#(they make sure they take some... more tasteful pictures for her)
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This Is Always
From the Love Letter Series
Robert “Rosie” Rosenthal x Josephine Harris (OFC)
The holidays are usually a time to be spent together, cold noses warmed by the fire, and joyful cheers as the New Year approaches. This year, Rosie is struggling with being away from Jo, and acknowledging the future that he dreams of sharing with her. A heart to heart with Crosby helps put things into perspective for both of them.
Read Part 3 Here
Follow along with the Love Letters Playlist
January 1944
My Dearest Jo,
Happy New Year, honey pie! It’s just after midnight here, and though I wanted to be the first person to wish you a Happy New Year, I know that by the time you get this, it will be after the fact. I guess by writing this now, while it’s still ‘43 back home, I’m letting myself be greedy in being the first to send you those wishes. I hope you’re doing something fun tonight, and getting all dolled up to paint the town red. Your last letter came just after Christmas, but I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you just how happy it made me to hear that you were still doing all of your usual Christmas favorites, even if I’m not home to carry all your shopping bags back to Brooklyn after a full day in the city. Believe me, I even miss doing that, no matter how heavy some of them are.
I got Ma’s last letter just a few days before yours arrived, and she mentioned that you went by the house to celebrate Hanukkah with her and Jeanie. I know that made her really happy, and I can’t thank you enough for keeping an extra eye on both of them for me while I’m stuck over here. My sister would argue that she doesn’t need anyone keeping an eye on her, but I’m sure she appreciates your company, and will rub it in my face after the fact that she got to spend so much time with you. That’s what little sisters do, isn’t it?
We had a small thing in the Officers Club for the holidays; nothing too fancy, but there was music, and some good liquor that someone managed to scrounge up for the occasion. The Red Cross Clubmobile girls pulled some resources and, even with rationing, managed to bake a few cookies for us. They were good, but they couldn't hold a candle to yours.
I have never wanted one of your Christmas cookies more than after reading your letter, and to know that Jean Crosby took over as the official taste tester this year; oh it broke my heart darling. But, I’m glad to know that you two girls are keeping each other company, and I know that Croz is happy knowing that she’s not alone. I do hope you two aren’t causing too much trouble while we’re away. Knowing you the way that I do, I know that’s a bit of a pipe dream, but one of the reasons I adore you the way that I do.
At the risk of sounding melancholy, I’ve spent most of today wishing I could take you dancing; spin you around until we’re both dizzy, until finally we can ring in the new year with champagne. Crowded on the dance floor at Minton’s, wrapped up in each other. Maybe it’s bold of me to ask, or maybe it’s the whiskey, but would you have allowed me a midnight kiss, Jo? I can’t picture kissing anyone else as the clock strikes twelve, nor do I want to, on this holiday or any other day. I hope that by next year, we'll be able to spend the evening together, and not have to send holiday wishes in letters that take too long to get there.
I dream of you every night, sweetheart, and every night these sweet dreams end with a kiss before I’m pulled back to reality. I’ve been dreaming of the future, and if the real thing is anything like my dreams, I can’t wait for those days to begin. I wonder,do you dream of those days too? Of building a home together, a life that’s just ours. Living in the city, maybe somewhere near Harry and Jean. We could go to the pictures on Friday nights, and sleep in on Saturday’s, warm under the blankets until we peel ourselves from the sheets only because we need to make coffee. I’d spin you around the kitchen while we made breakfast, a record on the Victrola, the two of us tangled together while the eggs burned. The more I think about it, the more it all sounds like a dream come true.
Maybe it is the whiskey talking, but it’s getting late here. Or early depending on how you look at it, and even though we aren’t flying tomorrow, I’m sure the rest of the fellas will be returning from the Officers Club soon enough. I’ll be dreaming of you tonight, sweetheart, and counting the days until we’re together again.
Sending you millions of hugs and kisses, and all of my love.
Yours for always
Robbie
Rosie took a deep breath, and without giving himself a chance to second guess anything in his letter, folded it up and slid it inside the envelope. He’d address it in the morning and drop it off at APO so that it went out with the next mail call; tonight it would remain on the nightstand next to his bed, with Jo’s photo. He was still in his uniform, not having bothered changing after he returned to the Officer’s hut, and was about to take advantage of the empty shower stall, when the door swung open and Harry walked in.
“Thought I’d find you in here.” Harry spoke, hand coming up to loosen his tie.
“Yea, I uh, wanted to get a letter out to Jo,” Rosie signed, dragging his hand down his face. ‘Or at the very least, written.”
“It’s rough around the holidays isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question. Harry knew as well as he did, and he knew his friend was giving him an opening to get his feelings off his chest.
“Probably the most difficult part of all this. We’ve spent every Christmas and Hanukkah together since we met.”
“She celebrates Hanukkah with you and your mom?”
“Jo is the best gift giver in our family, according to my sister.” Rosie grinned.
“Sounds like your sister will be the disappointed one if you don’t put a ring on Jo’s finger when we get home.” Harry chuckled, dropping down onto his own bed, across from Rosie’s.
“She’d have to fight my Ma for the top spot, if I don’t marry Jo.”
The two shared a quiet moment as their thoughts drifted to a place far from England. Far from flak and casualties and torn fuselages. No thoughts of missing friends, mission counts or that damned red light never blinking off.
Rosie knew that Harry understood better than anyone; how it felt to be so devoted to someone, and yet, he felt compelled to ask the one question that, if he had to wager, everyone asks at some point.
“How’d you know Jean was the one?” He asked after a moment, gaze turned upward to meet that of his friend.
“She wanted nothing to do with me when we met,” Harry balked so loudly that it seemed to echo off the walls of the Nissen Hut. “But I knew. I didn’t want to spend another day without her.”
“Just like that, huh?”
“Oh yeah, you just know,” Harry nodded. “When did you know Jo was the one? And don’t tell me you didn’t…”
“Let’s just say I should have opened my mouth a long time ago.”
“Well, better late than never.”
“What if I was too late, Croz?”
Harry stood from his bed, moving around the front to lean himself against the footboard. With a determined gaze, he made sure he had Rosie’s full attention before saying what was on his mind.
“You can’t think like that. You need to believe you’re going home to her, that you two will have a life after all this.”
“God, I hope so.”
“I don’t know Jo as well as you do,” He started. “I only know what Jean tells me in her letters, but it sounds to me like she’s really something. And I’m not just saying that because she went out of her way to befriend my wife.”
“I told her I want a life with her, a future, our own place, Saturday mornings in bed, lazy days…”
“You want the dream.” Harry nodded in understanding.
“Told her maybe we’d move to the city, leave Brooklyn, get a place near you and Jean.”
“Sounds like we’ll be in trouble if that happens, Jo and Jean a stone's throw away from each other?”
“I think the two of us are going to have our hands full when we get home, Croz.”
“I bet they’re saying the same thing about us,” Harry laughed. “And I wouldn’t blame Jean. I’ve been a real handful as of late.”
“Oh yea, you’re causing lots of trouble all the way over here.” Rosie chuckled, propping his legs up on the bed, feet hanging off the edge so as to not dirty the sheets. He didn’t miss the slight look of distress that flashed across his friend's face.
He regarded him carefully; he looked like he had something on the tip of his tongue. His face looked worried, like he had something weighing him down exponentially, and Rosie would allow his friend the moment if he needed it. After all, it was the holiday’s and they were the best source of camaraderie that they had; friends should be there for each other. No one understood that better than he did.
“No, I’ve been a handful…” Harry finally continued.
“Croz?”
“Remember after Munster? When Harding sent me to Oxford?”
“Yea…”
“They double you up when you’re at those conferences, and my roommate, she-”
“Ah jeez, Croz…”
Harry sighed, dropping his head, too ashamed to look his friend in the eye. The moment had turned in the blink of an eye, and he wasn’t sure how to handle it, or get his friend through it. But he’d be damned if he didn’t try.
“I don’t know how to tell Jean.”
“Is this why you kept disappearing up to London? To see her?”
“How do I tell my wife that I slept with another woman?”
“You just do, Croz.”
“That’s the worst possible thing to write in a letter. ‘Honey, I miss you terribly, by the way…’”
“Alright, I see your point. But you need to tell her.”
“This fucking war,” Harry sighed. “I swear, it peels the humanity right from your bones.”
“Then you fight it.”
“More than we already have? More than what we’ve given and lost?”
Rosie knew he was referring to Bubbles, and for a moment he let his mind wander to Nash, and that first mission to Bremen. It would be easy to fold; to pack it up and let the fight take from you more and more. But he would be damned if he’d let it take more from him, and if he had to fight a little extra to make sure it didn’t take any more from his friend, he’d do that too.
“You’re not fighting it alone, Croz.”
“Feels like it most of the time.”
“And you’re fighting for something back home, even if you feel like you don’t deserve it at the moment.”
“I don't deserve her.”
“Yea, you do. And you’ll tell her everything, whether you write it, or tell her when we get home. And Jo and I will be there for you both.”
Harry looked like he was about to respond when the door to the Officers Hut swung open. He turned, half expecting a replacement officer, but was surprised to see Blakely and Douglass, the former with a cigarette tucked behind his ear, and Douglass swinging a bottle of something in his left hand.
“Nightcap, fellas?” Douglass lifted the bottle, and Rosie could just make out the label. Vat 69.
“Where the hell did you get that, Dougie?” Harry’s eyes went wide at the familiar label from back home. A very expensive label.
“Been saving it, so come on, let’s have a drink.”
“No, seriously, who’d you steal that from?” Rosie asked, watching as Blakely gathered four of the glasses the boys kept on their side tables for brushing their teeth.
“I won it in a bet, if you must know.” Douglass grinned, pulling the wax seal from the neck of the bottle before pulling the cork out.
“The details are not of importance,” Blakely chimed in, swatting Rosie’s legs off the bed to take up the space next to him. “What is important is that we’re here, and alive, so stop asking questions and have a drink would ya?”
Douglass poured for the four of them, dropping himself down on the bed next to Rosie’s, while waiting for Harry to join them.
“Any day now, Croz…” he groaned, glass between two fingers as he held it out for the navigator. “It’ll be ‘45 by the time you move.”
“Dougie… fuck off.” Harry stood with a laugh, brushing off his slacks before snatching the glass and taking the seat next to him. “And anyway, we’d all better be home by ‘45.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Blakely nodded, holding his glass up to cheers his friends, the only ones left that weren’t replacement crews, or trapped somewhere in the Stalag.
The foursome sat silently as they sipped their prize whiskey, thoughts turned presumably to home and memories of Christmas and New Years’ spent with people they loved and missed.
“Alright, what would you be doing if you were home right now?” Ev broke the silence, leaning his elbows on his knees, gaze landing on Harry.
“His wife, dumbass.” Douglass chuckled.
“Woah hey, none of that.” Rosie looked between the two, the rules immediately being put into place without having to say them.
They didn’t talk like that, but he assumed it had been a bit too much whiskey already for Douglass, and with there no mission on the horizon for tomorrow, their guards were all down a bit.
“Right, right, sorry Croz,” Douglass held his hands up in apology. “For real, what would you and Jean be doing if you were home?”
“We’d go out for dinner, but I think we’d probably be home for the bells,” he closed his eyes wistfully, and Rosie knew his friend was simply hoping that he’d be able to do that next year. “Dance in the living room, and yea, off to bed.”
Blakely nodded, reaching across to drop his hand to Crosby’s knee in a gesture of good faith, that he felt for him in a way, and was hoping he’d get that moment sooner rather than later.
“What about you?” Ev turned to his right, finding Rosie sitting quietly.
“What about me?” Rosie brought the glass to his lips, taking a small sip and letting the taste linger on his tongue a moment.
“Would you and Josephine be out on the town?” Douglass asked, gesturing to the photo on Rosie’s side table.
“Oh yea, we’d be at Minton’s, dancing until they kicked us out I’m sure.” Rosie laughed.
“Together at the club then?”
“Every year we go dancing on New Years,” Rosie started. “Christmas and Hanukkah are for family, New Years is for friends.”
“She’s more than a friend.” Harry looked at him pointedly.
“She is, and a fella can dream that she’ll say yes when I get home.”
Blakely, who had been pulling the cigarette from behind his ear to light it, fumbled, dropping it to the ground at Rosie’s confession.
“You got a ring?!”
“No, but, that’s my second order of business once I’m back stateside.”
“And the first?”
“To kiss the hell out of her.” Rosie confessed.
“Good man.” Blakely slapped him on the shoulder, a smile on his face.
It was absolutely the whiskey talking this time, but he was among friends. The trust was insurmountable. Between the confessions that had taken place before Ev and Dougie had joined them, and the warmth flowing through his veins, Rosie lifted the glass to his lips to drain it, before standing from his place on the bed. Swiping the envelope from earlier, and a clean sheet of paper from the table, he glanced at his friends with a grin, and offered a two fingered salute.
“Gentlemen, I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going! We still have more whiskey!” Douglass hollered after him.
“Save it for another occasion!” Rosie called back as he pushed through the doors and out into the chilly January air.
He walked until he found a spot under one of the lamp posts, the bench undoubtedly cold as he sat down, but he wouldn’t be out here for long. Just enough time, and privacy, to get the thoughts swarming around in his head out on the page before he lost his nerve.
Pulling his pen from his breast pocket, he carefully let the paper rest on his thigh before he began scrawling his extra note.
Hi Sweetheart,
I know this is coming with no context but, I want you to know how much I adore you. I know I’ve said it in different ways, and a few times by now, but, I mean it. Truly, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m sorry it took me so long to say it. And to say it from thousands of miles away, with a war on no less. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to hit me once I’m back home.
Just know that I’ll always, always, carry your heart with the most careful of hands. I’ll keep you safe, and treasure every moment we have together. Anything you want, it’s yours, Jo. A quiet life together, or a herd of children that jump on the bed on Sunday mornings. I’ll make sure you have it honey.
Just know, I’m yours for however long you’ll have me, Josephine. I’m hoping for forever, but that’s a question for another day.
I love you,
Robbie
A/N: Thanks for reading! This series will continue for Rosie & Jo, so if you enjoyed this, please like, comment, reblog- whichever is your poison. Feedback is always welcome & my ask box is always open. If you want to be added to my tag list, or removed, let me know!
Tag List: @rowdy-redhead @winniemaywebber @sagesolsticewrites @rosiesriveter @bobparkhurst @victoryrollsandredlips @bcolfanfic @major-mads @footprintsinthesxnd @basilone @roosevelt-stalin-cocacola @justheretoreadthxxs @claireelizabeth85 @hephaestn @ktredshoes @barrykeoghussy @peachessndreamss @hellfirequinnie
#masters of the air#love letters: rosie & jo#mota fanfic#rosie rosenthal x ofc#rosie rosenthal fic#robert rosenthal x ofc#rosie rosenthal x oc#nate mann#hbo war#gina baker writes
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Chapter two
Micaella’s POV
The next morning I wake up and I take a shower and I put on a sweatshirt and sweatpants and I grab my phone and dorm keys and I head to the gym. As I walk into the gym I see Nika inside. I smile at her and I say good morning Nika and I check the time to make sure that I won’t be late. She looks up and says good Morning Micaella how did you sleep last night. I smile at her and I say I slept pretty well. I was wondering if you could help me find the soccer coaches office. She smiles and says yes of course follow me and then I follow beside her and she shows me where the office is and she says I’ll stay out here for you. I smile and say thank you. She smiles and says no problem and then I walk inside and I see the coach Michelle Rodriguez and I say hi I’m micaella I’m here to sign my contract with you. She stands up and says oh yes and how was the trip up here. I smile and I say I got here last night. It was pretty good and I shook her hand and she said "So I’ve heard that you were the captain of your old team, mind being captain again? I smile and say thank you and she smiles and says you are a great player. I wouldn't be surprised if you went pro. I smile and say that’s the goal, well one of them I also want to be a marine biologist and end poaching.
She says omg really that is so really cool. I blush and say yeah that’s the goal and then I read my contract and I signed it and I ask her if dating teammates is off limits but is dating other people who are in different sports okay? She says yeah that is totally fine and I smile softly thinking about Nika and I snap out of it and I say when will I take pictures? She says right after we are done here. I smile and say it sounds good and we finish signing. We then walk over so I can take the official pictures. We both smile in the pictures and then the manager hands me my new Adidas practice bag and I quickly change into my game kit with the number 2 and my last name. Nika watches me from the back of the room. I then take pictures with the soccer ball and I smile widely. After the pictures are over i get changed then i walk back over to nika.
I smile at her and I say hey you sorry if you had other plans I didn’t realize that it would be so long. She says hey it's quite alright i really enjoyed it. I smile at her and I say let me just put my bag in my dorm. She says perfect let's go then and I follow her back to the dorms and I say that I’m the new captain of the soccer team. She smiles and says that's so awesome congratulations. I smile and say thank you and I open the door to my dorm and I set my bag down and then I say no practice today? She says no not for a few more months. I say ah lucky we start next week. She says wow that’s kinda crazy and I say I know right but at least no classes yet. She says i am so glad and I say the same and then I say i should really get some groceries to make dinner tonight. She asks what are you gonna make. I say maybe pasta would you like to stay for dinner tonight? She says I would love that thank you. I smile and say perfect I’m just going to grab my purse and keys then we can go to the store. She smiles and says okay and I smile and grab my purse and get my keys and I put my purse handle around my shoulder. Nika waits by my door all patiently for me and then I walk to the door and we walk out to my car. Nika opens my driver's side door for me. I smile with a little giggle and I say thank you and then I get in and I put my seat belt on and then I reach across to open her door. She gets in and puts her seat belt on and then I do the directions and I hand her the aux cord and my phone. She then turns on some music and I start driving to the store and we sing along to the music. She says you have a great taste in music.
I smile and say thank you and then I continue to drive to the grocery store and once we get there I park. We both then get out of the car and I turn my car off and we go inside. Nika pushes the cart for me and I get steak, potatoes, hotdogs and beans, pasta, pancake mix and everything else that I need. Nika walks beside me all content and I then grab some cereal and snacks and then Nika sees her teammates and says oh dear my teammates are here. I say okay where and she points over at her teammates and Paige sees her and kk says yooooo Nika and I can’t help but giggle. She looks all embarrassed and I smile at her and say go see them I’m almost done. She says okay but I will be back shortly. I smile and say take your time I’m not going anywhere. She says okay and she walks away to her teammates and I watch her walk away. She looks back at me and she smiles and then she winks. I blush softly and I continue to shop around.
Her teammates all ask who she was standing next to. Nika smiles and says my next door neighbor she transferred from Florida to play for our soccer team. They all say okay she's cute. Nika says yeah she is and then she looks for me. She spots me standing near the produce section. I then grab some more stuff that I need and I look over to see a picnic basket and blankets and I get those too. Nika just smiles and she shakes her head at me. I then look around for picnic food and I get those from the deli and some desserts and a bouquet of red roses. Paige looks over and says ooh i wonder who the red roses are for hmmm. Nika blushes and says oh shush and then I get the flowers single roses for her and her teammates. I then pay for everything and then I walk over to the girls and I hand them each a red rose and I give Nika a bouquet of red roses.
They all say thank you and they blush and nika gives me a kiss on the cheek. I smile and say you're very welcome girls. Would you all like to go on a picnic and of course I’ll make dinner later on. They all say omg yes we would love to. I smile and I say well I paid already so let’s head back so I can put the groceries I don’t need in the refrigerator and I have three seats in the back if anyone wants to join us. They all said okay and I smiled and walked out towards my car. Nika helps me put all the bags in the trunk and three of the girls all climb in the back seat. Nika opens my door and I smile at her and I get in. the girls in the back all aww at us and I smile and reach over to get her door open and then I put my seatbelt on.
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tim's definitely a coachella girlie, and drags kon along with him every year. the number of messages received from bruce + the rest of the batfam along the lines of "tim we love you but please put some more clothes on" grows every year. he ignores them all.
kon takes all of tim's pictures and is the #1 supportive boyfriend. i would compare him in this scenario to the likes of a bf roped into going to a taylor swift concert, but he is way too into the whole coachella thing for that.
their outfits are always coordinated too.
#spreading my twink4twink timkon agenda all over tumblr.com#i think none of the batfam would be on social media whatsoever realistically. for privacy reasons and what not#but tim gets the most instagram-worthy pictures EVER at coachella#so naturally they all go in the groupchats he's in#+ ma kent requests that they mail her a printed copy of some of the pictures of the pair for her to frame#(they make sure they take some... more tasteful pictures for her)#timkon#conner kent#kon kent#kon-el#superboy#tim drake#red robin#robin#batfam#batboys#dc comics#dcu#dc#dc batman#gothihop speaks
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Picture this: Dragons using their caves to age cheese. Dragon Cheesemakers!!
The dragon coiled his enormous body, completely blocking the entrance of the tunnel that lead to the caves.
“No,” he snarled, smoke pluming from his nose.
The cheesemonger pinched the bridge of her own nose. “Look, I explained this to you at the start,” she tried once more. “I make cheese.”
“Yes,” the agreed, nodding his scaly head.
“Then I bring the cheese here.”
“Yes.”
“Then you store all the cheese in your cave, keeping it at the perfect temperature and humidity.”
“Yes.” He sounded particularly proud of this part.
“And then when the cheese has ripened,” she concluded. “I come to pick the cheese up again.”
A thunderous scowl clouded his maw. “No.”
“But that’s how it works!” she cried in exasperation. “I make the cheese, you store the cheese, I sell the cheese, I make more cheese!” She peered up at him. “You do realise I cannot bring you new cheese until I have sold this cheese.”
The dragon considered this for a moment. “Ah, but what if—” he began. “What if you go and make more cheese. And bring me the cheese. And I put it in my cave, with the rest of the hoard. And then I keep it there forever.”
“No,” she said flatly.
It was remarkable how much a dragon could look like it had just swallowed a lemon.
“You can’t keep cheese forever,” she insisted. “It will spoil and go bad!”
“You said it would get better and better!” the dragon roared indignantly. “And I take good care of them! With the air flow and the humidity and the temperature!”
“And that is great,” she said, trying to smile through her frustration. “But when a cheese is ripe, it’s ripe! Then you should not be kept anymore, it should be eaten.”
The dragon scraped it’s formidable claws against the stony ground and sulked.
“Look…” The cheese mongering business did not tend to require a lot of sweet-talking, but she was making an effort. “I’m sure the cheeses that aged in your cave are the best cheeses people have ever tasted. When they find out how delicious they are they will want us to make loads more. Maybe several caves’ worth!”
The reptilian eyes stared at her with disgruntled, reluctant interest. “Several caves?”
“If we’re lucky! And I could make so much cheese that I could bring you new cheese as soon as I pick up the aged cheese. Your cave would never even be empty!”
This seemed to strike a chord. The dragon lifted his head a little.
“And that would really be much better for the rest of your hoard,” she continued with fresh inspiration. “Because if you leave cheese too long, it might go bad and spoil the cheeses next to it too!”
A nervous ripple went through the beast’s scaly body, but he clearly was not convinced just yet. “But what sort of a hoard is it if I have to give it away,” he complained.
“Well! Cheese is not just any old hoard! It’s a developing creation! And you will have a hoard that is constantly developing too. Constantly changing, but, if we do this right, never shrinking.”
The dragon looked at her solemnly, wavering with uncertainty. Perhaps she shouldn’t hold it against the poor thing, it must be a difficult concept to wrap his head around.
“And I will tell you what,” she said encouragingly. “If business is good, I can start investing in some really good crumbly cheeses. You can keep those in your cave for five whole years!”
“That is quite a long time for humans, is it not?” he said, sounding a little more cheerful.
“Very long. Especially when it comes to cheese. Cheeses that have been aged that long are very expensive.”
In retrospect, she should perhaps have led with that. Gourmand or not, a dragon was still a dragon after all. A glittering, toothy grin appeared on her recalcitrant business partner’s shout and he moved just enough for her to move past him into the mountain.
“Tell me more about this expensive cheese that crumbles.”
She hid a smirk. “If you help me carry some of the current ones out, it would be my pleasure.”
#anon I am blowing you kisses#what a fantastic idea#don't get me wrong I also support dragons making their own cheese#100%#but this was the funniest to me#urban fantasy professionals#dragon#dragons#urban fantasy#laura drabbles
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Beekeeping age [Dilf!Konig x fem!Reader]
You're ex-boyfriend is an asshole, so you decided to fuck his hot military dad instead. You're going to find out why his first wife ran as fast as she did, very soon - but Konig is still the best dick that ever happened to you.
CW: Daddy kink(obvi), power imbalance, possessive Konig, perverted Konig, age gap(Reader in her early twenties, Konig in his early forties), mentions of cheating(your ex is a douchebag anyway), slightly obsessive Konig, size kink, unprotected sex.
FIRST PART (can be read separately)
AO3
— Why your wife left you, again?
You stuff your face full of…something. He cooked it – gods did he cook it well. It’s meat and vegetables and spices, and it feels like your dad cooking but twice as good. It feels like pure sin because he says you shouldn’t worry about calorie counts or how fat the meat is, or how good everything tastes fried because he needs his special girl to feel good and healthy and fatten up a little bit, and you…gods, you’re down. Bad.
You wonder if König’s wife left because she couldn’t compete with his cooking. You wonder if his wife left because he was feeding her too good.
— Why don’t we leave uneasy questions for later, Schatzi?
He brushes his hand over your hair, taking in the way you look – dressed up in his shirt, skin covered in bites and bruises from his hold. He can’t see it right now but can almost testify to the way your lipstick was all over his collar – good thing he wasn't wearing his uniform shirt, wouldn’t want to make dorks from Kobra jealous.
He brings you another plate, he fills your glass – you never knew beer could taste this good, but he whispered something about having his own little homemade brewery for wine and beer somewhere in the mountains, in his Summer house. This man has a hug apartment in Vienna and a Summer house – you think you heard him having enough land to go hunting and to keep bees, and you might have cum a little bit just here and there.
— I would like to know the story, actually. To not repeat her mistakes, you know.
— You won’t, Liebling. I can already picture you with a ring on your pretty finger.
— Not so fast. Maybe I don’t believe in marriage.
— You’re too young to stop believing in it.
— Way to talk when you’re the divorced one, sir.
— Shut it, Schatzen. I can still take care of a good girl like you, ja?
König leans in to kiss you, his lips brushing over your mouth – it’s wet and swollen, he bite you quite a few times already, and you feel dizzy just from the way his tongue lingers just a second before going in, taking your arousal even more. His hand gently brushes some hair from your face and you giggle from the sensation of his rough fingers on the softness of your skin. It never failed to mesmerize you, just how seasoned and old the colonel might be – and his hands would still tremble as if he is handling the finest porcelain doll in his hands. He has the expression of an anxious, devoted follower – you are not sure how his wife could left him.
If he was looking at you like this every day, even as you go through with pregnancy and a piece of shit kid like Paul, you would die before leaving him.
— Could you two please stop fucking each other?
— I thought you wanted to move to dorms.
— This is my house too!
— Not on the documents, it’s not.
— You can’t just throw me away, dad!
— Your new stepmom needs her space.
König grasps your shoulder as you try to stop them from arguing again – it’s embarrassing enough that you’re fucking your ex’s dad. Colonel makes it a whole fucking show, parading you around as his controversially young girlfriend, making sure that his son will hear your moans and whimpers as you get fucked at every surface of this apartment. You were wondering if you could ask him to move to the Summer house – even with your college and all. You can take a gap year and write a journalist investigation about lonely veterans and their mastery at brewing alcohol. You can take a gap year and try your best in the new trophy wife gig.
König’s hand is firm on your shoulder – you know better than to try and argue with him, the silent recognition of authority loud in your head. You sigh, trying your best to just stop yourself from acting too damn weird. It’s their male thing, and you’re just an intruder in a big T-shirt and old leggings. König said it wasn’t his wifey’s – that he burned all of her stuff when she left. Somehow, you find peace in that statement.
— How could you even…Jesus fucking Christ, this is disgusting. She is my age!
— And the most beautiful girl in the world. I can see why you liked her.
— She is my girlfriend!
— Schatzi came to me in distress and begged me to take her. I think we both knew you weren’t…the best option.
You feel more embarrassed with each second of their conversation. You don’t want to listen, you don’t want to take in their words, you feel like a trophy being discarded between two different winners. You feel like a prized mare on a farm – and they won’t even look at you. Too distracted by the sound of their voices, you eat your dinner in somewhat somber peace because you need to eat, after all, and you really like what König cooks. You like what König does most of the time. All of the time.
Paul storms off the room after a few minutes of bickering. You feel guilty for not stopping him because he was still kinda your boyfriend. You ex-boyfriend. Your asshole incel-ish ex-boyfriend whose assholless literally made you go and sleep with his dilfy dad, and…god, you feel like a whore. Good. Paul was calling you a whore a lot of the time, you may as well take the new name and plaster it in your new badge.
König’s hand lingers on your back, caressing it gently. You whimper because you feel bad and you’re still in college, and Paul’s disgusted reaction reminds you that fucking a guy in his forties isn’t the best business decision. Even if the said guy is a retired colonel with shitload of money, even if he still goes to work sometimes, just because he wants to feel cool and shoot guns at bad guys, even if this guy buys you cool gifts and he promised to renovate your car or buy you a new one, and he makes plans and takes you to places that don’t make you feel like begging for attention.
If anything, you feel like he is drowning you with attention.
His hand lets go of your shoulder – he was holding you so tight the whole conversation, you can sense the bruises forming on your skin. You lick your lips, and he moves to kiss you again. You feel like drowning, you feel like this is all just a dream – and you’re also drunk because gods, König knows how to make a good glass of…something.
— You shouldn’t act like this. He is your son.
He laughs dismissingly. He dismisses a lot of things you said – you think it’s the age difference. You think he is just being traditional, and you don’t want to be too nagging. You don’t want to end up like his wife and wake up from the dear you’ve been seeing.
König’s lips are soft, and you can look past his hands, taking you too possessively – you can close your eyes, and you can just listen to his accent, smiling as his tongue worms its way into your mouth. He is good, you think – at this whole kissing thing. At this whole “Hi there, I’m a retired old dog and I am fucking the girlfriend of my only son. I’m divorced btw” .
He has experience – you know it when he tucks your lip between his teeth, when he massages your shoulders as you spread your legs already, so wet for him, it’s almost embarrassing. You never slept much with Paul – his poor excuse of a son – it was always never enough lube, it was always never enough attention, he always needed you to shave or to leave your hair to grow a little bit, it was either your perfume being too sweet or you no wearing anything at all. You thought he would have much more fun masturbating to his anime chicks and poor gaming sessions with his friends.
But König isn’t like this – every time he drops on his knees to eat you out like a man starving, you feel utter and complete devotion. In his tongue, in his mouth, in his teeth as he sucks little marks into your thighs, making sure you will remember it tomorrow when he will ask you to stay for breakfast and then ride you to whatever you need to come next. Last time he promised to drive you to the library, he took a few turns and took you to some restaurant instead. You gushed about not having proper attire, he was still in his half-uniform and rocking dark cargo pants, and he was apologizing every time his fingers hit that special spot in your cunt as he fingered you during the second course of meals. He said that he was so, sorry about not fucking you properly, about having to resort to public displays like this – and you were too high on loving him to care. You still are.
— I don’t think we should be…
— He left. Won’t bother us anymore.
— I’m not in the mood right now.
— You’re always in the mood, Schatzen. Enough to drive me crazy.
— You’re a pervert. Like Paul.
— He takes on after his father, ja?
It would alarm you how much contempt he had for his own child right now. Then, again, you were the one who dumped his son for the powerhouse of a dad. Maybe it was your daddy issues, maybe it was your dumb reasoning and the summer break that you didn’t want to spend with your family. Good thing you’re spending it with the other.
König’s face is buried between your legs, his teeth tugging on the soft fabric, forcing your leggings down. God, it feels good – he is so high on wanting you, can’t even wait to take off your clothes properly. You never had a man wanting you so badly before – it’s addicting, it’s crushing, it makes you feel like a goddess among men. Makes you feel wanted, a thing that your ex never did.
You forget about guilt when he kisses your lower tummy, when his lips trace down to your cunt, taking sharp licks through your panties. You wore them this morning, something from a new lacy set he bought – one of the only ones that weren’t torn off from your body the moment you took them on. He always wanted you to make these little fashion shows for him, making good use of his money – you weren’t a sugar baby, not on paper, you still clutched to the last traces of your dignity, but he did buy you a lot of gifts.
— S’ pretty for me, Liebling. The prettiest girl in the world.
— I assume after…af..ter your wife.
You giggle when he frowns, his rugged face filled with concern. He doesn’t like jokes about his marriage – you don’t want to ask him about it because it would mean waking up from a dream you want to experience over and over again, but you heard what Paul was talking about. What his mom told him about. you heard enough to know that kissing a man like König is a safety hazard and a liability that you can’t afford, but it’s warm, and he is rich, and you don’t want to go back to your part-time job this season. You want to be dumb and you want to be young – right now, you’re doing both.
— Don’t be so dumb, Schatzi. Although it suits you.
— I’m not dumb!
— Nein, you’re not. Just silly.
— You just call me a different type of dumb.
— I like it when you’re dumb. Makes you cuter.
König is awkward and funny, and he buys you things that you could never afford. He is mysterious and kind – to you, not his enemies – and he uses German words randomly in his phrases because he knows the accent, and the pronunciation drives you crazy. You never thought of thinking of yourself as a dilf hunter but, hell, here you are. With his dark ginger stubble – and grey streaks that make you go wild every time you look at him – between your thighs. It’s tickling, and it’s a bit irritating, and he will rub some calming lotion in your skin after this, making sure to cover every inch of your skin with some expensive cream that he knows jackshit about, but you wanted it, and so he went out and bought it. Gosh, you felt dumb even asking him for this.
He traces his kisses along your thighs, tongue lingers to press against your wet, swollen folds. Flirting in front of Paul made you embarrassingly hot, solidifying you as a shitty, bad, horny person who needs fat cock stuffed in your leaking pussy. You lick your lips, and you tremble when he pushes his tongue inside. He is starving, pushy with all of his needs – makes you almost beg for it, like a pet he took from the street.
— I want to take you to the Summer house next week.
You open your eyes, shocked. It’s nothing, really, you shouldn’t be this surprised about him wanting to show off his other properties. You want to check out his wine cellar and how sturdy the furniture is. You want to see if he had deers running around the house. If he had any pictures of his family – and if you could ever hope to compete with his ex-wife. It’s a petty competition, but you don’t have much to do and to think about. It’s obvious the love here won’t last until the end of the break, and you want to get as much from it as possible. Maybe even some hot bikini picks at his pool. He has to have one.
— What if I have plans, sir?
It’s innocent and you play the role well. You think some of your friends wanted to hang out or make a study group for the upcoming semester. You are a good girl at heart, with nice grades and a perfectly played-out future, and not as many working opportunities as you may like, but you could manage with something. Writing a killer essay about your life with a smoke show during Summer would be easy with someone like him.
He laughs, his hand lightly smacks your butt. You bite your lip and whimper, not accustomed to pain feeling this good.
— You will change them, little one. For the whole Summer.
— I wanted to study.
You moan when he lightly presses his tongue on your swollen clit, kissing and licking it. Slick runs down your legs, and he collects it with his mouth. You whimper again, tears prickling at the edge of your eyes – the sensation is sudden and overwhelming, makes you get your hands in his hair and slightly tug. He groans, pleasure from having you so active, so participating is overwhelming. He loves you, loves you, loves you, adores you. God, you’re beautiful. And so, so restrained – just his special good girl. Only for him.
— You can study at our house.
— You mean you and your ex’s house.
He smacks you again for the foul language – although you know you didn’t even curse, he is still punishing you. In the lightest way possible, of course, you know you won’t handle anything too harsh – still, you feel nice and warm when he isn’t just eating you out, but also smacks you for speaking in such unpretty words again.
You don’t even register the way he called the house yours too. All too dumb for this, again.
— I mean our house, Schatzen. Just you and your daddy, ja? You worry too much about studying.
— I want a nice job. Without…distractions.
He slips one finger in your warm, tight hole – even just one digit is enough to make you shiver, clenching it like a sloppy whore. He is big in every way – just two of his fingers are bigger than a normal cock, and no, you didn’t want to compare a son with his father, but even Paul’s cock, as big as it was, was still way thinner than his father’s.
— Why you need a job?
— Not everyone are retired military. I need money.
— You have me.
— I d…don’t want to be a sugar baby. Sir.
— I have no problems with being your daddy, Schatzen.
König is build like a powerhouse – when he slips just the tip into you, ignoring all previous preparation because, by god, you both need to feel connected, he is dragging you on top of the table, tossing aside the dirty dishes with remains of his perfectly cooked dinner…and you feel like home. Almost.
You imagine waking up with his cock every morning, and with the nice cup of coffee only he can make. You imagine him gushing about rebuilding the house and working on his tight and neat desk job at the mercenary company – something about instructing, dumb recruits, only the most elite missions as an operator in retirement, creating strategies and tactics for the warfare – and thinking that, wow, your husband is really cool. You shouldn’t be thinking this because this is just a summer fling. Your relationships with Paul weren’t too serious either, you just didn’t want to be alone.
König gently caresses your fingers, whispering something about numbers – you think you could recognize the word for a ring a bit later when he was making a call to some friend. In German, of course, you don’t quite understand it, but you worm your warm on his lap like a spoiled cat, purring on his crotch like a good fucking girl. But it was a while later.
Now, you’re gasping and panting, his cock spreading you open and stuffing you like the poor bird he was cooking for dinner. You know you won’t be able to walk after a short while – would probably have to spend the day at his house, with him cooing and gushing about your sore body while he is quietly proud of himself. If you’re lucky, you could convince him to let you go in the evening. If you’re not, he will ask you to stay the night, and maybe even a bit more, and then he will just get the bag with your stuff from your room in the dorm by himself, and then…
— What do you think about getting married in August?
Maybe, you do know why his wife left him.
#cod#konig x reader#konig#yandere konig#cod x reader#call of duty#yandere cod#cod x you#fem reader#konig cod#konig x you
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Professor Knows ft. Arin
(5.5k words)
You’re seated at the front of the lecture hall, and you’re not sure if you’re in class, or a movie theater with an actress playing a prank for some hidden camera, and here comes the host ready to pop out at any time; hold in your jaw, please. But no, that’s Professor Arin, and everyone here thinks it’s normal that her white pinstripe dress shirt and her gray skirt are both short enough to reveal so much skin that you’re already picturing her naked so that if you were to be saying a speech in front of a thousand people, that’s 1/1000th down to make the task easier.
That’s Professor Arin, teaching passionately, and you don’t give a damn about what you’re learning because this isn’t your campus, and you just wanted to get to graduation already—well, those are the excuses. You don’t give a damn because you’re drooling at the so-called professor dressed more like a slutty schoolgirl/pornstar emulation of one, or at least you have to hold back from drooling.
You are mesmerized by her perfect hourglass figure, and her heels—goodness, those heels. In her knife-thin heels, she’s rocking an entire lecture hall like she’s that one summer fling that got away, stabbing at hearts and bleeding them dry. How do your classmates do it? How can they concentrate with those hips swaying, and a pencil skirt so tight you can read a book on her ass? How can you focus when she bends over to pick up a dropped pen, and you’re one millimeter away from seeing the absolute territory? You’d call it collective self-control of an entirely different level.
It could be how friendly and bubbly she is. Overtly touchy with all her students, she treats everyone like longtime personal friends, casually grabbing arms and shoulders, patting backs and heads, and no one minds because why would they. The only one minding is you since she doesn't treat you the same way. You would often shift in your seat as the fabric of your pants becomes taut against your honesty whenever she catches your gaze.
And whenever she catches your gaze, for a beat, your heart stops. But then she smiles impassively and continues her lesson without any chalance. You exhale, relieved she didn’t read your mind.
That’s how it goes on for the entire semester: hell on earth, and you couldn’t be more grateful.
Or so you believed. Arin, as it turns out, is omniscient or psychic or maybe just some hair-level more observant than an average student like you—she's the one at the front of the class after all. She knows everything she's doing to you. She must. You hope. Pray. Beg.
Arin calls you into her office one day. This is it. The rumors. She’s a total nympho, a freak, down for anyone half good-looking, and you’d say you’re not so bad yourself.
She's sitting down in her leather chair, her crossed legs revealing just a hint of lace-adorned thighs; you lose your cockiness the moment you're inside the room. You're captivated by the soft, warm lighting that illuminates Arin's flawless features. Her lips are a shade of red that begs to be tasted, and you wonder what those luscious curves must feel like against your own. You swallow a dry lump in your throat, mentally willing your erection to subside.
"Sit down," she purrs, her voice as sensual as silk against your overheated skin. Her eyes never leaving yours, she uncrosses her legs and recrosses them in a way that makes her skirt ride even higher. That's more of her thighs. Less of your sanity.
Your fingers clench into fists at your sides and then you take a seat in the chair across from her, acutely aware of the space between you.
"So, Mr. Lee," she begins, raking her eyes over you, "I've called you here today because I've noticed something... interesting about you." Her voice trails off, and she leans forward, resting her elbows on the table separating you. You swallow hard, fearing and praying for what she might say next.
"Interesting?" you manage to croak out, cursing yourself for sounding like a lovesick puppy. Arin has reduced you to a puddle of hormones with a single look.
"I’ve noticed your… attention in class," she says, removing her glasses, and you're done for. "I want to make sure all my students are participating, fully engaged."
"I am, Professor," you whine.
"Just call me Arin," she says.
You blush. "Arin, of course."
Space becomes even more of an attention hog; the room feels like it shrunk a thousand times its size now, every one of your heartbeats echoing off the four walls, the bookshelves as your eyes follow her fingers, which now travel up her thighs, pushing her skirt higher. Your breath catches in your throat as she uncrosses her legs, revealing just so the white fabric of her panties. Arousal hits you like a ton of bricks, your cock throbbing in your pants. You swallow hard, trying to moisten your mouth as she gets up from her chair and sits on her desk instead.
Then, she touches you for the first time, like she's your classroom crush, finally noticing your feelings, and you can believe that easily, the woman at most a few years your senior. It's a simple touch, a brush of her index along the back of your hand and wrist, yet it's enough to spike the little hairs onto ends like you're touching a Van de Graaff generator. The moment she lets go: there's the blue-white snappy little spark. At this heightened state of awareness, your eyes are flies or bumblebees or hummingbirds, your heart the latter's. You can't make sense of anything else but her.
"I think we both know why I called you in here, don’t we?" she asks, her voice husky.
Now, it's your turn to speak up. Choose your next move wisely.
You say, slowly, "I need to… learn. My lesson."
Arin nods, hops off the edge of the desk. Her smile turns from sultry to goofy. (How’d she do that?) "Exactly!" She pushes a couple of papers in front of you. "Practice these cast studies, I’ll have you read them for the class next lecture."
You were about to get hit by a truck, didn’t get hit by a truck, and felt disappointed that you didn’t get hit by a truck. You take the papers, nod, and leave with your head down. She waves bye when you look back.
Fast forward to the next lecture. You’re a hot mess. You didn’t sleep, rehearsed those damn lines a hundred times as if you were some damn actor. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you can’t for the life of you stop staring at her high heels and gym-toned midriff, showcasing themselves like they were on display.
Your turn comes around, and Arin nods at you to read aloud. You take a deep breath, step forward, and start reading. Your voice is shaky at first but soon, you find your rhythm. Her encouraging looks don’t help, her leg bouncing up and down playfully. Occasionally she’d take her glasses off, chew on the end of them...
Your mind starts to wander into dirty places you'd rather not mention here, but suffice to say, your pants are a little too tight now. It has you stumbling over words when you thought you had it. You force yourself to focus on the text in front of you, but it’s near impossible when she leans in and whispers in your ear.
"Mmm. Getting warmer," she says.
Your voice cracks a little as you try to regain control of your senses but it was no use; you were all hers now. Arin has successfully reduced you to putty in her hands with just one sexy whisper-purr hybrid thing she did so well.
You finish the rest of the reading, and when you look up, you see her staring at you, eyes hooded. It means nothing; you’ve learned this quickly. There’s no truck to be hit by, just the ghost of a promise of one.
You’re in the club later that night, and your balls are ocean/sky/blue-raspberry blue. You down your fourth shot of vodka, determined to forget about it all. There are a lot of girls here. Your friends are going for it. Good for them. They’re all from your old campus, so they would have never met Arin. That adds up.
"You okay, man?" Dongwoo asks, patting you on the back.
You down another shot. "Fine, just fine," you slur.
"She was something, wasn’t she?" he asks, grinning like an idiot. You can only assume he was talking about some girl you must’ve hit on.
"Arin?"
The world tilts on its axis as Dongwoo whips his head around so fast you fear for his neck health. "How do..."
"Long story." You wave him off and order another round, beer this time. "Tell me more."
Dongwoo leans in and starts spilling, but all you can think about is the way Arin looked at you today in class. And how her voice curled itself around your cock like a python around a deer and squeezed just as tightly.
You think about it so much that when you get back to your dorm on campus, stumbling around, world spinning, you make your way to that very lecture hall.
And then you sober up, real fast.
Moans fill the large room. Thick, throaty, oh-god-yes moans.
"Fuck," you gasp, covering your mouth as you peek through a small crack in the door. "She’s..."
Arin, your perfect goddess of a professor, is on the floor, skirt hiked up, glasses askew, as her fingers work in and out like engine pistons.
Your heart pounds as you watch Arin pleasure herself on the lecture hall floor, her soft moans filling the room. She arches her back, her free hand groping her breasts through her silk blouse as her fingers delve deeper. You can't tear your eyes away from the erotic display, mesmerized by the way her body writhes with each thrust of her fingers.
A quiet whimper escapes your lips, and Arin's eyes suddenly lock onto yours through the cracked door. At first, she tenses up, but then, her face softens, and she’s smiling. Then she’s frowning and shaking her head. You know this, understand this, are running through the whole gamut of emotions yourself. You’ve heard the rumors are true, to an extent. She has indeed slept with every professor, male and female, that she’s deemed decent enough. Never crossed a line with a student.
You're frozen in place, unable to move as Arin saunters over to the door, her fingers still wet with her juices. She smells like sex and orchids, two of your favorite things now that you think about it. She closes the door behind you, then laughs at you.
"You smell like booze," she says. She’s wearing that same outfit, the skirt so short you’re ready to go all-in on temperance, whip the ruler out, have her punished for wearing something so scandalous if whatever lord above smite her now, you don’t blame His lightning. Her thighs are a juicy steak—the juice is a trail of something clear.
You look down. "Y-you… you smell like…"
Arin doesn’t know what to do with her hands like how you don’t know what to do with your hands. She also lowers her head. "Fuck. I really, really shouldn’t do this."
Two breaths, heaving, yours and hers.
"You’re right. I’m sorry, Prof—"
She presses her index finger against your lips, and you get a close whiff of her taste. "Why are you apologizing? It’s my fault. And… Arin."
"Can I call you Noona?"
Arin giggles. "Sure."
"Noona," you mumble, your heart in your throat, "I shouldn’t have—"
"Then why are you still standing there? If you’re going to apologize, at least do it right."
"A-apologize?"
Arin rolls her eyes and pulls you toward the seating. When she sits down, your spot, front of the class, she brings you to the floor, where you can see her skirt hiked up even higher. "I was so close, but fine. Apologize for interrupting me by…" She inclines her head toward her wet panties. "You know what to do, right?"
You never thought you’d be kneeling where you pay halfhearted attention to useless studies, but sure, this is church now. Pray. Pray at the altar of the space between Arin’s thighs which heaven envies for lack of same glory, or the idyll garden where the cuff of her socks squeezes the ample flesh. You hesitate, taking in her scent. It’s so much stronger here. So much more Arin.
"Hurry up. Don’t make me regret this." Her fingers in your hair—oh, you won't make her regret this, no, no. You press your lips to her thighs, kissing your way up her inner thighs with a fervor that would make the most devout jealous as you lick-suck-peck at the bare skin and taste the sweat on your tongue, delicious and tangy and a hint of that musky flavor. Oh, she’s been dripping for a while.
Your cock reacts, throbbing in your pants like you haven't had a single drink tonight, as you finally reach the holy of holies.
Arin’s thigh-high clad legs are wrapped around your head, depriving you of basic breath, but you don't care. This is the rapture, and you’d die for her right now and be satisfied. You slide your tongue between her folds, lapping at the nectar she so generously shares as her moans spur you onward. You can hear her panting above you, feel her rocking into your mouth in time with your ministrations. She tastes better than any woman you've ever been with, salty like the sea and as sweet as honey.
"Fuck," she gasps, and you faithfully redouble your efforts. Her grip tightens on your hair as she grinds against your face, and it’s a miracle you don’t pass out from oxygen deprivation or an erection that won't quit. "Yess," Arin hisses, her heels digging into the ground.
"Fuck!" Her juices flood your mouth in a tidal wave of orgasmic release as you swallow every drop like a good little student. She squeezes your face tightly between her thighs, forcing every last drop out of her before finally letting go with a shudder.
"Fuck…" she breathes out, combing her fingers through your hair. "That was unexpected."
Arin blushes, and you smile into her crotch. Reluctantly, you pull away, then return to your seat as Arin adjusts her skirt and glasses, straightening her hair. As you lean back on your heels, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, proud and embarrassed by your performance."Did I do good, Noona?"
Arin laughs out a low and throaty sound. "Oh, you did more than good. But I think it's my turn to apologize now."
"Why?" you ask.
She smiles slyly, reaching down to grab your hand and pull you to your feet. "Because I've been teasing you all night." Arin leans in, her warm breath dancing over your ear. "And I’m not one to leave a task half-finished."
Led by the hand, you follow her into her office, leaving the empty classroom behind. The door closes with a resounding click, sealing you both inside. So this is where the real lesson begins.
The office is a complete one-eighty from the cold, sterile environment of her classroom. You didn’t realize it before, too focused on her to see anything else. Warm, rich colors greet your eyes, and the scent of vanilla and sandalwood fills the air. Arin's desk is a sea of piled-up papers and knick-knacks, but she clears a space for you as she pushes them aside.
"Sit," she commands, motioning to the plush leather chair in front of her desk at as she locks the door behind you with an audible click. The sound of the lock engaging sobers you up at once.
Arin, your professor, just had her way with your mouth and now you're about to... what? Your mind reels with possibilities as she saunters around the room, slackening her black tie and unbuttoning her blouse one button at a time. Each button revealed another inch of porcelain skin, bared for your hungry eyes only. Her dress shirt hangs loosely on her now, just like her tie, and now you can see how her lace panties match her bra. You wonder if this was all planned or a serendipitous coincidence. Arin shimmies out of her panties, then turns around, which lifts her skirt just enough to show off her ass. Arin’s ass is a sort of cryptozoological being that earns hushed whispers at the end of lectures—did you catch the crease of her cheeks when jumped to pull down the blackboard, or did you see how it jiggled when she jumped to pull the blackboard down? But here, in the bare flesh, with its goosebumps and every trajectory, a hushed whisper is too quiet for Loch Ness or Bigfoot’s more famed sight. Her ass makes your mouth water. It makes the desert water. The sun waters. If there were a shape to describe it… yet circle, then perfect, then slappable each inch ever closer to an apt description as apt as the appleness of oranges—now there’s another inch closer: Arin’s ass is juicy. Yet, you can’t even render anything above mute: porcelain skin glowing in the dim light and that pussy... that enticing wetness between her legs, glistening with arousal.
"You must be hard," she says, academic, as though stating fact off a lecture slide or textbook.
You might not graduate with any particular honors on your diploma. Where is honor or prestige and how could it be written down: you have your professor on her knees under her desk, grasping tight on your cock; this can't go in the transcript. (Magna cum loudly—that’s how. If it were not written, lest the porn titlers monopolize this for themselves.)
"You don't know the half of it," you say, and she smirks because she knows more than you, with the proof in her fingers, uncoiling you free.
Digits that hold red pens and chalk and sheaves of paper are now working their magic on your straining erection, already at full mast, but here the flag might fly further such that flagging no longer can belong to that cloth the flaps in the wind because it would not be so accurate a description. Arin watches you squirm, her eyes glinting with mischief and something else you can't quite place. Pride, maybe? As if she's always known this day would come and has been waiting for it.
You're so hard her grip doesn't even feel particularly tight, but when she looks up at you through those glasses, that impassive facade in tatters? That is the tightest leash your heart has ever worn. Her lips are a soft pink, colors you might see on her dress on occasion, and she parts them—the colors you see are a hot white flash, how did she get you down so quickly, and good lord if he were good you’d need his help to last. There is no way she’s this skilled at this unless she’s been practicing like it’s a side job. Her head bobs up and down, each movement accompanied by a moan that vibrates along your cock. She looks up at you through her glasses, more spit on them now, impassive as a hurricane. You make eye contact; it’s all you can do to avoid cumming right then and there, however paradoxical since her glare is saying all you need to hear. Don’t cum. Don’t cum or I fail you. Don’t cum or you’re punished—well, that doesn’t sound so bad.
Releasing and letting out a sharp gasp, Arin lets your erection flop into your stomach, spit-messy and begging. "Good boy. You pass."
As all she speaks, this too is a truth: you pass—into the next life—no time to process how she rips open a packet of latex with her teeth, places it into your length with her mouth, pushes you down onto the desk, one knee on either side of your thighs as she hovers over you.
"I’ve wanted this," she says, grinding against your tip, "since the first day you walked into my class."
"Oh, really, professor?" you manage to croak out, and damn it all if she doesn’t laugh, sexy and low in her throat.
"Don’t call me that right now." Arin sounds so stern saying that, stern like you've never heard her before. Then, in a smooth motion, she sinks herself down, takes all of you in one go, and moans out "fuck me" not nearly so severe. Her inner heat grips you more than the condom could hope, and her soft groans and profanity drain the office of its dry air as if it were never there. Well, the draining is less the sound, and the dry less the extant, both because of what surrounds your cock.
You hold on for dear life as Arin rides you like she's trying to break something, but with no handles to save you, nor any mercy in her movements—up, down, side to side, her black tie and open shirt flapping about—you can only grip her hips and hope to keep up. It’s nothing new for how new it is. This is just like how she treats you, how she treats the class. Just like the rumors. She’s in charge, knows what she’s doing when she has you under her—the metaphorical thumb becomes the literal body; the pretense becomes past tense—and fuck, her body.
The sounds of slapping aren’t your work (yet); that’s her thick thighs and ass smacking against your crotch, hard enough to make her pleated skirt fly wildly. Then, her adorable tits, clad in that black lace, call out to you, have you leaning your head forward in some desperate maneuver to capture them in your mouth.
"Touch me." Arin guides your hand to where she's dripping wet, where her clit throbs impatiently. She arches her back at the simplest circle your fingers can manage, and you’re feeling more at home here, less regret. You’re also palming at her breasts over cloth, and she abates her rhythm to unclasp her bra, letting you have a taste of her nipples, firm and delicious in your gentle teeth and lips. That’s another handle, her breasts a needy handful to be kneaded.
You don’t have the right to command your professor, nor the will. The closest thing to a request is how you grab her loose tie, earning a pleasured squeal, and a harder ride. Hard enough her glasses might fall off. As always, she knows you and your wishes, no need for words: nails dig into your thighs, fingers run through your hair, hands explore all over your body. The touch sends you way too close to tripping off a cliff in a car crash that ends in explosion that might fill latex to its brink, so you do end up with a command, albeit expressed physically as you grab her waist to peel her off you.
When she pouts, she truly looks more like the schoolgirl in your fantasies than the professor who has your graduation at ransom. And how is it that you're the one with any sort of leverage in this situation? Maybe you can tell by her eyelids, falling close, mouth, falling open. Whatever you’re doing, you’re doing it right. You flip her over onto her stomach, pressing her into the cool, smooth surface of her desk with a resounding thud. She whimpers, arching her back and presenting her still-slick pussy to you like an offering. But instead of sliding your cock inside right away, a recipe for disaster and early nights, something else calls out to you. Her asshole, like a forbidden fruit, beckons you to your knees, and you spread her cheeks apart, flipping her skirt up and bringing her tight entrance into full view of your face.
You start with a kiss on the pale skin. "May I? Noona?"
She giggles, no semblance of a mind in the airy noise. "Please."
Continuing with more pecks, tender and loving on her beautiful behind, some kisses along her thighs where they’re squished by thigh-highs, then you get closer and closer until your mouth is around her asshole. While you undertook this sabbatical to let your furious erection and imminent orgasm simmer down, the first taste of your tongue inside of her ass does no favors for your arousal. Tangier, saltier, and hotter than you could have imagined, Arin's tightness envelopes your tongue in a way that makes you groan, the vibration resonating through her. Her fingers grab at the edge of the desk as she moans out your name, or maybe it's "fuck" and "yes," but either way, you know you've struck gold.
You lace your fingers through her folds while you deepen your one-sided French kiss, tonguing her anal passage.
"Oh, god. Yes, right there!" she squeals between pants, rocking her hips back and forth.
As much as you'd love to continue this exquisite torment, there are other needs to attend to. Withdrawing your tongue from her ass, you see a strand of her pussy juice connecting her thigh gap. You stand up, lining up your latex-covered length with her cunt. "Ready for me, Noona?" you ask, though you already have the slick cheat sheet answer on your fingers.
As you press your hardened cock against the velvet folds of her intimacy, you position yourself to plunge into her waiting warmth. However, instead of granting that eager penetration, you ruthlessly tease her entry with the rugged tip before pulling away prematurely. As though left bereft in a hollowness only your presence could fill, she instinctively chases after your ghostly retreat. She gasps out impatient words underscored by carnal desperation, "Don’t tease me. Fuck me already!"
The sharp crack of your palm on her round ass cheek echoes in the small office. A blossom of pink blooms on her fair skin.
Bunching her cheeks apart with strong fingers, you terminate all playful actions as snug heat engulfs your cock.
Each rhythmic thrust into Arin is executed with a savage fervor that serves to claim dominion over every inch of her, to take all semblance of control. Take everything she knows and transform that knowledge into this snapshot crackling sensation that’s reducing her to sobs and groans. Fuck the unspoken implications and the quiet tension built up throughout the school year. You thrust into her like loud is the only path forward, and this path of volume is where Arin follows you. A single tug on her makeshift ponytail prompts her grip at the edge of her desk, and whimpers turn to screams, screams that might hazardously fill the hallways. When she glances over her shoulder, you can see her whole face pleasure-wracked. It takes one or two more plunges for her to surrender completely, tight contractions traveling rhythmically over your engorged cock. Trembling through spasming ecstasy, her whole body reacts, but especially her substantial thighs. Despite how tight she gets, you don’t stop pumping until she’s flowed through her entire orgasm.
After you pull out into much cooler air (the condom covered in her nectar), Arin recovers from climax with a surprising quickness, bewildered half-laughs at her own highs. "You might be my favorite student now."
Even though she says it playfully, you still take it to heart, feeling a delighted warmth in your chest. So you thank her with all sincerity.
Rising to her feet, she takes hold of your erection with a lip-bite. She leads you cockwise toward her window, looking back at you through her glasses with a smirk that steals air. One moment she looks cute, the next she’s a succubus, a natural-born seductress.
Once Arin turns around, her palms seize contact with the cool glass window, presenting herself to you for another round. As though framed by the night herself, Arin couldn't be more exposed if she tried. Although it's late at night, the possibility of someone catching sight of Professor Arin, compromised and partially clothed, lingers in your mind. These moments are when and where and how rumors are born. But you refuse to let that hold you back.
Once again, you piston into Arin, fucking her standing. The darkness turns the window into a mirror, reflecting Arin's expressions of pure bliss. Watch the tantalizing bounce of her breasts in her open shirt, the glistening beads of sweat navigating downward across her lithe abdomen, how she’s forced onto tiptoes to thrust right back into you—it’s sensory overload.
You grab each of her wrists and pull them back, getting all the leverage you can to fuck her like a ragdoll manufactured for taking all the punishment you can give, skewering her body to the windowpane with your cock. Her face and glasses push against the window with each firm thrust, and how she’s given into you, it’s time to steer off the edge.
"Gonna fucking cum," you tell her, your hips working at a fiery pace, your pulsating cock gripped over and over by her insatiable pussy.
"Yes! Yes!" At this moment, there is no professor and student, only two creatures consumed by instinct. She is nothing more than a debauched schoolgirl in her uniform (only halfway so), eagerly taking everything you give her. And you give it to her.
Withdrawing just long enough to strip off the barrier between you both, you offer yourself hand-guided satisfaction, as you reward Arin with sticky shots of cum onto her lower back, each dimple and dip soaked by pools of your load. Some of it gets onto her cropped
The two of you laugh as you both stumble back into her desk. She gets tissues and hands them to you, so you clean the evidence.
Steering yourself onto the creaking chair leather, you’re soon joined in cozy proximity by Arin who nestles comfortably into your lap, her head into your neck’s crook.
"So does that mean I get free grades, Noona?"
She slaps your arm—and that familiarity is enough to picture domestic life with her as your partner, the sort of casual delusion she engenders. "Don't even joke about that!" Arin giggles, pretty and unabashed like everything else about her.
You scoff. "That's where you draw the line?"
Displaying rare seriousness, she narrows the gap between familiar lips so close it feels like sharing a breath. "You still smell like soju, you know." Her hand moves up to your hair, taking stock of you in your ruin and bliss. "God, you're so cute. I shouldn't be doing this."
"Well, you did," you point out.
She nods, and nods, and laughs, until nothing separates lips anymore, sealing the context between professor and student, which somehow fits perfectly... like missing puzzle pieces that finally found each other, or a story that’s found its climax in this moment. The intimate tangle in her office chair goes from tongues to jaws to lower and intimate. Arin kisses the muscles of your chest, and you kiss the valley of her breasts.
"Why do you wear stuff like this?" you ask as you hold open her cropped shirt.
"Because I can," she says with all earnestness, and you believe her; it’s just as you figured.
Looking down at her thigh-highs, you tell her, "You know you look like an amateur camgirl."
"Ooh, now that’s an idea." Arin goes for your throat in literal and other ways.
As you make out with the straddling Arin, you return the favor with her own hickey, which you notice at class the next morning. You're proud of the little purple thing there on her skin, the opposite of proud of the whispers they cause. But like all things Professor Arin, these pass. And like all things Professor Arin, she winks, and you too pass.
✦✧✦✧✦✧
AFF, AO3
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Take Me Higher
Happy 4/20 my lovelies. I just whipped this up quickly so I hope you guys enjoy it 🫣
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WC- 2.5k
Warnings- use of marijuana, high users, switch!H, choking, cum play, etc
Picture is not mine, credits to owner
————-
The smoke had cleared out of the room but it was a bit cold still from the chill of the night. It wasn’t quite warm enough to be spring in her humble opinion, but she’d take what she could get. Plus, Harry had brought her some food stuff for them and she was feeling the effects kicking in as she felt a weight settle on her body. Her eyes were hooded and she was a little giggly as his scent engulfed her, vanilla and tobacco more prominent than the smell she tried to keep from her place.
“Mm… you’re warm.” A cool nose brushed her throat, making her shiver as the man crawled up her body and rested himself on top of her. Harry always got like this when they smoked, but it seemed even more prominent today.
“And you’re a needy little thing.” Fingers carded through his hair, knocking the beanie off his head as he buried his face in her neck. There was no real response except a whine, breath warm on her skin as he tried to warm himself up. The window had to be opened so they’d not get any real complaints from their flat, but luckily they were sure her neighbor wasn’t home today.
Comfortable silence made her melt further into the sofa, the playlist on low as her eyes fluttered shut and she busied herself with playing with his hair. He’d been a good smoking buddy for a while, but she knew why he really came over. It was only a matter of time.
A large hand slipped under her body, wiggling itself under her top to feel the hot expanse of her back. He couldn’t get close enough, needy little thing, and Y/N was fully enjoying being clung to. Physical touch always made the high even better, but that’s just her opinion. Or maybe it was physical touch was better when high? She didn’t know. Her brain didn’t want to analyze that right this second.
“Did you sleep last night? Tired?” Her voice was soft as she didn’t want to disturb the vibe, twirling a curl around her fingertips.
“No.” He shook his head, seeming like he was trying to get into her skin. “Jus’ want to get close to you. You’re warm and you smell fuckin’ incredible.” His voice was a little bit more hoarse, but that was to be expected. “You’re my favorite person... To smoke with.” He added on to the thought hurriedly but she wasn’t going to call him out on it. Fingers trailed down her spine, making her shudder a little.
“Hm, is that because I let you eat my pussy?” She smirked, feeling him pull his head form her neck with a glare. Sex with him was fantastic. Maybe it was because they were usually blazed when they did it and they both felt the sensitivity that went with it along with a more intense orgasm. He was the only one who could match her drive when she was like this, so he’d easily become a favorite person of her. Though she had a feeling that he’d do it just as well without the smoking bit, that would be something to unpack at a later date.
“Hey… don’t make me sound like a lecher.” He pouted, sending her heart to beat a bit harder. One thing she’d give the man was that he was adorable. “Not the only reason. I love doin’ that but… you have the best snacks n’you let me talk about anything. Your cunt is just a bonus… though I really do love it.” Harry wasn’t usually super shy, but sometimes he got a bit bashful when it came to Y/N. There was a slight hesitation as he let their noses brush, ghosting his lips over hers. “Can I?”
“So sweet for asking.” Y/N cooed, smiling n at his request. He wanted to kiss her. She could taste how bad he wanted it when the high had hit him, but now he wasn’t able to hold back much. “Go ahead, pretty boy. Since you seem to like it so much.”
Harry was a little messy with it, smearing their lips together and grazing his teeth over her bottom lip. There wasn’t much to hide his desperation as he adjusted himself on top of her, pulling one of her legs to wrap around his hip. “I do.” He breathed before licking into her mouth. Her lips were so sweet and soft, tasting like the cola she’d drank and mint chapstick. His favorite thing. Pulling apart with a soft clicking sound, he let out a groan as he looked down at her. Her bun was all messed up with some flyaways, lips wet and eyes hazy. His favorite sight. Seeing he undone when usually she was so put together, knowing he’d been the one to get to see her like this… it did things to his “I really fucking do.”
Y/N whimpered as he devoured her. His tongue hot in her mouth and his hand gripping her thigh to keep her close, she couldn’t help but grow hot when she felt him against her. It wasn’t the first, nor would it be the last, but it still surprised her every time. How had she ever fit that inside of her? Tightening her legs around his hips, she heard the hitch in his breathing before he pulled away from her lips to groan. It gave her a chance to pull her shirt off her body, exposing her tits to him.
Harry nearly whimpered at the sight of them, pressing a bruising kiss to her lips before making his way down. “Fuck, the things you do t’me.” He whispered, moving closer to her breasts. “Can I kiss on them a bit, pretty? It’ll feel good.” He pleaded, sighing against the skin as she nodded at the request.
Sponging kisses all over the swells, he gently rocked his hips into hers to relieve a bit of the ache. His cock was thick and throbbing, desperate for some relief. The hear of her cunt could he felt through her panties, making Harry thank whatever higher power that she’d chosen the big shirt no pants combination today. “Gorgeous. You’re so pretty, all over.” He praised, puckering his lips over a nipple for a kiss. She shivered under him, her grip in his hair getting fuller as he brought it into his mouth.
Y/N sighed in pleasure as his hot mouth suckled on her. She’d loved when he did this last time, licking over her tits while he was inside of her. He was still clothed this time but somehow that was just as hot to her. Panties were ruined regardless, but she arched her back slightly as he took more of her breast into his mouth and rolled his tongue around the nipple. “Oh, shit.” The girl whimpered, rocking her hips in return. The stimulation made her head cloudy, or maybe it was the blunt, but she didn’t really care. It all felt so fucking good, it didn’t matter. “Harry… you’re so nice t’me.” She sighed, watching him pull off with a soft ‘pop’.
“I know, sweetheart. It’s what you deserve, yeah? So nice to me too…” he sighed into her chest, placing wet kisses to the skin that glistened in the light, leaving cool spots once he left. “Let me come over and smoke, let me eat your snacks, kiss your pretty mouth… let me taste you, sometimes let me feel that perfect little pussy wrapped around me… have t’be nice to my girl.”
She didn’t have a chance to answer before he repeated the process with her other nipple, making her pant. The grinding was getting harder, her breathing matching it as he rubbed over her clit in the motions. Back and forth, sweet relief as she spread herself out further and clutched his head to her breast as he worshiped them. “Fuck me, keep going like that and M’gonna cum.” She warned him, though she had no real want of him stopping.
“So cum.” He mumbled into her skin. “Won’t be the last time you do it tonight.” And oh- oh. He sounded so self assured and cocky and it did something to her, a zap of electricity to her tummy as she moaned into the air, clinging to him.
His back was firm under her hands, not stopping herself from sliding them unde this tee shirt. His skin was burning under her palms as she dragged her nails lightly down his shoulder blades. “Harder.” He instructed, rutting into her with more force. “Scratch me. S’okay.” He couldn’t help connecting their mouths again, fingers digging into the flesh of her thigh as it clung to him.
She did as asked, surprising her when he let out a deeper groan than she’d heard before. His hips quickened, sure his gray sweats were ruined but uncaring about anything else. “Gonna make me cum in my joggers.” He panted against her lips, unable to keep himself from touching her. His mouth was a magnet to her body, his cock throbbing and balls feeling exceptionally full as he dry fucked her.
“Mm… here.” She momentarily reached between them and tugged them down far enough that he was out of them. “Cum on my panties.” Her voice rang into his ears. “Already ruined them. Can’t you feel how wet you made me?” And fuck, could he.
Without the sweats in the way he could feel her soaked through panties wetting his prick, the heat of her through the barely there fabric making him insane. Though the real thing that got him was her request. “You really want that?” He questioned, buttoning their lips together for a moment because he simply couldn’t help it. “You want t’be sticky with my load all over your panties and your skin? I’ve got so much for you…” he wasn’t joking either. It had been a bit since they’d hung out and his hand didn’t do him as much justice as she could. His dick desperately missed her.
“You know I don’t mind a mess, Harry.” She purred, moving a hand to wrap around his throat. “And you’ll be a good boy and lick it off my skin, won’t you? Then you’ll lick my pretty pussy until you’re ready to fuck me. Because you’re always such a good boy for me…”
Oh, fuck. Harry whimpered at the feeling of her hand around his throat, the drop of his guilty pleasure nickname, immediately feeling the shift. He was determined to please her before, but this tone of voice and her slight overtaking made him a bit pathetic. “Yes- yeah, M’gonna do it.” He promised, adjusting them slightly so he tip could brush right over her clit. “Anything you want. Want t’make you feel so good. M’good for you.” He nodded, messily kissing her again as he quickened the pace of his thrusts.
Y/N hummed in pleasure as he got them to the right position. His hard cock rutting against her like the fabric wasn’t even there, thick and hot. She loved feeling him, knowing she’d done that to him. Her stomach tightened as she felt the perfect thrust from him, gasping into his mouth. “Oh- yes, like that. Keep it light that, baby.” She pleaded, mouth falling open as he repeated it. “Mhm… there. Gonna cum.” She had been worked up for a little bit now but feeling his need to please her helped her get there.
“Please, please do it. Want you to cum, want you to feel so good… you’re so perfect, please cum for me. Give it to me, fuckin’ goddess….” He spoke to her like he needed her orgasm to breathe. Whimpery and needy and unlike how he usually sounded, but with his perfect angle and the friction against her clit combined with that, she was pushed over the edge.
“Yes- yes, fuck me.” Head falling further back into the cushions, she dug her nails into his back with one hand while the other tightened on his throat. Sparks igniting her nerves and her legs held on to him like a lifeline as she came. Harry never knew a prettier sight in his life than how she looked when he made her orgasm.
“Give me it too, H. Make me a sticky mess so you can clean me.” She gasped out. “You’ve been so good, I know you can give me what I want. Please?” Her voice shook slightly. “Give me what I want.” Giving just the slightest bit more pressure to the fingers on the sides of his throat, she knew exactly how much to press to make him lightheaded. Choking was a weakness of his, something that made him cum embarrassingly fast a lot of the time, but this time he was grateful as he let out a sob. His prick was slick with her and aching to release but he tried to hold back for her sake. With the mix of the high being at its height, the sensitivity overwhelming him and how she knew exactly how to touch him- The moment she called him a good boy and gave him the head rush he needed, he was a fucking goner.
“Gonna cum, gonna cum, M’gonna cum-“ he babbled her name as he found his release. Jerking against her, hot ribbons of the pearly cum shot against the covered cunt and over her tummy. His balls pulsed as he unloaded on her, smearing it over himself and her as his hips sloppily worked him through the orgasm. Face slack in rapture, he let out a hoarse groan as the last of it spilled from his tip, hips jerking a few times before he felt her hand fall and his mouth descended on hers again.
“You’re gonna be the end of me, hm?” He slurred, biting her lip with a hum before he lowered his body onto hers. His prick was sensitive but he made no move to pull back, pecking her over and over again as she caressed his cheek with her choking hand. Y/N was by far the best at it regardless, intuition leading her to know exactly what he liked. “Feel like m’fucking floating. Dunno if it’s the high or your cunt.” He snickered, feeling her return the laugh.
“Probably a mix of both.” She smiled, giving him a few kisses of her own. “But we’ve got plenty to keep it going for a while. Are you up for it, pretty boy?” The girl had no plans but to be blazed and fucked for the rest of the night, and she hoped he was on the same page.
“M’up for anything, you fuckin’ goddess.” He mumbled as he sat up on his knees to look at the mess they’d made. It was one of the hottest things he’d ever seen, her cunt and little thatch of hair visible through the now transparent fabric and splattered with cum on the ruined panties and her tummy. It made his mouth water just looking at it. “Jesus… look at this.” He mumbled, spreading her further open with his hand. “Seems like I’ve got a lot of work to do, don’t I?”
#jarofstyles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles one shot#harry styles fanfic#harry styles smut#harry writing#harry styles imagine#harry drabble#harry styles blurb#harry styles writing#weedrry#harry smut#harry fluff#harry angst#harry styles au#harry styles smoking#harry styles blurbs#harry fanfic#harry styles fanfics#harry styles fic#sub harry styles#sub!harry
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HOW YOU GET THE GIRL | CL16
— 05. THE END
PREV. PART — [ SERIES MASTERLIST ]
summary: in which charles has an embarrassing crush on alex's childhood best friend and everyone meddles.
content warnings: faceclaim is taylor hill but you can picture her as you’d like!
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yourusername 🥂🌅🍋⛱️
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user48 she's so hot i don't know if i wanna be her
zendaya prettiest girl in the world.
user49 is she with charles??
user50 her life doesn't revolve around charles.
user51 im pretty sure she's with charles.
user52 i actually saw a picture going around tw of her and charles like a day ago? so maybe they're spending summer break together
user53 a fan ran into charles today in monaco so i don't think they're tgt
francisa.cgomes whoever told you to buy that bikini has excellent taste
yourusername i might kiss that person
pierregasly HEY! that's my girlfriend you know.
yourusername she wants ME
user54 what is charles doing in the likes
user55 yk sometime people like other people posts.
user56 and they're dating so it's pretty normal
user54 some people still act surprised lol
alex_albon you look pretty good (i was forced to comment) ((i'm held at gunpoint))
user57 she could be a model
user58 but she chose to follow charles like a dog
user59 what is wrong with you people? you hate her just because she's dating your favorite driver. pathetic.
user60 and she IS a model btw
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oscarpiastri We had to leave the others behind. Sacrificies were made.
tagged: danielricciardo, yourusername.
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landonorris WHY DIDN'T YOU TAKE ME?
user61 wait. are they spending summer break together?
user62 girl have you been living under a rock? everyone's spending summer break with everyone. go check twitter.
lilymhe bring me ice cream :(
user63 im having a panic attack
user64 i may never recover
user65 THE 813 WE NEVER KNEW WE NEEDED
charles_leclerc where did you take my girlfriend?
danielricciardo pay us or you'll never see her again.
oscarpiastri We'll throw her into the ocean.
yourusername WHAT THE F
user66 OMG MY TWO WORLDS COLLIDING
georgerussell63 We're going to leave without you.
carmenmundt No, we are not.
georgerussell63 Yes, ma'am 🫡
user67 I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY'RE ALL TGT I'M GOING TO CRY
user68 no one was ready for this
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charles_leclerc 🌊🗺️🤚🥥
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yourusername who's that handsome boy. 👀
user69 summer break is looking good
user70 screaming crying throwing up i can't do this anymore
maxverstappen1 No pic credits? I put my life in danger for you.
user71 Y/N'S COMMENT OMG
user72 my parents
user73 i want him so bad
user74 i need them to confirm their relationship
user75 i mean it's confirmed they're dating, charles called her his gf in oscar's most recent post
user76 WHAT
user75 idk why people need them to 'confirm' they just don't want to
user76 she's been receiving sm hate online i understand if they wanna keep it a little more private
user78 STAY CALM EVERYBODY STAY CALM
user79 one chance thats all i ask
arthur_leclerc thanks for (not) inviting me
charles_leclerc adults only 🤪
pierregasly i told him to invite you
charles_leclerc no you didn't stfu
user80 I FEEL BLESSED
TWITTER
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charles_leclerc As Taylor Swift once said... love you to the moon and to saturn.
tagged: yourusername.
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user81 I CAN'T TAKE THIS SHIT ITS TOO EARLY
user82 i'm sleeping on the highway tonight
yourusername as taylor swift once said... you are the best thing that's ever been mine. 🖤
charles_leclerc should we kiss now?
yourusername i see you making eyes at me from across the room.
landonorris there are children on this app
alex_albon fucking finally!
yourusername stfu
user83 MY PARENTS
pierregasly you can finally stop whining. 🙄
user84 THIS IS TOO CUTE
user85 oh my god they finally confirmed it
maxverstappen1 It was all thanks to me, you're welcome.
alex_albon it was thanks to me?? what are you on about
maxverstappen1 If I hadn't threaten to punch him, he wouldn't have made things right.
alex_albon I introduced them!
yourusername no you didn't, you abandoned me and that's how i met charlie.
alex_albon SEE?! THANKS TO ME
user86 con 😭 gra 😭 tu 😭 lations 😭
oscarpiastri Can you adopt me now?
olliebearman get in line
landonorris i'm their first born child gtfo
georgerussell63 So happy for you! Can you get out of the room now, we want to eat.
danielricciardo they aren't getting out of that room😏
user87 AND WITH TAYLOR SWIFT'S LYRICS
user88 when is it my turn????
TAGLIST (bold means i couldn’t tag you) — @leclerc16s. @willowpains. @berrnuu. @minkyungseokie. @1655clean. @sassyheroneckgiant. @nessacarty1. @a1leexxa. @storminacloud. @lovstappen. @littlehoneyfreak. @paintedbypoetry. @miakat9. @scott-mccall-could-lift-mjolnir. @thatoneembarrasingmoment. @lyrasconstellation. @rhythmstars. @c-losur3. @apolloxxivmin. @janeholt3. @lovrsm. @gulphulp. @thecubanator2. @dark-night-sky-99. @ssprayberrythings.
note: oh my god, i'm so sorry it took me this long to finish this but here you have the final chapter. i'm not good with series but i did my best. hope you liked it!🤍
#꒰꒰ 📁 ─ verstappen cult files ꒱꒱#f1 x reader#charles leclerc x reader#charles leclerc fluff#f1 imagine#f1 grid x reader#charles leclerc x you#f1 smau
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₊❏❜ ⋮ WEIRD FETISHES ⌒ - MDNI
warnings: weird fetishes, don't read if you're uncomfortable! Picked the most "normal" or tame ones-also, this is my view and visions of those fetishes
summary: Some rare, unspoken fetishes the characters have.
characters: genshin guys + harbingers x F!Reader
a/n: this is uhhh, interesting? I was bored, wanted to try something yk. I couldn't fit some characters into different fetishes, but you can idk--
Autassassinophilia
Being in life-threatening situations
❕️EVERYTHING WILL ONLY HAPPEN IF YOU WILL GIVE YOUR CONSENT, HE WILL STOP IMMEDIATELY IF YOU SAY SO. IF YOU FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE, DO NOT READ
Many say that the thrill of being caught is already hot enough, but it's not enough for him. He wants the adrenaline rushing through his body constantly. It's almost addictive...no, he is addicted already. Fucking you standing, so close to the edge of a cliff or at the edge of a building is good...but not enough. Having you choking him, or him choking you, being close to pass out, is not enough. Giving him head while driving, fingering you while you drive...is.not.enough...so what will be? ♡ Childe Wriothesley Scaramouche Capitano
Cardiophilia
cardiophiles are people who are, quite simply, in love with hearts. they enjoy and are aroused by the sight, sound, and/or feeling of the heart/heartbeat.
❕️EVERYTHING WILL ONLY HAPPEN IF YOU WILL GIVE YOUR CONSENT, HE WILL STOP IMMEDIATELY IF YOU SAY SO. IF YOU FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE, DO NOT READ
Whenever he holds your hand, his fingers can't help but wander to your wrist, feeling youe pulse. The beats inder his fingertips feel so intimate. Knowing your heart is beating, beating for him is almost to much to handle. And whenever you two cuddle and he's the little spoon, he'll place his head on your chest, listening close to your beating heart...oh how lovely you sound. Your heart beats so strong against his ear, he can literally feel it. ♡ Ayato Baizhu Dottore Albedo Venti
Candaulism
Exposing one's partner or images of their partner to others.
❕️EVERYTHING WILL ONLY HAPPEN IF YOU WILL GIVE YOUR CONSENT, HE WILL STOP IMMEDIATELY IF YOU SAY SO. IF YOU FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE, DO NOT READ
Oh, how he loves you and your body. Your pretty little head and soul. He's so sure many others will love you just the same (but never as much as he will). He takes pictures of you, has you as his wallpaper even. Lockscreen too! You know your tits are out, cum covered with your tounge sticking out. You're also aware your ass with his dick stuffed in your cunt is also somewhere in his gallery. And many many more. And he just fucking loves to show it off. No one is save, not even the mid 30s guy sittong beside him in the train. The nice grandmother buying her groceries. He'll accidentally or intentionally shove it in their faces, that you belong to him. And he belongs to you. ♡ Lyney Kaeya Itto Heizou
Gynephilia
Females or femininity, regardless of one's own sex or gender identity
❕️ EVERYTHING WILL ONLY HAPPEN IF YOU WILL GIVE YOUR CONSENT, HE WILL STOP IMMEDIATELY IF YOU SAY SO. IF YOU FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE, DO NOT READ
He'll pay you to get your nails done, you pick the color, shape, length, accessories, anything you want. You want make up too? Have his card and have fun, be wild, be bold, make a statement with that pretty face. No make up at all? Baby, you're such a beautiful woman regardless. You wanna have your hair done? Sure thing, tell him when the appointment is he'll drive you there. At the end of the day all of this and so much more is just for one purpose, to fuck you. He'll pull that hair, watch the mascara run down your pretty cheeks. Taste your lipgloss on his lips. Watch your nails looking stunning around his dick. A goddess like you, should step on a man like him. ♡ Diluc Pantalone Aether Kaveh Al-Haitham Pierro
Aquaphilia
A sexual fetish that involves people swimming, posing, or even drowning in water.
❕️EVERYTHING WILL ONLY HAPPEN IF YOU WILL GIVE YOUR CONSENT, HE WILL STOP IMMEDIATELY IF YOU SAY SO. IF YOU FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE, DO NOT READ
Dw he won't drown you-. You just look so elegant in water, how it hugs your body. How it makes your skin shine and glimmer, the droplets looking like little diamonds carefully placed on your skin by the hands of god himself. Not to mention how beautiful you look in your swim wear...It already happened so often you stopped counting after 20. You two having sex in water. Wheter its in a pool, lake, river or the ocean itself, he can't help himself. Heck, even you in your bathtub is a sight to behold. And if he had to be honest...maybe the bathtub is his favorite. Cause no one will see and hear anything, and it feels way more closer to you...♡ Neuvillette Freminet Kazuha Dainsleif
Had no idea what to do with these- Cyno Gorou Thoma Tighnari Xiao Xingqiu Zhongli
#genshin impact#genshin x reader#genshin impact x reader#alhaitham x you#aether x reader#heizou x reader#freminet x reader#neuvillette x reader#dainseif x reader#itto x reader#ayato x reader#dottore x reader#baizhu x reader#lyney x reader#pantalone x reader#diluc x reader#childe x reader#kazuha x reader#kaeya x reader#venti x reader#pierro x reader#Bro idk who i forgot lol#x female reader
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When Steve wakes up, he is very confused. His room looks very different and unfamiliar- but he knows it's his. It still has the plaid wallpaper his mom had picked out for him (he hadn't liked it, but there was a lot of lines and pretty colors).
The toy car his babysitter, Sarah, had gotten him for his fifth birthday isn't on his dresser anymore. He knows that she'd left it there for him last night, playfully insisting that he couldn't play with it until his actual birthday.
He'd been so excited to play with it. He wants to cry, and wail. He wants to run to his parents and scream until they give it back.
But they aren't home. That's why his babysitter had been over the previous night. They have a very important business trip that they aren't allowed to miss, not even for Steve's birthday.
The pictures in the hall look different too. Sarah had put up some cool pictures for him. She'd done the same for his fourth birthday. They had to take them down at the end of the day, but it had been nice to have family pictures up. Even if it was just for a day.
Sarah isn't downstairs.
He almost does scream this time. She'd promised that she'd stay the night, sleeping on the sofa, so he could have pancakes for breakfast. It's one of the many things that he can't, or isn't allowed, to make on his own.
His cake isn't in the fridge either. He even pulls a chair over so he can climb on it, to see if she'd hidden it on one of the higher shelves.
He sits on one of the dining chairs, watching the clock, and waiting.
After two hours pass, he gives up any hope he has.
Sarah, just like his parents, is probably too busy for him. He reasons that she probably just forgot to tell him. His mom had done that one time- it had stung, but he couldn't blame her. He forgot lots of stuff, even if it is important.
The only cereal in the pantry is some plain, corn brand that he doesn't recognise. It tastes just as bad as it looks, but there isn't a lot of food anymore.
At least, not a lot that he can make.
He has a second bowl, putting a few spoons of sugar in. It's not much better, but he doesn't feel so hungry anymore.
The TV looks different too. There's weird and new things playing. It's fun, interesting, and distracts him well enough that he's able to keep himself from worrying about how long he'll have to be alone again.
The next day goes the same.
The third day, he risks cooking. It ends up a little burnt, but it's better than cereal all the time.
The fourth day, he can't eat the food he tries to cook. It smells too nasty. He has to have cereal again. The sugar helps.
The fifth day, he doesn't risk cooking. His parents have never left him alone, without a babysitter, for more than a week, so he'll have a nice meal soon.
The sixth day, he checks their voicemail. There's a few odd messages from grown up sounding people, asking about how he's feeling, but he doesn't recognise any of their voices. He doesn't know what numbers he should try calling. He hopes they try calling again.
The seventh day, he sits at the bottom of the stairs. He stares at the front door, ready to jump up and give his mom and dad a warm welcome home.
The eighth day, he's starting to worry. Surely his parents will remember to call a different babysitter?
The ninth day, there's a key in the door. He almost misses it, sat in the kitchen, glaring at his cereal.
"Steve!" Someone calls. It sounds like one of the nice, unfamiliar grown ups who left a voicemail message. "Stevie! You here? How are- oh my god."
"Hi," Steve greets. He waves, tries giving his most polite smile. He almost forgets to keep his lips shut- his dad told him that his teeth don't look nice enough for a grin that big yet. "You're one of the nice people who left me a message, right?"
She stares at him for a long moment, mouth hanging open. "Steve?"
"That's me! What's your name?"
"Robin."
He sticks a hand out to her. "I's nice to meet you Miss Robin!"
"Yeah," she replies, voice high and thin. Her hand is trembling when she gently shakes his hand. "I'm... gonna need to use your phone. Real quick, ok?"
"Um... ok. But you can't make long distance calls, mommy will be very mad at me." He bites his thumb nail, following her into the hall. "Are you a babysitter? Is Sarah sick?"
"Sarah?" Robin echoes, questioningly. She's only half paying attention though, pushing in a phone number.
"My babysitter. She was supposed to be here for my birthday."
"It's your birthday?" She chokes out, spinning around so fast she stumbles. She looks heartbroken.
"Not anymore! It's ok, you don't need to be sad. She gave me my present early too, so it was good."
"Wait. How long have you been... what have you been eating?"
"Um. Cereal, mostly. All the food is different. It's weird."
"That's not- oh, hi," she turns away slightly, talking to whoever is on the phone. "Yeah, I'm at Steve's right now. Gather, like, everyone. We have a major emergency."
"No!" Steve quickly says. He tugs at the bottom of her top. "Not an emergency! You can't say that, you'll get me in trouble!"
"You don't understand, this is-"
"No, please," he pleads. He can only hope he won't get in trouble for talking back to her. "I'm sorry."
"Ok, ok, alright," she agrees. She pauses for a second, listening. "No, that was Steve. Yeah, exactly, that's why-"
"Tell them it isn't an emergency. Please. If dad hears, I'll be in big trouble."
"Ok, big guy. It's not an emergency. Just... yeah, do that. Yeah. Alright. No, I'll be fine. I can deal with it. Ok, see you soon."
She hangs up with a sigh, turning to look at him. She still looks sad.
"Are you ok, Miss Robin?"
Her laugh sounds strained, but she laughs. "I'm alright. How are you?"
"I'm ok. Do you know when mommy and daddy will be back?"
"I don't. I'm sorry, Stevie."
"It's ok. It's only, like... I can't really, uh, cook."
"I can make you something. What's your fave? It was your birthday, you said? Let's get you something special! How old are you?"
He stumbles a little, trying to keep up with her fast talking as well as he long strides. "I'm five. Sarah was going to make me pancakes."
"We can do pancakes." She searches the cupboards and fridge, frowning. "Where is anything?"
"I dunno. I looked but everything is all gone or weird."
"Well... we'll just have to have pancakes later. Special pancakes, for the special birthday boy."
"I guess."
She steps close, putting her hands on her hips as she looks him over. "Are you sure you're five? Did you hit your growth spurt early? You're getting real big."
"I dunno. Mommy says I'm gonna be tall and be a real ladies man, or something."
"Do you even know what that means?"
"Not really. Mommy thinks it's cool though."
"Hm. Are you too big to pick up?"
"Oh, you're not supposed to. Daddy says I'm a big boy now. Big boys don't get picked up."
"Your dad's an asshole."
Steve giggles, quickly covering his mouth with both hands. "You're not supposed to say that! It's a naughty word!"
"Supposed to do this, supposed to do that," she tutts. She leans down, scooping him up into her arms, resting him on her hip. "Your five, stop being so boring!"
Her hand feels so big on his back, like there's no way he could fall with her holding him. She doesn't even seem to mind his hand automatically grabbing the collar of her shirt.
"Daddy doesn't like it when people pick me up."
"What do you like? Hm? Do you want me to put you down?"
"... No."
"Then I'm not putting you down. Daddy isn't here to tell us off, is he? And what he doesn't know, can't hurt him."
She bounces him a few times, making him giggle. Judging by her satisfied grin, that was her aim.
It confuses him, a little. Mostly because she keeps doing that- little things, little comments, trying to make him laugh. Trying to make him smile. Even just listening to him talk about things. Little things. Silly things. Like she isn't annoyed when he goes on, and on, and on.
By the time another person comes in, he's decided that she's the best person in the whole wide world. If she puts him down or tries to leave, he's going to throw a tantrum.
He knows it's bad, but he doesn't want her to leave too. She's cool.
"Oh, God. Robin, please tell me that the baby isn't Steve."
"He's five," Robin corrects. "And yes, it's Steve. I checked, it's him."
"What the hell happened to him?"
"I don't know, I called you!"
"Is something wrong with me?" Steve asks, voice quiet and timid.
"No!" Robin quickly tries to say, at the same time the man says, "yes, obviously."
"Dustin!" Robin scolds.
"What? Lying to him won't help!"
"Neither will being a dick about it!" She tutts at him, adjusting Steve in her arms when she looks to him. "It's nothing, like, bad. It's just kinda weird. See, when we saw you, a week ago... you were a little bit older than me. And now you're five."
Steve stares at her for a moment. She looks too serious, too honest.
"Weird," he says.
"Exactly," she agrees. "From what you've said, though, it's not that bad. You're still you, and you're healthy. You're just... not so big."
"Maybe El can fix him," Dustin mutters, squinting at Steve. He leans close. "When did this happen?"
"He's been like this for a week," Robin tells him. Her voice is quiet, almost scared- it doesn't help that Dustin looks horrified too. "At least."
"Who's been taking care of him?"
"No one."
"What the hell," Dustin turns his frown on Steve. "Why didn't you call anyone?"
"Not supposed to unless it's a real emergency," Steve says. "Mommy says she has a repo... rep... rep-yuh-tay-shun. It's a big thing."
Dustin looks heartbroken, turning to Robin, who shrugs back at him. He groans after a pause, frowning at Robin. "Shit. You can't drive."
"Oh, shit."
"I'll call Eddie," Dustin sighs, already heading to the hall.
"Who's Eddie?" Steve asks.
"Eddie's a friend. He looks a little scary, but don't worry. He's a big softie, an absolute teddy bear." She leans close, whispering loudly with a grin. "Don't tell him I told you, though. He likes to pretend that he's all tough and mean."
"And he's... not mean?"
"Not a cruel bone in his body."
"Ok," he bites at his thumb, frowning when Robin gently pulls his hand out his mouth. "You won't leave though, right?"
"I'm not going anywhere."
"You gotta promise, though! Pinky Promise!" He lifts a hand, sticking his pinky up- Robin almost immediately wraps her own around his.
"I promise I won't leave you. Who knows what could happen if I leave you alone with the gremlins." She pretends to shudder. "Oh, the horrors.."
"He'll be here in five minutes," Dustin announces.
"That's... quick."
"Yeah. I barely got out 'Steve is in trouble' before he hung up."
"Maybe don't start like that next time," Robin rolls her eyes. She adjusts Steve again, trying to sit him higher on her hip. "He's probably breaking at least, like, five speeding laws or something."
"I don't think that's how it works."
"Whatever." She huffs. "Jesus. Steve, bud, I might need to put you down for a sec."
"Oh... um... do you have to?"
"My arms are really starting to hurt, bud," she says. She looks as upset at the idea as he feels. "Maybe we could sit down together. Would that be a good compromise?"
"Yeah!" He grins. "What's a comp- compa-"
"Com-pruh-mise." She says it slowly, careful to sound it out, as she sits down on the sofa. She pulls Steve around so he's sat on her knees, facing her. She keeps one hand on his back, supporting him.
"Com-pa-mise," Steve repeats.
"Oh, that was great!" Robin encourages, laughing at how big and excited Steves responding grin is. "Well, compromise is when..."
Robin is so patient with him, taking her time with him, making sure he understands what she's saying- before easily jumping onto whatever tangent he brings up.
It feels like only a few minutes have passed by the time the doorbell rings. Dustin stands to answer- Steve had completely forgotten he was there the whole time, too caught up in his conversation with Robin.
He doesn't come back for a moment. Steve can hear muttering, straining to hear what they're saying, but the living room doors shut.
A man follows him inside. He's tall, with long hair and dark clothes. He looks different to anyone Steve has ever seen before. He looks scary.
"Oh god," he mumbles, frowning at Steve. "You're not joking."
Steve tugs at Robins sleeve, leaning close to her, whispering, "who's that?"
"Oh, right!" Robin groans when she stands, lifting Steve with her. "Steve, this is Eddie. Eddie, this is Steve."
"This is Steve," Eddie repeats. "Jesus Christ."
"Why do you look so scary?" Steve blurts out. He slaps a hand over his mouth, horrified.
But Eddie just laughs. "Damn, Stevie, tell me what you really think."
"You do!" Steve snaps, face warming. "All the black and chains and stuff."
"Robin is wearing 'black and chains and stuff'."
"Yeah, but Robins cool."
"You wound me," Eddie gasps, slapping a hand to his chest. "I'm totally cooler than Robin."
"Nope," Robin quickly cuts in. "Steve said I'm cool, not you. It's been said, declared- no, decreed! Facts are facts, Eds, suck on it!"
"Ew," Steve and Eddie say in sync, grimacing.
"Alright," Dustin interrupts, hands on his hips. "You're introduced, now can we go? Now?"
Part two
#stranger things#steve harrington#eddie munson#robin buckley#ficlet#stevecentric#I've been trying to remember where I wanted to go with this but failing miserably so I'm just posting it#it's not great but I like it so 🤷♂️
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wanting you
pairing: matt sturniolo x reader
summary: matt wants you but knows he can never have you so he just gets off to the thought of you instead.
warnings: smut! obsession, masturbation, lust, need, imagination, cunnilingus, language.
a/n: this whole story is in matt’s pov! the bold lettering is his subconscious head thoughts & the regular lettering is his conscious regular thoughts. enjoy 🫡
word count: 800
im so in love with her.
anything she does just makes my heart ache with need. the need for her
she’s so precious, everything about her. i love her smile.. her laugh.. her eyes.. her personality, her voice, her smell, her bod-
fuck. no matt.. focus!
she’s such an amazing person, inside and out.. innsideee
i long to know how she feels on the inside. i bet she gets so wet, and i just know her pussy would clench around my dick like a claw mac-
MATT. enough. this is y/n you’re talking about.. your best friend of 7 years, you shouldn’t be thinking about her like this
but fuck does she turn me on inside and out. everything about her is literally perfect
*ding* i hear a notification from my phone
y/n just posted on instagram. i go to check what the photo is
she’s on a rooftop club posted up in a red halter top, black mini skirt, & some sexy laced up black heels.. my favorite pair of hers actually
the caption reads, “just your type.” for damn sure is what i thought
i notice the number 1/5 on the top and decide to swipe to the next one.
this one is her slightly turned to the back, bent down holding her knees while looking at the camera. i can see a bit of her panties
fuck she looks so seductive. i can’t help the tent that starts to grow in my pants
“what do you do to me?” i ask myself
i start palming myself in my pants as i continue through the slideshow, each picture getting a slight bit more seductive than the last.
i like the picture and leave a slick comment such as, “great photos 📸 “
not even a few seconds later she replies “thanks 📸” and likes my comment
she likes everyone’s comment, i don’t know why my like felt so special but it did.
fuck did she have a chokehold on me.. she needs to have a chokehold of something else tho
the palming through my pants allowed my dick to be fully erected at this point
it felt wrong thinking of her in this way but i couldn’t help with when i get horny and she’s the most beautiful girl in my eyes.
everything from her head to her toes is god given beauty.
i remember that one time, at nathan’s pool party, when she came in with her sexy purple two piece bathing suit.
i wish i could of took her back inside, slid those panties off and went to work. i just know she tastes fantastic
i take my dick out of my boxers as i imagine the thought of good her pussy would taste
i start stroking it to the thought her obedience as i take full control
how wet she could get from the thought of me domming her.
“mhm, you’re so good for daddy aren’t you?”
as she slides out of her panties and makes her way to the bed.
i follow behind her, pushing her down on the bed so i can climb on top of her and kiss her pretty pink lips
my dick throbs at the scene in my head
i slide down and kiss her second pair of pretty pink lips; causing her to let out a small whine
“moan for me baby, i wanna hear you” i say before starting to dip and lick my tongue all over her wet pussy
she’s making so many pretty noises but it’s not enough, i have to do more. i want her to feel like she’s never felt before
i stick my fingers inside and curl them. she whimpers at the sudden friction
i push my fingers in and out of her dripping pussy while licking up and down at her clit. i keep this pace going for a while
she starts grinding on my tongue, pulling my head closer to her pussy.
i’m thrusting into my hand faster. i want nothing more than to satisfy her
“fuck matt- pls don’t stop i’m going to cum”
“cum for me baby. please cum. i want nothing more than to taste you baby”
“matt. oh my fuck-“ she says letting her hips buck up uncontrollably
i’m so fucking close right now i can feel the pre cum leaking out of my dick like a fire hose
“mat- fuck i’m- i’m gonna cum” she says before squeezing my head with her thighs as she releases her high
i buck my hips into my hand one last time before im spilling out cum onto my chest.
i can’t remember the last time i came so hard. yet this time, it’s only from a fantasy of eating y/n out
god. i need her so bad
———————————————————————
a/n- and then the audience clapped 😵💫 all my matt stories are short :( can you tell i’m a chris girl? im gonna come with longer ones soon
#matthew sturniolo#matt sturniolo#matt sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo x you#matt girl#sturniolo smut#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo x reader#writing#new writers on tumblr#writers on tumblr#christopher sturniolo#chris sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo smut#nick sturniolo#nick sturniolo fanfic#smut#chris sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo
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Written in Blood
Alastor x Reader // Word Count 2.2k
In which you’re given a lasting reminder of who should be on your mind.
tags/warnings: dark content, yandere, violence, branding, scratching, blood, alastor definitely wanting to taste said blood (but holding himself back), implied sexual content, power imbalance, abuse, absolutely fucked relationship dynamic, reader clearly has no control over what happens to her (therefore dubcon/noncon implications)
A/N: this exists because the wonderful @absolute-flaming-trash planted this idea in my head. Let us all take a moment to bow down to our queen <3
As always - 18+, read the tags, if you don’t like the tags then don’t go below the cut (or into my inbox). Thank you and enjoy.
Alastor’s hand slides gently up your back, the soft touch contrasting ominously with the brutal way he’d slapped you just moments before. Your clothes are strewn haphazardly across the floor (while his all remain on, and intact), but the shiver that runs down your spine has nothing to do with your lack of cover. His gloves, which he’s never removed before, now lay discarded along with the rest of the scraps, two fingers slick with the residue you’ve left behind.
“What’s my name, darling?”
The pet name feels underhanded, cruel as the sting of his palm that still burns on your cheek, but you don’t take the time to ponder it. This is not the time for resistance - the way his hand pressed against your bare skin, trapping you between his palm and your bedroom floor, is enough to remind you of that. “Alastor…”
“That’s correct! Very well done.” The charm lingers in his voice, barely betraying a hint of the malice underneath. “And why, pray tell, did I feel the need to ask you such a simple question?”
“Because…” Because you’d been stupid, and let your mind wander, as it often does, to the life you’d led before. The people you’d loved. The time when being… intimate felt real, when it wasn’t just another piece in some twisted game whose rules you’ve never been told. “Because you want to make sure that I remember it.”
It was in one of those warped, vulnerable moments, when you’d felt everything and he’d seemed to feel nothing at all, besides a sick sense of amusement at seeing you lose yourself. That was when you made your mistake. Let go a little too much, and sighed a name that wasn’t his. One that you missed, one that you often closed your eyes and pictured above you - you’d been too deep in your reverie to realize how deeply you’d betrayed yourself, and by the time you’d come back to your senses, it had been far too late to do anything but beg for forgiveness.
“I do want you to remember.” He sighs. “Such a shame that you would rather forget…”
You don’t protest. He’s not wrong, at all. How desperately you wish you could go back to the life you had before. At the very least, you could have chosen to go somewhere else - anywhere else - in the wake of your death. You’d give anything to rewind the clock, now, to forget him entirely and start anew, go down some other path that didn’t end with him. With this.
You’re surprised when his hand pauses on your upper back, beside your shoulder. Truly, you’d believed that he was going for your neck, that he was going to clamp his fist around your throat and cut the air off from your lungs until your vision went black. Instead, his free hand finds your own, and clasps over it, locking his fingers with yours. He gently squeezes into your palm, a gesture that would be comforting if it didn’t come from him.
“Let’s make sure you don’t forget again, shall we?” He sounds calm, almost soothing, a sudden shift from the rage you’d been subjected to just a minute before. He turns on a dime like this often, and you’re never sure which side of him to trust. Never sure what’s an act, or what’s real.
“I won’t.” You mean it, more than anything you’ve ever said to him. There’s a knot in your stomach, pulling tighter with this sudden change in demeanor, and you want desperately to unravel it. To have peace, if only for a little while. “It was just a mistake. I won’t ever do it again.”
“Of course you won’t.” His head drops, distorted static pressing into your ear. From out of the corner of your eye, you can see that familiar red glow pulsing out behind him - always a sign of worse things to come. “Not after this. ”
The hand on your back tenses, and you tense along with it. Unnaturally sharp nails dig slowly into your flesh until, with an agonizing jolt, your skin breaks beneath them. At this, three of his fingers lift, but the fourth - his index finger - burrows deeper into your flesh, and yanks down, ripping a diagonal gash inches long.
You scream. Truly scream, your mind ripping from pain and shock, just as awfully and tangibly as your skin. He’s hurt you before…but he’s never drawn blood, and certainly never sent it dripping in rivulets down your back.
He sighs, and brings his finger back up to the opening point of the fresh cut. “Oh… this is going to be a long few minutes for you, isn’t it?” Without any more preamble, he tears into you all over again, yanking out another cry of pain as he pulls away at the opposite angle, drawing out a deep scratch the same length as the first.
There are tears in your eyes. Normally, you’d try to hold them back, but this time you can’t pull yourself together, as hard as you try. You let them fall, let yourself cry out loud. Somewhere in the haze that your mind has become, it occurs to you that there’s something very deliberate about the placement of these scratches. Something methodical.
“Do you even know what I’m doing?” He cackles over you, a luminescent red glow fading into the corners of your vision. “Perhaps after this one, if you still haven’t figured it out, I’ll give you a hint…”
He delves into you once more. This slash stings most harshly at the ends, where it connects the two lines already drawn, halfway down, digging again into already-broken skin. Slowly, your mind forms an image, connecting the strokes…when the pieces fall together, a sob, loud and raw and hopeless, plummets out of your mouth.
“You understand.” He presses his thumb into the blood pouring from your back, and gently runs it over the A he’s carved into your skin. “No need to despair…that’s one letter done already.”
“I…” You squirm, shaking violently beneath him. “I can’t…”
“ Don’t be ridiculous.” He slides his hand down, already preparing for another stroke. “I’m not going to leave my art unfinished…it would be such a waste. And very confusing to anyone who happened to get a glimpse - not as if I intend to allow such a thing to happen.”
His name - it’s going to be written diagonally across your entire back. He’s left just enough room for the remaining letters, while taking up as much space as possible with each cut.
“Stop shaking, my dear. You’re going to mess this up…and I’m sure you don’t want me to have to do it over again.”
You try to figure out how many more times you’re going to have to take this, how many more scratches before you’re done. Two for the L, another three for the next A…
He slices into your back, straight down, and the numbers disappear from your head. It’s hopeless. You bite your lip, hard, but you can’t keep yourself silent.
“ Poor thing.” The condescension is palpable, dripping cruelly from his lips. “If only you’d controlled yourself to begin with. It takes just a moment to ruin everything…I do hope that you won’t do it again.”
Oh, you know that that’s a lie. He loves having a reason.
Another slash, and a hum of satisfaction from behind you when you go still, recovering just a bit quicker than the time before. “Two down.”
He says it like it’s a good thing, and not a reason for you to sob harder. Two down means five to go….means you’ve barely started.
His mouth is close enough to a fresh tear that you can feel his hot, hungry breath against your torn skin, his macabre smile burning into your spine.
And - oh god. Something wet and warm hits your back, slides down and mixes with the rivulets of blood trailing over your skin.
“So tempting …” He sighs raggedly, and slowly, oh-so-reluctantly pulls himself back. “But I know myself well enough not to go down that path with you …it would be far too hard to stop once I started.”
Even the pain of the scratch that follows isn’t enough to push away the pure horror that curls in your gut.
Neither is the next.
Or the next.
He’s dragging it out, each time insisting that you still your shaking limbs before he continues, giving your hand an awful, gentle squeeze before moving on. Your eyes are screwed shut almost the entire time - but with each stroke, there’s a moment when they flicker open, and take in a bit of that terrible red light before you manage to wrestle them close.
It doesn’t get better. If anything, you think it’s getting crueler as it goes on, but you pull yourself together enough to start apologizing again, whimpered “ I’m sorry ”s gasping almost inaudibly from your mouth.
“I’m not convinced.” The pad of his finger traces up, readies his next stroke. “You’d say anything to get out of this, my dear. It’s only when I’m done that I’ll be satisfied.”
You bite down on your lip until it breaks, scratch at the palm of your free hand, the floorboards beneath. It’s only been a few minutes, but this is beginning to feel like your entire existence - you can’t conjure memories of a time before it, and you certainly can’t imagine a time after. Least of all looking in the mirror when this all over…
He pauses for an extra moment before this next letter, as if he’s giving time to let the dread sink in. You’ve lost track of where you are - but the O is unmistakable. One long, unbroken stroke that requires him to twist his nail against your skin.
He laughs indulgently, almost sweetly, as you gasp and writhe helplessly beneath him. “Almost finished, darling…try to be patient.”
Oh, if his affection felt twisted before, it’s a thousand times worse now. And yet, he somehow manages to make it sound genuine. Like he feels bad that he has to do this to you. It would almost be easier, you think, to let yourself believe it.
His voice is soft, the static almost entirely fallen away. “Now, tell me again - what is my name?”
You choke back your tears, force what little air you can into your lungs. You’re almost done, but everything hurts so much that it barely matters. His voice sounds so far away, hovering above you, reverberating strangely in your head.
He presses his lips to your ear. “ Answer me.”
“A”-
As soon as you attempt to speak, he slashes down once more, and your voice dissolves into something between a sob and a scream.
He laughs, and doesn’t bother pausing before finishing off the R of his name,grinding his talon deep into your back, grin spreading wide in the corner of your eye as you shriek. “Not quite.”
You’re sure that there’s a pool of your tears on the floor, but you’re too out of it to see with certainty, even if you did manage to open your eyes.
“Hm.” He sighs, gently tracing the pad of his finger over the final scratch. “And…what about your name? Surely, you can at least remember that.”
His nails suddenly dig into your torn skin, sending a fresh shudder of pain curdling down your spine, leaving you gasping - not to speak, but to quell the churning in your stomach.
“Shame.” He gives your hand another squeeze. “But I’m sure it will come back to you, before long. You’re very resilient…I think that’s why I always have so much fun when we’re together.”
Your head spins. It’s been spinning for what feels like an eternity, numbed and stretched out by his torture. You want him gone. Now, and forever. But once he leaves, you’ll be just as miserable. Playing what just happened in a sickening loop in your head until the pain finally goes away. Until you wash every stain from your skin. And even then…
Oh, even long after that. Just like he said - you’re never going to forget.
He rises to his feet, collects his gloves from where they lie on the floor, and slides them into his pocket. For some time, he stands silent and still above you. Even with your face pressed to the ground, you know that he’s staring, eyes flashing bright and red as he surveys the results of his work.
“I’m sure you’ll do better next time,” he sighs. “Until then…”
His hand slides under your jaw, forcing you to look up. He bends down at an angle that truly doesn’t make sense, uses his bloodied fingers to swipe away the tears rolling down your cheeks, pushes back your hair - and kisses you oh-so-softly on the forehead.
You don’t move. Don’t speak. The tears are still coming, and you’re not even sure if they’re still from the pain.
“ Take care, my dear.”
You wait until he’s turned away before you allow yourself to react, nails digging into your palms as your face falls back to the floor. Shaking. You stay there until long after the door has shut behind you.
#tw: dark content#tw blood#tw violence#tw abuse#tw noncon#alastor x reader#yandere alastor#yandere hazbin hotel
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✦ 𝐁𝐔𝐙𝐙 𝐁𝐔𝐙𝐙 ✦
– KINKTOBER DAY 3: PHONE SEX
johnny mactavish x reader | smut, 18+ | 1.3k words
summary: on leave, johnny can't resist pestering you while you're at work. or perhaps he just can't resist you...
cw: f!reader, sexting, dirty talk, voyeurism(?), begging, masturbation (m & f), orgasm denial, inferred voyeurism. this one made me blush.
⇽ KINKTOBER MLIST | DAY 4: APHRODISIACS ⇾
❝You look so good right now. I can’t actually see you, but I assume you look good because you always do.❞
A grin splits across your lips as you read the text that lights up your phone screen. It lays next to your keyboard on your desk, the lock screen a photo of you and Johnny on holiday in Spain. The sky brings out the blue in Johnny’s eyes– or what you can see of them. They’re almost crinkled shut as he laughs at you, having pushed the icecream you’d both been sharing into your face, creamy white gelato smeared across your nose.
Peering over your desktop screen, you make sure no one in the office is looking as you pick your phone up. Donna has her eyes firmly on an excel spreadsheet that looks far more like an ancient language than it does data she can make sense of, and Peter has left his desk to make what you could only assume was his signature, watered down cups of tea that made you gag when you tried them. Before he could come back and catch you red handed, you tap your password into the phone, unlocking it to respond to the cheeky text message.
It was odd to get a message like this now. Texts like these were usually reserved for when Johnny was on deployment, off in some God forsaken sandy wasteland where bullets would fly past his head and threaten to steal him from you. Instead, he was on leave, no doubt sitting on the sofa with his PS4 controller in hand, yelling commands to his makeshift squadron. You’d be home in a few hours – an office job wasn’t quite as long and treacherous as a place on the special forces.
“Can’t last 7.5 hours without me? x”
You smile to yourself as you hit send, turning your attention back to the work on your desktop before noticing how quickly the ‘ … ‘ speech bubble appears above the keyboard in your chat. It takes barely a couple of seconds before Soap replies.
Bzz.
“Go in the bathroom and take a picture of you touching your pretty pussy. Please? xoxo”
It’s ridiculous, the way such a simple text sets your body alight. The warmth prickles in your stomach, settles between your thighs as you try to reason with yourself. Lunch was two hours away, and you had no doubt that Johnny would keep pestering you until you finally gave in to his pleadi–
Bzz.
“Please? xoxoxoxox”
Chuckling to yourself, you lock your computer and stand from your desk. As casually as you can manage given you were soaking your panties, you inform Donna that you need a bathroom break. Making a note to pat yourself on the back for working so hard and earning her trust, you grin and offer a quiet thank you when she nods her head in dismissal.
As you try to hurry to the bathroom without catching anyone’s attention, you can feel your phone buzzing in your hand.
Bzz.
Bzz.
Bzz, bzz, bzz.
Biting back a stupid grin, you ignore his pining text messages entirely and head straight for the call button, pressing your phone to your ear as you enter the single stall bathroom and lock the door behind you.
It takes two trills of the phone before Johnny answers. You’re surprised– you expected him to hit the answer button halfway through the first.
The first thing you hear is the sound of skin on skin, wet, sloppy sounds of Johnny working his cock in his hand as he groans your name down the receiver.
“Fuuckkk. Yer a dirty girl, bonnie. Leavin’ yer desk to touc–”
“Shut the fuck up, Johnny,” you breathe, malice lacking in your voice as you quickly pull the hem of your skirt up to your hips, leaning against the wall and burying your hand underneath the waistband of your panties.
“But– Fuck– I wanna taste you,” Johnny continues pining for you, making your clit throb as you roll it beneath your fingertips with an airy sigh. Johnny sounds far more unhinged on the end of the phone, crackly audio punctuated with heavy, needy gasps of bliss and the slick sound of him fucking into his hand over and over.
“You sound so needy, Johnny,” you coo quietly, pinching your clit and feeling the warmth of your arousal trickle through your nerves when you hear Soap groan desperately.
“Jesus– Yer bein’ so fuckin’ mean t’me,” he complains weakly, the sound of his thrusts getting louder and quicker over his slurred protests. “Feels so fuckin’ good, Bonnie. Wanna feel you ‘round me.”
Slowly burying your fingers inside your slick cunt, you whimper softly as you grind your clit into the heel of your palm. It’s not enough. Nothing is enough after having Johnny. His months away on deployment are torture, no technique or toys enough to bring the same bliss he consistently pulled from you each and every time you fell into bed together. Or the sofa, or the shower, or the kitchen counterto–
“Need you t’come home, Bonnie. Need you t’come home and sit on my face. Cannae wait all day for ye to come back home,” the timbre in Johnny’s voice is hoarse. It burns something sinful deep down in your gut, pleasure arcing with another circle of your clit.
“What if I just left you there?” You muse quietly, careful not to be too loud incase anyone was passing by, “What if I clocked off after work and went for dinner with that guy on the payments team… What’s his name, Darren?”
You’re grinning halfway through your teasing comment, hearing Johnny spluttering in complaint.
“Bonnie–”
“Or… You could behave. Could wait for me to come home without interr-upting my work,” you hiccup, dangerously close to cumming when you felt the beginning of your orgasm zing up the base of your spine. You arch your hips away from your palm despite your clit’s throb of complaint, squeezing your eyes shut and bracing your voice to sound steady. “And when I come home, I’ll ride you while you play your game. You can be on mic, and Gaz and your friend’ll hear you struggle to keep it together. Hear how fucking wet I sound when you put your dick in me.”
“Steamin’ fuckin’ Jesus–” Johnny wheezed, the sound of him fucking his hand hastening at your filthy offer. “Hah–”
“You can’t cum, though,” you urge him quickly, grinning at the sound of his desperate wail when the sounds suddenly stopped altogether. It was replaced by the sound of Johnny’s heaving breaths, quiet moans of complaint. You could imagine him now, sprawled out across the sofa, grey sweats around his ankles. He’d have his face buried in the crook of an elbow, cock flushed like his cheeks while bobbing up and down in protest and drooling precum onto his stomach.
“Stay right there, just like that,” you breathe, excitement bubbling in your chest at the sound of his struggle, “Text Gaz and tell him to be online at 17:30.”
“Fuck,” Johnny slurs, and the sound sparks something so visceral in you that it threatens to spark an orgasm all on its own. “S’fuckin’ torture.”
“I know, baby. I’ll make it worth it,” you promise him, ending the call before the sound of his keens made you cum.
An hour or two later, sitting at your desk and vaguely focusing on the spreadsheets of information that were all beginning to blur together, your phone buzzes with another text. This time, a picture is attached.
“Still here.”
Johnny’s laying on the sofa, lips raw from gnawing on them in what you could only assume was an attempt to restrain himself. His cock is rock hard, bright red and angry with its neglect as it drools a wet pool of precum across his abs and down his shaft, exactly as you’d predicted.
You’ve never been so excited for clocking off.
cod mwii/kinktober taglist:
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#꒰꒰ ‧₊˚ my works ˚₊· ꒱꒱#꒰ ‧₊˚ soap ˚₊· ꒱#johnny mctavish x reader#john soap mctavish x reader#john soap mactavish#john soap mctavish x you#simon riley x reader#codmwii#john soap mctavish#simon ghost riley#john price fanfiction#cod modern warfare#cod mwii#task force 141#141 x reader#soap mactavish#soap mwii#soap x reader#soap smut#john mactavish#soap imagine#johnny mactavish#johnny mactavish x reader#johnny mactavish x you#soap x you#soap modern warfare#soap mactavish x reader#soap mactavish x you#kinktober 2023
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homemade love | leah williamson x reader
why am i getting attached to a fake scenario i made up in my head i need help.
anyways happy valentine’s day & enjoy this blurb of pure fluff !
-
"do you want mamma to pour the flour or is wren doing it?" the blonde asked the nearly three year old next to her as she made sure to get the measurements right.
"wren do it!" taking the measuring cup that leah held out for her she dumped the contents in the bowl, being a little off target and some ending up on the counter instead. "good job beautiful."
leah had decided to surprise you, her fiancé, with breakfast in bed. it was valentines day after all and she loved to treat you in any way possible. she roped your daughter in of course, jumping at any opportunity to have the extra bonding time with her mini-me.
today was one of the rare instances where leah was actually awake before you considering it was often you having to pull the defender out of bed which was not an easy task could you just say.
"okay crack an egg into the mixture." she read from the cookbook open in front of her. "watch these skills kiddo." leah smirked as she took the egg and attempted to break it with one hand only for her to fail miserably and have the shell fall into the batter. wren giggled "silly mamma."
"shh don't tell anyone." she picked out the unwanted bits and booped her toddler's nose, leaving a flour mark on it.
eventually the pair finished the pancake mix after a quick flour fight and leah poured the mixture into the pan, flipping it with ease much to wrens amusement shown by her excited claps.
the skipper plated them up and let wren take control of the cream "okay! that's enough darlin." grabbing the bottle off of her after seeing what was practically a mountain of the whipped substance. finishing off the meal with a few strawberries and blueberries leah moved it all onto a tray.
"lets take this to mummy shall we?"
you stirred in your sleep as you felt a weight press onto your stomach. "mummy! mummy! wake up." the infant babbled as she continued to climb all over you.
"morning bubba." you gave her a weak smile while adjusting to the light coming through the window. "i made you bekfast!"
“oo did you now?”
"i'd say it was more a joint effort but i suppose she was the better chef." you looked up to see leah stood there with a goofy smile on her face holding a tray just above her waist.
"happy valentine's day baby." she placed the food down onto your lap, bending down and planting a sweet kiss on your lips.
"oh my, thank you guys." your heart swelled at the gesture - just picturing the behind the scenes you wished you were awake to see. "eat it?" wren who had now cuddled into your side looked up expectantly.
"hm i think wrenny should have first taste, considering she did make it after all." cutting a triangular piece out the stack you fed it to the young girl watching as her eyes lit up from the taste of sugar. "is it good?"
wren nodded vigorously and gave a thumbs up making both you and leah chuckle. you had to admit, they were good pancakes, almost too good considering leah's cooking history, she was by far not the designated chef of the family.
"wait hang on i forgot your present." leah suddenly realised as she dashed out of the room.
you look quizzically at your toddler "what's she got up her sleeve now?" only getting a shrug in return.
your fiancé now came back with her guitar she had been learning to play for a couple of months in her hand. "may i present to you ‘you are in love’ leah williamson version."
you couldn't help but laugh when you figured out what she was about to do. playing the chords to the song she began singing looking directly at you the whole time.
''cause you can hear it in the silence
you can feel it on the way home
you can see it with the lights out
you are in love, true love
you are in love'
you loved seeing leah like this; all cheesy and goofy, a complete 180 to how she was on the pitch. she may not be fully in tune but she did have a good voice that you could happily sit and listen to all day long.
wrapping the song up she took a bow as you and wren applauded her. "surprised it wasn't 'our song'." you say knowing how that was the older girl's favourite taylor song.
"thought i'd be a little spontaneous gorgeous." she winked as she now plonked herself on the bed so wren was in between the both of you.
"well i guess it's my turn now huh." rooting through your bedside table drawer. "i don't know if I'm going to beat the pancakes and serenades but here." you passed both wren and leah neatly wrapped gifts. "princess open yours first." you didn't have to tell wren twice before wrapping paper was flying everywhere revealing a baby doll wearing an arsenal shirt with the number 24 on it.
you looked at leah for any form of reaction but she clearly hadn't caught on yet simply sharing wrens excitement at the new toy "you can bring her to mummy and mamma's games."
"okay leah open yours." anticipation was bubbling inside the both of you.
the blondes mouth dropped open when she picked up the items at hand. "are ya serious?" doing a double take at the pregnancy scan photos and test she was holding in her hand. "it worked?"
nodding she rushed off the bed to your side, picking you up and twirling you around. "okay okay put me down! i don't want to start being sick before i have to."
she did as requested and held the scan right in front her face still in disbelief. "september 2024, twins.`' casually slipping it into conversation.
"fuck off." she said incredulously which earned her a glare off you, reminding her there is a child in the room.
"wren your going to be a big sister!" now shifting attention to her daughter - it being her turn to be picked up and bounced around.
"sister?" the little girl questioned. you pointed at your stomach "there's two babies in mummy's tummy." wren reached her small arms out to touch your belly "hello!"
"they can't talk yet love, they've gotta grow for a while in there, make sure they're strong and healthy just like you." the centre-back explained.
you smiled at the interaction. leah was such a good mum. you couldn't wait to make your family even bigger in a few months time. "good valentines day gift then?"
leah pulled you in to her side with her free arm. "the best. i love you." she pressed her lips onto yours, conveying every emotion possible. little laughs coming from the small body in the older girl's arms as she watched her grossly in love mothers.
"oh you find it funny when we kiss do you?" you quirked an eyebrow and watched as she nodded.
you pecked leah's mouth again..and again, hearing the giggles make a return.
"i think it's someone else's turn now." the defender smiled smugly and you quickly caught on, both bombarding your daughter with kisses on the face as she squealed happily.
god you loved your valentines.
#leah williamson#leah williamson x reader#woso#arsenal wfc#arsenal women#woso community#lionesses#england lionesses
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"Oh, so we DO love Steve..." | PART I
Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader
enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+
WHEN THE UNEXPECTED NIECE OF MURRAY BAUMAN GETS THROWN IN THE MIX, THE GANG HAS NO IDEA JUST WHAT THEY'RE IN FOR. SCRATCH THAT - STEVE DOESN'T KNOW. YOU GET ALONG WITH EVERYONE WELL. YOU BANTER WITH THE ADULTS, WHO APPRECIATE YOUR HELP. THE KIDS LOVE AND WORSHIP YOU. YOU'RE HELPFUL ALL AROUND. BUT AS FAR AS STEVE IS CONCERNED, YOU'RE JUST NUISANCE. AFTER ALL, YOU'RE THE REASON HE LOST THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE AND MISSED OUT ON A LIFE THAT "COULD'VE BEEN." IF YOU HAD JUST KEPT YOUR SORRY ASS OUT OF THE PICTURE... IF YOU HAD NEVER GONE WITH NANCY AND JONATHAN AFTER THEY LEFT YOUR WHACK-JOB UNCLE, MURRAY BAUMAN'S, BUNKER? HE WOULD BE HAPPY. SO F*CKING HAPPY. BUT HERE YOU WERE. YOU WERE BASICALLY THE COOLER (...AND SURE, MUCH MORE ATTRACTIVE) FEMALE VERSION OF MURRAY BAUMAN. YOU WERE SARCASTIC, QUICK-WITTED, TOO SMART FOR YOUR OWN GOOD, AND APPARENTLY BUILT FOR THE WAR. SURE, YOU WEREN'T AS BRASH AS YOUR UNCLE. BUT IN STEVE'S EYES, YOU WERE SOMEHOW FAR MORE OBNOXIOUS. HE DOWNRIGHT HATED YOU. HE WILL FOREVER HATE YOU... BUT WILL HE?
DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORK TO BE COPIED AND/OR REPOSTED ON HERE OR ANY OTHER PLATFORM, OR PUT INTO ANY AI PROGRAMS. THIS IS AN 18+ BLOG, MDNI.
An original fanfiction series, written by Misha St. James.
⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆
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I did not proof-read this after Tumblr gave me hell trying to share. So pls excuse possible typos. hehe
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Let's just get to the point, shall we?
Once upon a time, a young boy named Will Byers went missing. Later, he was found in an alternate dimension by the world's #1 mom and a cynical cop turned hero. A girl with a shaved head had telekinetic superpowers, befriend's Will's four loyal friends along the way and helping them track down their missing party member. Then, whatever the hell was on the other side - whatever was in this...upside down...took back Eleven. She'd been missing ever since that dreadful winter.
Fast forward to now: you're sitting in your uncle's bunker, looking at his wild display of efforts. Papers, files, whiteboards covered in multiple words, arrows, sketches - all in different colored markers. Murray Bauman was on a mission, and he would be damned if that grumpy, cynical smart-ass known as Jim Hopper honestly thought that he could dismantle his efforts. Nice try, chum. Game on.
Thankfully, you'd gone to school with Barbara Holland. That's whose parents had assigned the task of searching for her to your uncle. Murray was asking you tons of questions, and you were glad to help. It meant spending time with the only family member you cared for, despite his wackiness. You guys got each other. Bantered well. Got shit done. Honestly, it was also a great way of drinking safely and not with a bunch of rowdy teenagers at some stupid party. You got along just fine with everyone at school. But damn, they could all be annoying.
...especially Steve fucking Harrington, who was now the topic of conversation. You know, given that his house is where Barbara was last seen.
"It just isn't making sense," your uncle huffed, raking his hands through his oily dark hair.
You sipped on the glass of vodka that your uncle had poured you, hissing at the strong taste. Leaning across the coffee table, seated on his couch, you tried to connect the dots with him. "I'm telling you, someone in that group of teens knows what's up. Or at least has an idea."
Your uncle swigged at his vodka, defeated but ruthlessly trying to piece together his clusterfuck of scattered evidence across his wall. "Well then, guess we better grill 'em."
And that's how you come into the picture. When Nancy and Jonathan came to seek out Murray. And when they arrive, they're surprised to see you. They recognize you from school. Jonathan took several classes with you. In fact, the two of you got along well at Hawkins High. No, you weren't close. But you both were cool. Nancy, on the other hand, didn't know anything about you. Just that you took political science with Barbara, and got straight A's across the board. You could've been class valedictorian. But you were not looking for any sort of title that demanded pressure or attention. At least not in high school. Career wise? Sure. Not here, though. Not Hawkins.
"Your timeline is wrong," Nancy is saying, making you and Bauman freeze.
Nancy is telling you that the girl with the buzzed hair is not Russian. She is, in fact, from Hawkins lab. And her name is...Eleven?
So they do know something. And something turns out to be everything.
Jonathan sits you both down to relay everything to you both. And woof, does it give you guys a headache. Strangely, though... it makes a whole lot more sense than some mundane explanation of sorts. Obviously though, that puts you all in a tough spot where you'll all need to put your heads together. So the two classmates of yours stay, sharing in chilled Smirnoff and having to endure the hilarity that ensues between you and your uncle.
You and Murray both banter well with the two of them. Jonathan finds you to be hilarious. Nancy finds you intimidating. Very intimidating. You’re quick witted, darkly humored and independent. But there is a reserved, mysterious sort of feminine energy to you, despite your more masculine strengths and bluntness.
Over glasses of stiff vodka, you all come to the conclusion on how to go about exposing the truth about Barbara Holland's disappearance: water it down.
At the end of the night, you're all winding down -- you and your uncle having convinced the two lovebirds to stay. But when you're telling them they can take your uncle's guest room while you take the couch, Jonathan's asking if he can take the couch. You blink. Huh?
...surely Nancy is not still with --
"Okay, I'm confused," your uncle's saying. "What's going on here? Lovers quarrel?"
You cock an eyebrow, leaning back into the loveseat.
But Jonathan and Nancy are then talking over each other with weird, flustered excuses...saying they're just friends.
You and your uncle bust out laughing. And then you're shrinking back in your seat, knowing what's coming: one of your Uncle Murray's lovebird witchdoctor speeches that he barrels into anytime that two delusional people have convinced themselves that they aren't in love. Or at the very least, not into each other.
Uncle Murray is breaking them down, one at a time. He's reading Jonathan like an angsty teen novel, seeing right through him and his brooding, mysterious energy. Trust issues, thanks to daddy issues. Yikes, that makes you sip some more drink.
And then he's onto Nancy, saying that she's harder to read. But he manages anyway. It's the Bauman way.
He's telling her that she's likely like everyone else, "afraid of what would happen if you accepted yourself for you who you really are." He looks at you. "Am I in the right ballpark?"
You nod, swallowing the last drop of vodka in your cup. "That...and afraid of that might happen if she didn't retreat back to the safety of someone familiar."
Nancy looks bewildered. But more than that, she looks caught.
"Name?" your uncle is prodding, snapping his fingers. "Name."
You and Jonathan both say it. "Steve."
Uncle Murray's face is priceless. He feigns adoration, putting on a baby voice as he repeats the name. "Dawh. Steve. We like Steve."
"Yes," Nancy laughs nervously. Eek, you think.
"But we don't love Steve..." Your uncle's words floor Nancy.
And when Nancy's saying something about still being with Steve, insisting that she loves him, you roll your eyes. Even scoffing, getting her attention. Maybe if the vodka weren't in your system, you wouldn't be so bold. But Jonathan's mopey look just gives you more confidence.
"Boom, ladies and gents," you say with a grin. "Second lie of the evening."
"The hell was the first one?" Jonathan asks, blinking.
"You guys being just friends." You and your uncle say something along the same lines, simultaneously. You both laugh together, clinking glasses. The two not lovebirds just squirm awkwardly in their seats.
Finally, you sigh. "Look. You guys don't wanna give up the ghost? Be my guest. I'll happily keep my bed." You stand up, ready to turn in. But not until casting them one last work, pointing a finger. "But if I were you two? I'd cut the bullshit and just share the damn bed."
Murray snorts, rising to stand as well. He stretches. "Welllllp. I'm turning in for the night."
You begin mounting the stairs, hollering: "Better act fast, kiddos. At least before this poison in my system knocks me out cold. Don't worry, Nancy, I don't snore. So if you do choose me, you're safe."
"But that's so lame," Murray adds to that wryly, heading off to his room. You both tell each other goodnight, leaving the two angsty teens to decide their fate.
All you know is that Nancy ends up walking out and not coming back, at one point in the night. Yeah, thought so.
Breakfast the next morning is even more hilarious. You and your uncle ask every single question that drips with innuendo that you ever possibly could. And it's worth every fucking minute.
Murray's gonna need to keep that couch cleaned.
To your surprise, Murray sends you off with Nancy and Jonathan, but given that you want to go and see it all for yourself you don't mind. You’re basically his little spy.
Most uncles send off their nieces and nephews with some good advice, maybe a packed lunchbox or snacks, and a warm hug.
Yours, however, sends you off with a full bottle of vodka, a thick wad of cash and some fun sarcastic banter. But he headlocks you in for a hug, and you cackle. He really is a nutcase, and man you can't help but love him. He is so not the parental type. Yet somehow, he's practically raised you. And in your opinion, you're pretty well-prepared for the world. More than most, in Murray's opinion.
So off you go with Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Buyers, and they both honestly enjoy your company. It helps them get past their umm...well...awkward new reality. That new reality that comes post-sex, after a long ass time of playing the tip-toe game. The sexual tension between them is hysterical to you. But you keep your thoughts to yourself for now. The vodka did most of the talking for you last night.
When you both arrive at wherever the hell your destination is, it's dark outside. And if you're being honest, it's pretty creepy. You're somewhere near the woods, and as you all walk closer you're beginning to see lights approaching you...along with a handful of shadowed figures.
Fuck, you literally just got here.
But then, after a tense several moments... Nancy and Jonathan call out to them. You jump, startled at the fact that they do it so confidently. But the name that they call out suddenly makes it all make sense.
"STEVE?"
"NANCY...?"
And that's how you became a crucial part of the most royal pain in the ass, King Steve's, life.
#steve harrington angst#steve harrington#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington stranger things#steve harrington smut
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Hazbin Hotel headcanons
TW: Mentions of sex and alcohol. some suggestive themes that's it, it's mostly just fluff.
(English isn't my first language)
Charlie
-Will do anything for you.
-you want flowers? Done. You saw a cute stuffed animal in the store front and you want it? You got it. Somebody harassed you on the streets and you want them punished? Let her take care of it. Normally she's against violence, but when it comes to protecting you? She'll do anything.
-will sing to you, all the time
-made a special song that she sings to you when you've had a bad day
-the best listener ever.
-will sit and listen to you talk for hours
-if she needs to get to work early, she'll make you breakfast and leave you a note that says something like:
-hi, good morning lovely! I hope you sleep well.
I had to leave early.. something happened at the hotel while Alastor was away, and they needed me.
See you 2night, i love you:)<3
-i think her love languages are physical touch and words of affirmation
Angel Dust
-whisper's provocative things to you during meetings
-definitely a physical touch kind of guy.
-Will cling to you at the most random times
-keeps Valentino as far away from you as possible.
-tries his best to keep his relationships hidden from him as well
-if you'd come home after a long day, he'd give you a massage
-is super funny, tell me otherwise.
-has a high sex drive, and is pretty kinky due to his job.
-so expect him to ring you up at the most unexpected times.
-PS. Don't put him on speaker when you're in public..
Vaggie
-was pretty cautious around you in the beginning, but slowly warms up to you
-once she's comfortable, she tells the wildest stories and acts them out for you
-if you don't know how to fight, she'll teach you
-if you do know how to fight, you guys spar all the time
-jealousy issues, and you can't tell me other wise.
-she hears someone talk to you in a tone she doesn't like? Glare. Someone low-key flirting with you? Glare. If looks could kill.. she will actually kill them though, so..
-not super experienced in bed, but she's open to suggestions
-once she finds something she likes/is comfortable with, she askes you for it all the time
-a "words of affirmation" and "acts of service" girl for sure
Alastor
(i am perfectly aware he's ace, but these are scenario's for if he wasn't, don't come for me)
-now, Alastor is a great dancer.
-he has great music taste too!
-listens to 1940's and below.
-i think he's mostly into Jazz and Classical music to be honest
-i do think Amy Winehouse and Dave Brubeck are his exceptions when it comes to listening to 1950's and above
-somehow always knows where you are..? You often see his shadows follow you, so that's probably why
-kills for you. Also because he has a thirst for blood, that needs to be satisfied. So that's 2 birds with one stone
-holds doors open for you
-just a general gentleman
-loves it when you wear dark red, dark blue and dark green
-it can be anything. Lipstick (just red though), a hat, a dress, heels, etc.
-expects you to respect his personal space but doesn't respect yours LMFAO
-gift giving and physical touch
Husk
-knows all your favorite drinks
-loves to dance with you
-also a Jazz person, but I don't think he'd mind country music to be honest
-once he secretly took a picture of you.
-he thought you looked so good, he keeps it in his nightstand.
-doesn't really talk about his problems/feelings, but prefers it if you do.
-respects your boundaries more than anyone.
-you don't wanna talk? He'll kiss your forehead, and leave you alone.
-you don't really like being touched? He'll always ask first.
-other than making amazing alcoholic drinks, he makes great coffee too!
-quality time and physical touch.
It's been quite a while since i've written something, so I apologize if there's any grammar mistakes or sentences that just don't make any sense LOL
Thank you for reading!
#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin alastor#hazbin husk#hazbin vaggie#hazbin angel dust#hazbin charlie#x reader#fluff#alastor x reader#husk x reader#angel dust x reader#charlie x reader#vaggie x reader#x reader fluff
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