out of habit and slipped into a skirt that fit your hips nicely, in your opinion, and shimmied into a tight fitting brown top.

It occurred to you that calling your sister back would be a fruitful use of your afternoon, but shoving your phone into your bag, you decided to put that off for another time.

Perhaps when your head wasn’t spinning with pathetic visions of being shoved into a wall and forcibly kissed breathless, strong hands glued to your side and tracking down the outside of your pelvis, repetitive circles rubbed into your skin with soft thumbprints until you could finally, finally undo the zipper, hurry the rest of his clothes off, shove him backward into your bed –

The taxi blares its horn out front in the road, shaking you from the vivid daydream. Leaving you with nothing but emptiness and a heat pooling in your abdomen that had grown difficult to suppress. Arid summer air filled your weary lungs, and you hid behind a chunky pair of sunglasses which successfully concealed how tired you looked from the driver, who looked to be as old as your father.

“Dropping you off right at Paulson’s? Or you going to the cafe right next door? Place is pretty popular from what I’ve heard.” His attempt at genial conversation was kind, but it wasn’t what you needed right now.

“Actually, Paulson’s is fine. I’m meeting a friend.” Pulse still racing in your throat from what you’d been imagining earlier, it takes mountains of effort to keep your voice even.

“No problem. Just making sure.”

The bar is essentially empty save for you, two employees and a guy slouched into a newspaper near the television. Which is fair, seeing as it isn’t even two in the afternoon.

One tequila soda turns into two which turns into a blistering three which eventually turns into closing up your laptop in favor of chatting gregariously with the bartender, complaining about the weather and the price of gas (even though you don’t drive) and requesting ABBA on the ancient jukebox. Patrons start to trickle in as the sun sets and it’s just as well, you’d been feeling particularly lonely by yourself.

The pack of cigarettes you’d bought dwindles as you reach your fourth cocktail. You light another one, hold it to your lips just as a figure approaches from behind.

A guy with long, stringy brown hair takes the stool next to you, his scrawny frame swimming in a button up shirt too big for him. He’d given you a once over before picking this spot, and you knew it. You swallow, your throat clicking, and think to yourself that were it not for Ken, he’d be exactly the type you usually go for.

Quiet, unassuming guys who don’t have much going on in life besides perhaps their accounting job and a few friends they see in dingy bars. Maybe they play shitty music in shitty bands that you hate staying out to see.

You should hate how it reeks inside this smoking-allowed bar. You should hate that you’re capable of drinking so much in one sitting, that it hasn’t knocked you out, put you to sleep. You should hate the persistent way this skeleton-thin loser is eyeing you from behind his beer, but you don’t.

You should hate how easily you rip yourself open for men.

The guy tucks a strand of that hair behind his ear and it makes you squirm. Any music coming from the jukebox feels a hundred miles away.

“What are you drinking?” A beat of silence passes between you, and you flare your nostrils, unsure of how to proceed but honestly so sloppy from the liquor you aren’t giving it too much thought.

“Tequila.” You take another drag from the smoke, blow it away towards the propped open door, your mouth lazing in an “O”.

“How’s that going?”

“Pretty great.” It wasn’t a lie. If great consisted of your vision fuzzing at the edges and your mind falling blissfully quiet for the first time in days.

“You have beautiful hair.” The offhand comment makes your cheeks flush. It could’ve also been combining with the sizable amount of liquor you’d imbibed.

“Mind if I buy you another round?” You wonder if this a trap. If it’s a trick. The guy’s deep brown eyes swirl under the overhead lights, comfortably dim, and you can nearly smell the sweat circling the back of his neck. It’s like a starving lion fighting the urge to pounce at a wounded gazelle bleeding out profusely on a plain. Agony.

But the idea of Ken accepting a drink from a girl throwing herself all over him has bile crawling up your throat, and you pale at the thought. Absolutely not – no way.

Not like you owned him. Not like you wanted to own him.

“Sorry, I’m actually on my way out.” It’s a blatant lie, it feels thick on your tongue and it’s so obvious to the stranger too with his damp chest on display, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, but it’s not smart for you to entertain him for another moment longer. You round the bar to a less occupied area, take another shot, and close your tab.

Your bag has never felt so heavy on your shoulder before.

The taxi heading back home is initially uneventful, but as soon as the driver peels onto the highway, something about your stomach doing cartwheels and the melting streetlights makes you emotional. You can hear Ken’s voice at your side, hear his words playing at your neck.

“That’s one enormous building, (Y/N). People work way up there? Even right at the top? Oh, man. Did you see that fountain – it’s like a lake! I bet you can ice skate there when it’s cold enough. Would you go with me? When it’s cold?”

You’re about to tell Ken yes, of course we can go skating, when you remember it’s not real. It’s so seamless to place him here, to envision how he’d react to the different sights and sounds of the city. Feels so correct, like it was preordained or something. He’d wrinkle his nose at the way you smell right now, but he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to be next to you.

It’s impossible to hide the tears that flow from your eyes as you rest your forehead against the chilly window. Choking back an audible sob, you dig your nails into your palm, everything so small and futile and fucking lonely. The covered seats smell like patchouli and you just want to get home.

Thoughtfully, the driver clears his throat, turns the radio down a smidge.

“Is there… do you have anyone you can call?” He asks politely and clearly despite his noticeable stutter. For some reason he surmises that you’re in a state to have a conversation.

“Uh, I... do I look that bad?” You question.

“I wasn’t trying to insult you, miss.” He seems offended.

“Well. My sister’s the only person I know within a fifty mile radius of the city, and she’s so busy with her kid I don’t think she’d give me the time of day. ‘Specially not when I’ve been drinking like this. Thanks for asking.”

He peers at the road like he’s ready to drop the subject, but he gives a light cough after a few seconds.

“A boyfriend, then?”

Oh, Jesus. Not this guy, too? Can you ever catch a break? His bizarre advances and body language were about to make you cry even harder.

“There was this guy. He was. He was everything. I pushed him away… I feel like I’m going crazy. Didn't even know him that well. He was so exciting. And he treated me like I was the interesting one, but I'm not. I'm not. And I told him to go home. I always do this.” Snot trickles from your nose in time for your bare wrist to catch some of it. If you weren’t so drunk, you’d apologize to the driver for being such a nuisance.

“I’m sure if he was feeling the same way you are, he won’t be upset to hear from you again. Distance can show a guy what he really cares about.”

Thumb scraping at the mascara clumps under your eyelashes, you nod, surprisingly agreeing with the driver.

“I guess so. I don’t know, it just feels like I screwed things up with him. I have never met anyone like him before. Like if I lost him, I feel like I might die.”

“Sounds pretty serious.” He clucks his tongue, listening intently as the road whizzes by.

“That, or I’m just an insane person. He relied on me for a lot of things.”

“Were you living together?” The driver wonders aloud, flipping to a local late night talk show. It occurs to you to check the time. Ten past nine. You’d been at the bar for that long?

“No, he was just… getting used to the world. He had been away for awhile. If that makes sense.”

The driver nods knowingly, a glint in his eye that you catch from the rearview mirror. “I see. He did some time and now you’re helping him get acclimated to life again?”

“Something like that.”

“That’s a lot of responsibility to put on your shoulders. Doesn’t he have family who can help too? Unless he cut ties with his family. Getting tangled up with the law can put a lot of stress on everyone involved. I know from experience. My brother robbed an electronics store when he was nineteen, he’s still paying for it.”

Normally, this sort of long winded back and forth would annoy you, moreso after you’d been crying. But the driver’s words lulled you back down to earth, reminded you that other humans and situations and problems existed outside of your own insulated world.

“Sorry to hear that. To answer your question, I’m kind of his only lifeline. The only one who can help with all the things he wants to know. Like I’m a mother sometimes. I know how that sounds, but it’s not a horrible thing, not really. I have no idea how he’s going to find a job. I don’t know how much I’m supposed to be involved, or if I should just let him be an individual and figure things out on his own. You don’t mind if I smoke, do you?”

The driver shakes his head curtly, rolls the windows down a pinch for you. You’d been hoping he’d answer affirmatively as you’d already pulled another smoke out from your bag.

“Well, not that you asked my opinion. But I say just be realistic. If you see a need you can fill, I say there’s no harm in helping. Oh, I almost forgot. I volunteer at an animal shelter right outside of town. You know where the Lyons Bridge is?”

“Yeah, my dentist is over there on the corner of Orwell.”

“It’s right across, you can’t miss it. Point being, I can probably talk to my manager, see if we have any work to offer. Not sure how your hubby does with animals, but it’s a start, right? And for someone jumping in fresh, you can’t really beat it.”

The unprompted offer caught you off guard, and you barely had the sense of mind to give him a smile, or positive acknowledgment. You flicked your cigarette with your thumb, watched the ashes dance away. “Wow. I mean. Thank you so much, seriously. That’s so kind of you. If I see him again I will definitely tell him that.”

“You’re very welcome. It was hard for my brother too, getting back on his feet. For years I was the only one in his corner supporting him, so I know how you feel.”

When he pulls up to the half circle parking loop in front of your apartment building, the driver scrawls the name and number of the shelter on a business card. He cracks a lopsided grin, and you realize that this guy is probably way too old to have been hitting on you.

“I really appreciate the opportunity, sir.”

“Call me Mike.”

“Mike. Thank you.” You made to pop open the door handle, ready to face the nothingness of the rest of your night, visions of the wine coolers in your fridge calling to you sweetly, but Mike piped up again.

“Not so fast, little lady. I think you should dry your tears and give him a call. Put on a nice dress, you know? Put your best foot forward. Lord knows he missed you while he was behind bars!” Obviously it was meant to be a joke, but the heart behind it felt a little too real, though you’d lied about the nature of your relationship with Ken.

Ken. Even saying his name had your palms growing clammy, your eyes welling up again with stupid, childish tears. Mike noticed this falter in your face, and he shifted his body fully in his seat to face you.

“No more of that, okay? It’ll be alright. Just get yourself cleaned up and give him a call. Think positive.”

“You’re right. Sorry for making a fool of myself. I’ve just had an incredibly weird week.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

It occurs to you that perhaps Mike is angling for a nice tip. He was your taxi driver, after all. You fish out a ten dollar bill from your bag and hand it to him, taking the business card and sniffling quietly.

“Thanks again. Have a safe rest of your night.”

Wisps of the night air knocked at your ankles, the exposed skin of your arms, and you scolded yourself for not bringing a sweater. Your bag hung heavy at your shoulder, but you just stared down at the business card. Second Chances Animal Haven, the card read. Ask for Dominic – tell him Mike sent you!

As usual, the unexpected generosity of strangers is enough to make you weepy again, so instead you read the card aloud to yourself, digging absentmindedly for your keys as you head towards the back row of apartment units.

“Here at Second Chances, we believe animals and people deserve to be seen at their best. We’ve been proudly partnered with local rehab centers and addiction programs for twenty years to provide employment opportunities to convicted felons, or those reintegrating back into society. Are you or someone you know interested in volunteer or career information? Give us a call at three zero four…”

You trailed off, flipping the card over to assess the cute graphic of a man petting the head of a labrador, absolutely beaming. The dog’s fuzzy snout brought tears to your eyes, and you wanted to scream at yourself, why does everything make me so goddamned emotional? It made you feel so puny and vulnerable, being affected like this.

“Stupid card. Stupid drawing. Stupid tequila, stupid fucking –”

Your embroiled utterances fell flat as if smashed into a wall, your eyes slamming shut instantaneously, registering that you’d just ran straight into something bigger than yourself, something moving –

Something wearing long, chocolate brown corduroy sleeves, expert tailoring obvious even under the flickering sidewalk lamp; something waiting at the bottom of the steps leading up to your unit.

The hard thud of your foot railing against a solid surface drowns out when you fumble backwards, nearly tripping onto your ass, your eyes widening at the speed of light when your vision focuses and drains of moisture.

There was no mistaking it. Waiting at the stoop with what appeared to be… five or six baby blue suitcases (each embroidered delicately with swooping, elegant ‘K’ headings) of varying sizes all stacked up against one another, was Ken, who towered above you, clouded in the veiling mist of the summer evening air.

Through the shadow his piercing blue eyes met yours, startled like a baby deer and even more innocent looking.

Were you hallucinating this? Was this really Ken, standing right in front of you, clad in brown and stunning, silky mustard orange pants that felt otherworldly in its softness, though your arm had only grazed it?

Etched into the face he gives you is instinctive surprise, as if the last thing he thought would wander around the corner was you. You drop the business card to the ground, don’t watch its descent as it flutters down to the sidewalk. Clutched under Ken’s left arm is a thick folder (maybe a book?) filled to the brim with papers stacked neat and horizontal.

For a sickening pause that lasts thousands of centuries, you wonder if Ken’s here to tell you off. To tell you that he was only dropping by before his departure, that he was going far away and only wished to tell your guinea pig goodbye for posterity.

You couldn’t have blamed him. In fact, you would have understood. I deserve that, you tell yourself, but Ken doesn’t say those awful things. He bends at the waist and plucks the business card you dropped, holds out his arm to return it. It’s then that you remember to breathe, remember to say something, and it’s then that you notice Ken’s gripping a bouquet of flowers in his right hand, pink and white thick petals wrapped in yellow that repel the light landing on them.

Ken’s so tall above you, his legs so lean through his almost sheer pants, and you swear you can make out the swells of his kneecaps, the curve of his hip. The incline of muscle in his neck works as he cocks his head slightly, eyes persistent, dancing and twining with yours under the moon, the feeble crackle of the dying, cheap lamp.

Handfuls of silvering blonde hair tumble down across Ken’s tender eyes as he waits patiently for you to take the card. Blinking is an uphill battle. Moving your lips to form a sentence is some sort of sisyphean curse that you’re unsure of how to break.

“I – I’m. Ken. You’re.”

Unflappable, Ken elects to hold off on exchanging the card, and slips it into his pocket. Instead, he takes a brave step forward, and like he’s rehearsed this a thousand times on the sidewalk, puts on his most hopeful smile, extending his pristine hand that holds the flowers that you are starting to suspect might be plastic. Shrouds of crickets kick up their serenade around the both of you.

“(Y/N). These are for you. I tried relentlessly to keep them perfect on my way here, but you would not believe how difficult it is to stop objects from floating while you’re in a spacesuit, I will tell you that much right now.” You hear his heartfelt words but all you can stare at is his face, every inch of him that you can see, the imperceptible flat of his cheekbones, the angular jut of his chin, all of him so illuminated and real and right in front of you.

“You came back.” It’s all you can manage to say. Like as if a prank had been pulled on you. Could it be the case – all these days of torture and self hatred and drinking yourself to sleep had been completely in vain?

Ken’s smirk widens, crinkling the lines of his cheek, but it just makes him look even more like a timeless painting of someone who once had been real. Boyish charm bled from his every move, his honeyed words, every response he could give you.

“Told you I would, didn’t I? Do you like them?” Ken nudges the bouquet even closer to your line of sight, practically begging you to accept them. “Barbie told me – sorry. My friend Barbie who is a florist told me that these are quintessential spring colors. I wanted purple ones too but Barbie said that wasn’t staying on theme.” Ken enunciates every word, relishing in sharing his newfound knowledge of flowers. They appear to be roses, as if they were somehow handcrafted, each one made painstakingly, lovingly.

Jolting at a realization, Ken raises his eyebrows hastily. “How could I forget? I also brought you a banana. From Barbieland! So that you can really understand what I’ve been working with my whole life.”

Something in the lowest part of your heart snaps entirely in half, and with fingers trembling like a leaf, you finally take the flowers from Ken, cautiously placing your nose to the tips.

By some sort of miracle, though they’re obviously not real, they smell exactly like roses.

“Riveting, aren’t they?” Ken’s adding, watching through his curled eyelashes to see how you like them, but he doesn’t notice the stinging tears that rush down your cheeks until you’re crushing the bouquet between the both of your bodies, impatient to feel him for yourself, just to affirm this is real.

The petals don’t budge or compress, they just twirl in different directions to accommodate the pressure, and the breath leaves Ken’s chest at once with the force of it. “(Y/N)? Tell me you’re not crying. The one thing I didn’t bring was a hanky with your name on it, which I was planning on having my friend Barbie who is a seamstress make for you, but my schedule was pretty tight. Here, let me just –”

There aren’t words for how you’re feeling, the relief, the overwhelming adoration, the incredulity that Ken had actually traveled all the way back for you, the sweetness of everything he’s telling you. It manifests as tears that race to escape your eyes and make you look even more disheveled than you already had been.

Ken carefully wipes at your cheeks with the edges of his jacket sleeves, folding the fabric over his thumbs like it’s brain surgery and he cannot afford to mess it up. Without asking permission, he sticks his hand out and tips your face up so it’s level with his. Gentle, so gentle, so endlessly attentive.

“Why are you crying, (Y/N)?” Your brain should be throttling ahead, formulating a cogent response, but all you want is to hold his shoulderblades in your shaking hands and feel his body flush against yours, make him feel what his presence is doing to you, how it’s making you breathe and sway, unsteady on your feet.

“I thought I would never see you again.”

Ken quirks his eyebrows, dusted blonde and light brown, like he’s taken a punch to the gut. His hands don’t move from their spot on your chin, affixed.

“You can’t be serious. When I accept an ultimatum, I never back down, and that’s a fact.” He seems to not mind the brazen tears and snot he’s wiped onto his (expensive looking) clothes, he just looks right down at you with a dizzying openness. Your fingers twitch around the stiff flowers where you’re still clamping them tight.

“I. I can’t. I didn’t know…”

“Look at me.” You don’t have the inner energy to fight him. Maybe it’s the liquor that’s rounded out the edges of your usually combative reflexes, or maybe it was the repressed emotional floodgates breaking, and suddenly you weren’t afraid for Ken to see what you’d really been feeling for him. The seeds you’d been sowing of your own destruction. “You really missed me that much? I thought you’d be working away like nothing ever happened.”

It’s Ken’s turn to feel flummoxed now, analyzing what you’d said, but you can’t allow him the time to rethink. To backpedal.

His chest rises and falls in rabbit-fast motions. You swear he smells like aftershave, but you can’t pinpoint the precise scent, just that it’s minty and pleasant. Ken’s body is like a barricade of warmth and there’s roses in between you and desire gnawed at your stomach like a profanity.

“Please. Please don’t leave again. I need you, Ken.”

“You – what?”

“I need you. I n-need you to be here, with me. Don’t leave again. I. I made myself sick without you. I have a two bedroom place, I don’t h-have to use it for storage, you can have your own room and everything, I’ll be the cleanest, tidiest person in the world. Just. Please, just. Just promise. Can you promise me that? Ken?” It’s embarrassing. It’s humiliating. There's so many things you could've led with: I may be able to help you get a job, I turned into a complete and utter hermit without you here, I think you may be the best thing that's ever happened to me, I've had so much to drink tonight I shouldn't even be standing. But no, it was mushy garbage that decided to tumble out and settle in the cool air.

You know that you should have shut yourself up after the first sentence, but once the first syllable let loose, there was no taking it back.

Ken continues to wipe at your face where you continue to cry, and he rests his chin quietly on top of yours, somehow managing to hold onto everything he’d been grasping and still making just as much room for you as you needed. Your words move Ken to the point that his pulse has quickened, and –

His pulse? Laying your browbone against his neck, just to see if you’d dreamt that forceful thrum of blood, Ken gives a submissive sigh for the contact. “I will never go anywhere ever again unless you want me to.”

“Your heart.” You mention, tucked against his frame but eyes wild with shock.

“I won’t even look out the window unless you think there’s something I should see.” Ken persists.

“Ken.”

“In fact, I think I’d be most comfortable just waiting for you to lay out what we’re doing every day, first thing, so I can get an adequate idea of –”

“Ken?” Your tone is sharp now, because he’s getting carried away – not that you weren’t receptive to his idea of what living together should look like.

“Yes, little firefly?” Ken muses, pulling you even closer to the front of his body.

“Your heart. It’s beating.”

#ken x reader #ryan gosling ken #ken #ryan gosling #barbie movie #ken x fem reader

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silkscream · 2 years

Text

ੈ✩ warnings: smut (18+ minors dni), fingering, bullying, toxic relationships, perv!eddie kinda

okay but.... bully!eddie who isn’t much of a bully -- just has an intense personality that grants him that freak reputation. he’s actually not that bad, at least to his friends and anyone who isn’t you.

you don’t know what it is about you that makes you such an easy target for him, nor do you know what you’ve done. nancy wheeler insists that it’s probably because eddie never got over that middle school crush on you years ago, but you doubt that it had even existed no matter how many times she tells you.

you don’t get it -- why he likes to run his ringed fingers through your hair long enough for you to get a little sleepy in class, only for him to tug on a strand hard, making you gasp while he snickers quietly behind you.

he is so goddamn annoying, that eddie munson. loves to tease you, poke you, steal your belongings, block your locker, call you condescending names like birdie and bubblegum and mary sue for that idealized reputation you’ve got. you think of yourself as harmless, a good student, head of the newspaper with nancy, but eddie loves to tease you for being a perfect good-two-shoes.

what you don’t know is that your innocence turns him on a bit. no one would ever take you as eddie munson’s type, but whenever he gets a whiff of your lavender shampoo or sees a bit of your thigh from your high-waisted pleated skirts rising up more than usual, he feels almost feral. he needs you like a drug, maybe, and he wouldn’t handle you as prettily as you look. he loves to imagine you at night on your knees for him, desperate and climbing onto his body like a kitten while your tiny skirt rides up. how badly he wants to stick his fingers in that plump, pink mouth of yours. how badly he wants to ruin you.

but he can’t tell you that, not exactly. so he teases it out of you. riles you up to make you mad just so you can shoot him one of your glares. eddie loves to play with you. he could only imagine how he’d toy with you in his own bed.

there’s a moment when he goes too far, confronts you outside of one of his gigs just because dustin had dragged steve and robin and nancy, who felt the need to drag you as well. eddie doesn’t mean to get his beer all over you -- he was trying to fake you out, fall-but-not-fall the way that david byrne does. but then he actually does stumble and get PBR all over your brand new white skirt.

“can’t you just leave me the fuck alone?” you seethe.

before eddie starts to apologize, he sneers in reaction. “didn’t know princess swore.”

“y’know, munson, you shouldn’t be hounded for your reputation of being a freak, because beyond that, you are the most insufferable, annoying, perplexing little shit that i’ve ever had the displeasure of--” he interrupts you with a kiss. with his fucking mouth on yours while your eyes are wide with shock, but you can’t pull away -- it’s like a spell has bound the two of you together. the brush of his knuckles onto your cheek makes your entire body shiver. the kiss is greedy, inflamed, that you think you might have whiplash the moment he pulls away.

“i’ll buy you a new skirt, alright?” eddie smiles at you with his teeth razor-sharp, hand still gripping your neck softly. “or you can borrow some of my clothes and i’ll make it up to you while you call me any names you want, huh?”

you hate how easy it is to say yes to him. hate how easy it was for you to make up an excuse to go home early while everyone inside is still having drinks and playing pool. you despise your vulnerability and his stupid charm, coaxing you into his van just so he can eventually take off that soiled skirt of yours.

once it’s real, once eddie actually gets his hand on your bare thigh while you look up at him with doll-like eyes, he realizes he’d probably kill anyone who tried to touch you. you were his, now, he’s decided. and he marks you as such.

gets his teeth on your neck and on your breasts while you gasp like a wounded thing, rubs your clit to extricate a forbidden pleasure that he’s sure you’ve been hiding from him this whole time.

“eddie! i- fuck!”

“you forgive me now, sweets?”

“y-yes,” you whine, breath quickening as he fucks into your dripping cunt with his fingers. you watch in admiration how he plays with you like one of his instruments, the moans coming out of your mouth as music to his ears.

when you cum, the look on your face does it all for him. he nearly cums in his pants from the sight of you -- pretty mouth all wide and gasping, pretty face ruined by debauched craving. eddie’s wrapped around your finger and you don’t even know it.

#i wrote this in like 15 min #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things smut #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson drabble #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut

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messrmoonyy · 1 year

Note

okay how about Tess and reader having a bet to see who can crack first without sex and reader cracks and begs Tess to fuck her? Thank you our lord and saviour messr 🙌🏻

Bet on it

Tess Servopoulos x fem!reader

A/n- hello. Thank you for the manners lmao it’s ben annoying me people don’t have the decency to be polite. ANYWAYS. I was really looking for an excuse to write about going down in Tess cause it’s been rattling around in my head for so long, so I took this as the excuse. Pls tess gimme one chance I beg tho I won’t lie I don’t like this one all that much but. Have it. What are you gonna do, ask me for a refund?

Warnings- 18+|| tess. Smut: mommy kink. Like it’s pretty strong, oral ( Tess receiving ) , fingering ( Tess and reader receiving sorta )

Word count- 3.7k

Masterlist

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated

It was all Joel’s fault.

Him and his stupid fucking mouth. And maybe Tess too. Either way, you refused to take any blame.

It wasn’t your fault you were… loud. It also wasn’t your fault the walls were paper fucking thin and he just so happened to live next door. The man was damn half deaf and 9 times out of 10 he was passed out anyway, some brain rotting concoction of pain killers and whiskey knocking him out for the count. So it’s not like you’d made any real attempts to be quiet anyway, you just assumed he couldn’t hear.

How were you supposed to be quiet when you had someone like fucking Tess between your legs. You’d like to see anyone keep their mouth shut with her fucking the life out of them. Well. You wouldn’t actually. But that was besides the point.

He was probably just pissed because his sex life was non existent.

‘ you can’t go a single day without goddamn jumpin each other. It’s like livin next to a pair of rabbits ‘ he’d said. Of course you being the stubborn fuck that you were, had said you absolutely could go a day. Joking that it was Tess who couldn’t keep her hands to herself. And she had scoffed at the mere thought of her being the needier of you two.

So that was how the bet had been born. To see who could last the longest. Who would crack first. You’d expected it to only last a couple of days at the most. Tess jumped your bones every chance she got normally, couldn’t keep her hands off of you. But now she was behaving like a fucking nun.

The first few days had been fine. But by day 3 you were regretting it. So by day 8 you’d had enough. You felt like an animal in heat, like you were going insane. She wasn’t even doing anything particularly alluring. Just her presence alone was enough to make you insane. Her voice. Her face. The way she held you when you slept. The confidence she oozed in any and all situations. You were head over heels for the woman, how were you supposed to behave any differently?

Bit knowing how stubborn she could be you’d almost immediately accepted that she wouldn’t break. It wouldn’t stop you trying though. You were trying your hardest to make her crack, from deciding walking around the apartment in your underwear was perfectly normal. To ‘accidentally’ brushing against her when you shared the rationed water in the shower. But other than the occasional glance up at you she wasn’t breaking. In fact when you’d tried another tactic of leaving your button up only half way done up. She’d simply stood and buttoned it right up to the collar for you, leaning in close to your ear and whispering ‘ nice try ‘

By day 10 you decided you didn’t give a fuck about honour or pride anymore. You were done.

You were sat at the table, fingers drumming against the wood as you watched her. She had the sleeves of her shirt rolled in a way that showed off her forearms, she fucking knew you had a thing for that. She was doing it on purpose, knowing you’d snap. You were sure.

You needed to touch her. Needed her to touch you.

You didn’t think it was actually humanly possible to be as desperate as you were. Before ending up in Boston you’d gone years without anything. And yet, now you weren’t even going to make it to 2 weeks. Were you that enthralled by her? That addicted? It was almost embarrassing.

Especially when she seemed as cool and collected as ever.

You tried to ignore her, looking back down at your rota of assignments for the week. But you could still see her from the corner of your eye, wetting the pads of her fingers to turn the page in her book more easily.

You didn’t know if you should be mildly offended or not. That she seemed to be doing much better than you were. Though she had always been the better of you both at masking her true emotions and feelings.

You didn’t know how much longer you could take it. Waking up every morning to soaked underwear because your dreams had been filled with nothing but her, missing the way her fingers felt on your skin, how her teeth felt nipping at your neck. You missed the hickeys, the bruises she always left on your hips when she was feeling particularly rough. The scratch marks you’d leave down her back in response.

You were done.

You got up from your spot at the table and made your way over to her in purposeful strides, plucking the book from her hands and climbing into her lap. She quirked at eyebrow at you, a smug smile already creeping it’s way onto her face.

“ I was reading that “ you shrugged running your hands down over her shoulders and arms, over her chest and grabbing at the collar of her shirt.

“ this bet is fuckin stupid. I need you so bad. I can’t take it anymore “ you whispered, a whiny tone to your voice like some spoiled little kid that was being declined something they wanted. She simply scoffed

“ it was your fuckin idea “

“ I know I know. It was stupid. I’m stupid. Joel’s fuckin stupid “ you tested the waters lightly, pulling open her shirt where she already had the first couple buttons undone. Not revealing anything particularly scandalous, but still overjoyed just at the sight of more of her skin “ please. Please fuck me. Touch me. Let me touch you. Anything. Mommy please “ you whimpered the last part, pulling out every trick in the book to make her crack.

“ oh you’re begging now? “ you whispered a yes, nodding you head. You unbuttoned her shirt with haste, her hands still placed firmly on the fabric of the chair rather than you. You rolled your hips against her, pushing her shirt from her shoulders and tossing it carelessly behind you. But before you could touch her she grabbed the back of your neck, making you look at her.

“ this was your idea baby girl, and you want to end it? “ she looked far too smug and you hated her for it. But you were so desperately horny it was making your brain fuzzy. Your hands traveled down to her jeans, desperate to unbutton those too “ I know your tricks. You just want to win ”

“ I don’t care about winning, Fuck if you won’t touch me let me touch you “ you said, dropping your head to press kisses across her neck “ please mommy” her spare hand that was still on the armrest shifted slightly, still didn’t touch you anywhere you particularly wanted her. But moved. You were working her down “ please let me touch you. Let me taste. I’ll be so good I promise. You win. You win “

You hands trailed back to her chest, grabbing at her through the material of her bra, grabby hands groping at her with no shame.

“ you wanna make mommy feel good? “ the low, sultry, tone of her voice made butterflies explode in your chest. You lifted your head, nodding and not letting your hands stop their wandering.

“ please “ she looked entirely too smug and you knew you would never hear the end of it. She would hold the fact that she had won over you for the foreseeable. But you’d be pissed about that later, in that moment you didn’t give a fuck. The only thought whirring around in your brain was getting your mouth on her, you wanted to taste her on your tongue, wanted to make sure she’d never want to go so long without you again “ can I? Please “

She observed your face for a moment, then gave you a small nod and it was all the confirmation you needed. You slid down from her lap and onto your knees on the floor.

“ always look so pretty on your knees for me “ she mused as you grabbed at her jeans, tugging them down her legs as she lifted slightly so you could get them off “ just so we’re clear, you know this means I win and I’ll be tellin Joel that you lost and not me right? “ you nodded fervently, mildly surprised that she was actually letting you rid her of her clothes. Almost expecting the entire thing to be a joke, making you keep going with the stupid fucking bet until you actually exploded.

But clearly she was as desperate for it as you were. She was just better at controlling herself. She always had been.

“ I know. I don’t care “ the way she was already clearly wet when you tugged her underwear down her legs too, was proof enough that she was well and truly done with the bet too. You practically drooled at the sight, already anticipating the familiar taste of her in your mouth “ wanna taste you. Can I. Please mommy “ you begged and she reached down, lifting your chin and making you look up at her.

“ my poor baby, so desperate “ it was almost mocking. She was fucking loving the fact that she had won “ gonna show mommy just how desperate you are? Hmm? “ in response you ran your hands over her thighs, pushing them apart and tugging her closer “ show mommy what a good girl you are “

She took a sharp intake of breath as you buried your face between her legs, sighing blissfully as the taste of her flooded your tongue. You wanted to reach every part of her, your tongue dragging between her folds, devouring her. No desire in making it last, a burning primal desire to have her coming on your tongue the only thing you could think about.

You spread her with your fingers, lapping at her hole and not letting a drop of her arousal go anywhere but your tongue. Relishing in the small sounds it earned you.

“ that’s mommy’s good girl “ she sighed, her hand threading into your hair and tugging lightly so that your scalp prickled. You hummed a response, not slowing in your ministrations, tracing a pattern with your tongue from her entrance to her clit. Your chin and lips were slick with her. She filled all of your senses.

Your nose. Your eyes. Your mouth. The velvety feel of her walls when you dipped your tongue inside of her, the sounds of her quiet breathy moans and vulgar sounds of how wet she was. It’s what you had been yearning for for days, what your dreams had been filled with. A never ending stream of praise as you made her feel good. You moaned against her, the vibrations clearly doing her wonders.

You own cunt was flooding your underwear, your clit desperate to be touched. You were half tempted to reach down and touch yourself, but she deserved your undivided attention. So you settled with squeezing your thighs together.

“ makin mommy feel so good. Just like that baby “ her voice was breathier and you couldn’t help the smile that crept it’s way onto your face. It was no lie that she was a god when it came to making you feel good, she knew exactly how to pull you apart in minutes. But she was much more difficult to navigate, harder to read. She wasn’t like you. She often urged you to be loud, to make noise and be vocal. But she was the opposite.

For someone so rough and confident she was much more gentle and soft in her reactions. It was all in her breathing, the sharp intakes and the shuddering breaths, the quiet curses that never usually went much louder than a whisper, only getting anything else from her if you managed to get her completely relaxed.

And the near breathless commands and instructions she still gave you, keeping you in check. Keeping you exactly where she wanted you doing exactly as she wanted. And showering you in the praise she knew you so desperately craved from her.

And nothing made you feel better than watching her fall apart. Because of you.

The tight grip on your hair grew impossibly stronger when you slipped in a finger, adding a second when your first was met with no resistance, burying them inside her to the knuckle.

“ fuck “ she whispered under her breath, her eyes falling closed for a moment. You watched her face carefully as you worked her open on your fingers, scissoring and curling them in some attempt to touch as much of her as you could. Stretching and massaging her velvety soft walls with your fingers, honing in on one spot when you noticed her reactions change.

“ such a good girl doin so well for me baby “ the way she was clenching around your fingers told you she wasn’t going to last much longer. So you kept at the pace, fingers curling up and hitting the same spot over and over. Tongue and lips practically abusing her clit in a way that was making your jaw ache, not that you cared “ like makin mommy feel good? Huh? “ you hummed an answer against her that drew another heavenly sound from her throat.

Nothing brought you more joy than watching her fall apart above you, knowing that only you could get her like that. Only you got to see that blissful look on her face, her eyes closed and soft breathy moans leaving her throat and going straight to your cunt.

“ that’s my girl. Like that. Gonna make mommy come. Is that what you want baby? “ you nodded, detaching yourself from her with a mildly obscene wet sound.

“ Wanna feel you come on my tongue“ you practically whined, begging for the privilege of being the one the push her over the edge. To gift her with the same earth shattering orgasm she so often gave to you “ please mommy “

“ since you’ve been such a good girl for me “ you didn’t wait a second longer, withdrawing your fingers and replacing them with your tongue. You gripped at her thighs, holding her in place, your eyes fixed on her face so you could watch every second “ that’s it baby, make mommy come. That’s my good girl “ her tone was higher, breathes quickening the rise and fall of her chest.

You started to rub soft circles into her clit with your thumb, relishing in the way she was clearly losing her composure. Squirming slightly in the chair, pushing your face closer until she was all consuming in your mind.

It was becoming slightly difficult to breathe but you weren’t about to complain. If you were gonna die you figured that was pretty alright way to go out. The searing heat of her on your tongue was enough to make you forget every single other thing in your mind.

A few more thrusts of your tongue and she was gone, head thrown back and her eyes screwed shut, heavenly sound after heavenly sound falling from her lips like music to your ears. You didn’t stop for a second. Lapping up every drop of creamy, sweet release she offered you.

You didn’t stop until she gently tugged your head back, your actions clearly bordering on being too much for her. You rested your head against her thigh, looking up at where she was running a hand through her hair and attempting to regain her composure.

“ you couldn’t have done that a week ago baby? Fuck “ a grin found its way onto your face, happy for the verbal confirmation that she had been struggling just as much as you had. She was just far better at hiding it.

“ I do good mommy? “ you asked softly, pressing a kiss to the silky soft skin of her thigh. She looked down at you with a soft smile and nodded.

“ so good baby. Come here. Up here “ you crawled back up into her lap, readily accepting her kisses when she pulled you in, the taste of her still lingering on your tongue “ seriously baby I needed that when you decided to walk around in your fuckin underwear “ she said when she pulled back, tucking her fingers under your chin.

She looked otherworldly. Her face flushed and glowing, the light sheen of sweat on her forehead and the hazy look in her eyes that could only come from having your lover between your thighs. It made you squirm a little in her lap, your panties completely soaked. You almost wondered if she could feel it.

“ I don’t know how I made it this long “ she laughed at that, her eyes flickering down to where you were wiggling around. She gave you an almost sympathetic smile, the backs of her fingers brushing along your jaw before pushing your hair away from your neck.

“ does my baby need some attention from mommy now? “ you almost sighed in relief, nodding your head “ you want mommy to fuck you? Hmm? “ her nose traced along your neck, lips brushing against the skin and making your cheeks flush and goosebumps follow in her wake.

Her hand came up, palming at your tit through the thin material of your T-shirt as she began working a deep purple bruise onto the tender skin of your neck.

“ mommy “ you whimpered, eyes falling closed as she marked you up in the way you adored most. It made warmth pool in your belly every time. Knowing she wanted to mark you. Brand you. You were hers. You belonged to her. Completely and utterly. And she wanted people to know it.

The friction of the cotton of your shirt against your nipple sent sparks straight to your cunt, your clit throbbing. Desperately wanting to be touched. You needed her fingers. Her mouth. Anything. You were so desperate you even wondered if you’d be able to get off just from the way she was grabbing at your chest.

“ please I can’t- “

“ it’s okay baby “ she cooed, soothing the last of her possessive marks with her tongue before lifting her head again “ tell mommy what you want. Use your words “

“ you. I. I want you. Anything just please- “ you cut yourself off with a pathetic mewl of a sound as she dipped her hand past the waistband of your sweats, fingers brushing over the soaked cotton of your underwear.

“ holy shit “ she mumbled mostly to herself, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment at just how wet you were for her. She hadn’t even touched you “ my baby’s so desperate huh? “ you nodded, dropping your face to her shoulder and hiding from her gaze “ my poor sweet baby “ she cooed, running a soft hand up and down your spine “ if only you weren’t so stubborn you wouldn’t be in this mess would you? Mommy could’ve been eating this perfect little pussy days ago “

Your face burned at her words, still squirming as she ran her finger lightly over your swollen clit through the soaked material of your underwear. It was too light to really do anything, but just enough pressure for you to know she was there. It was infuriating.

“ I need more. Please mommy I can’t take it anymore “ her spare hand gently nudged your face up from where you’d been hiding, cupping your cheek in her hand as her eyes scanned your features. You wondered if your desperation was evident on your face.

No. You knew it was.

“ can you do one thing for me? “

“ anything. I’ll do anything “ she smiled, clearly pleased with your willingness to obey without even knowing what she was going to ask. No questions. No second thoughts. Just complete obedience to her every command. She brushed her thumb across your bottom lip before pushing past and hooking it into your mouth. Her smile grew as you moaned softly, sucking without her even having to ask.

“ I wanna hear all those pretty noises you like to make for me. Can you do that? “ you nodded quickly, knowing there wasn’t even a remote chance you’d be able to keep yourself quiet. Not after 10 days of absolutely nothing from her “ that’s my good girl, mommy loves when you’re loud for her “

You rolled your hips, no patience left in you anymore. She took the hint, rubbing at your clit through your underwear with two fingers. The friction of the cotton, the pressure of her fingers, and the fact that you had been wanting to come for days, meant you were going to be done ridiculously fast.

“ I know baby, I got you “ she cooed as you whined in a frustrated desperation, fingers wrapping around her wrist as you rutted against her hand some more. Your orgasm was so close you could practically taste it “ I know you’re so desperate to come, don’t fight it baby. It’s okay. Mommy’s got you “ you closed your eyes, focussing solely on grinding into her hand, cheeks on fire at the crude squelching sounds your cunt was making as you moved.

“ mommy- “ you whined, biting down lightly on her thumb that was still in your mouth, not holding back a single moan. Letting them all tumble out of your throat without a care.

“ I know baby girl. Gonna show me how pretty you look when you come for me?” You nodded, increasing the pace that you rolled your hips, ignoring the way your legs were beginning to cramp up “ such pretty sounds “ she mused as your moans increased in pitch, your orgasm teetering on a ledge already.

Maybe you should’ve been a little embarrassed. She wasn’t even touching you properly, a barrier of cotton between her fingers and your cunt. But you weren’t at all. A Selfish desire to come being the only thing you could think about. You’d be embarrassed later.

Your climax was intense. 10 days of lusting after her with no release finally coming to a head. She praised you all the way through it, and only withdrew her hand from your sweats when you slumped against her with a content sigh.

She ran her hand up and down your back lightly, pressing kisses to the side of your head.

“ better? “ you hummed a response, trying to live in that afterglow for as long as you could. If you were being completely honest, it had been good to finally get… something. But you weren’t entirely satisfied. Thankfully Tess was rarely ready to call it a night without making you come at least twice. And was also as if she could read your mind.

“ don’t get too comfy baby. We have 10 days to make up for. Mommy’s not done with you yet “ you squealed as she stood up, taking you with her and carrying you over to the bed. You wrapped your arms and legs tightly around her as she lay you down, not wanting her to go anywhere “ now. Let’s teach that fucker next door a lesson shall we? “

#tess servopoulos x reader #tess servopoulos #the last of us #tlou hbo #the last of us fanfic #x you #smut #anna torv #tlou #other characters for exposure:#ellie williams #Joel miller #lgbt #lesbian #fluff

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