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kaizynofsickness · 2 days

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Satoru and reader

Synopsis: He just gets the urge to see you all chubby and complaining to him when a little mini him is kicking inside your tummy, cooking up a tiny menace. And he has to make sure it'll work.

Warnings: breeding kink, straight to the sex, short, mating press, nasty and dirty talk, pussy drunk Satoru, cock drunk, lots of needy themes, p in v, praise kink, sex pinned to a door, on the couch, anywhere to stuff you, lots of cumming, dumbification on both parties, 'atta girl' used, pet names (baby, mama, pretty girl) some degrading name (cum slut, slutty cutie)

A/N: 🎀 anon, I hope this is what you wanted. This isn't proof read, yawn. Might reread later tho (can you comment my typos or sum. Make it easy for meeee)

Why'd you have to look so cute while you were holding your new niece, smiling as your friends took pictures of you and the tiny little baby, coaxing the child when it cried.

The sound of a newborn cry was so cute.

And here Satoru was, fighting off a major boner. And you needed to take care of it as soon as you sat on the bed—damn, as soon as you even step foot inside.

"pretty girl, hurry, let's head home." He called over to you, waving his hand by to everyone around. You trotted over, also bidding the people. But not before you smiled and bopped the newborn baby on the nose one more time.

And his cock just jumped in his pants at the sight.

You're so cute and sweet around babies. Oh, he really hopes you have baby fever.

The car ride was tense, even if it wasn't to you, he just couldn't look at you without the thought of a mix of him and you inside of your stomach, growing. It would be so cute to have a chubby brat stomping around the house and hurting their little nubs for fist and knees, crying for mama and papa to fix them up. He just got harder.

"hey, um, baby..." he broke the silence, still taking turns down the blocks in the car. You hum in response, turning to him. "Yeah?"

"do you ever... want a kid with me?" He nervously asked; he's never so timid, but with this boner and his thoughts to fill you with cum until he shoots blanks is making him hot. You noticed it easily with how tense he was, making you giggled out, "yeah, why? Want one all the sudden?"

"well, yeah," he cools down, turning the corner to your house before putting the car in park. He moves his hand to your thigh over the arm rest, his charming smile coming back. "I want a bunch of tiny ones."

You're flummoxed. "I... Didn't take you as that type of man."

"oh, c'mon! Imagine the little army!" He nudges you playfully, making you hit the car door. You scoff and roll your eyes, "you're so unserious. A 'little army', sheesh." But a small snort leaves, unable to hide the idea at how it would be cute to have your own kids with the man you love and adore. He adds, "our little army. Now, let's put this idea in drive, Kay?"

He unbuckles his seat belt, opening the door and jogging to open yours like the gentleman he is.

"huh?" You cocked your eyebrows with a weary smile. You know when he has sex, he has sex. And now you see his dumb obsession with wanting to give you his kids, you have every right to question him.

But he just walked to the house, jingling the car keys as if calling you over. And you go over.

He opens the door, allowing you to walk in first with a sweet smile on his lips, shutting the door. The atmosphere was getting tense.

"gotcha,"

Satoru pinned you to the wall, not even letting you take your shoes off. You gasped, the aggression knocking the air out of you. You blinked, flummoxed before your small hands instinctively grab at his shirt and squeeze. "'toru—"

"shh, don't make this hard." He muttered in a low, sexual tone as he lowered and kneeled down, slipping off your sneakers for you. He looks up at you, his bright azure eyes deeply making contact. And that look say it all.

You didn't protest no more.

He quickly undos his belt, fussing with his boxers to release his aching cock, curving up and pre cum dribbling down his tip in globs. Your face heats up at the sight, but mostly your hot cunt starting to leak. "C'mon baby, undress. I wanna stuff your pretty cunt," he coaxes you, keeping his arms locked on each side of the front door.

You remove your pants, trying to match his neediness, but you just take too long.

Satoru gives up, scooping your thighs in his veiny hands, pinning you to the door. He pulls your panties to the side, placing them behind your wet folds and lining his cock up with your core.

It all happened so fast.

He thrusted his hips up into your ass, his cock filling you up and hitting your cervix hard, making you full of his cock alone. You let out a long whine in sync with his needy moan as your wet walls stretch out to fit his shape. "O-oh, fuck, finally inside you—"

He needily starts to pump you full of it, giving you no time to readjust as you grip onto his broad shoulders. He was so painfully hard, it was insane. But, no, not enough. You felt that shit grow harder inside you, making your eyes roll back to your skull, lewdly moaning and shaking.

Every roll of his hips makes you clamp down desperately, your arousal and all wetness being forced out of you cunny because his harden dick was leaving no room inside you, dripping all you juices on the floors entrance, the lewd sounds of the tap, tap making your head pound.

"b-baby, the room—"

"n-no, no, no... this pussy is right here, need to fill ya." He shakes his head at your whines, watching his cock sink in and pop out. "The floor!" You list,

He growls, leaning to your face and pressing his lips—more like smashing—together, biting your bottom lip. "Shh, pretty girl. Just moan, that's all ya need to do."

He fucks like he's sick and your pussy will cure him, barely breathing right—but he doesn't care. He's finally inside of your cunt. His uncaring actions make you clench again, and again, and—

"c'mon, pretty girl... o-ohhoo fuck, clench my cock tight, wanna stuff you full of my cum, give you my kids," he growls out, his eyebrow knitted, jaw slacked. He's no better than you went he finally hits it, like a drug.

"s'much! 'm gunna c-" you voice breaks as an unprepared orgasm crashes down, the euphoric feeling of having him fucking his cock inside you while you squirt shamelessly vibrates your soul. You eyes shut, digging into his skin as you cummed for him, squeezing his length dangerously. "Atta girl, atta fucking girl." He breathlessly coaxes you, still pumping in the inhuman pace, watching the sweet juices from you get on the floor.

"fuck, baby, I-I just cummed, p-please slow—"

He leans in to kiss you, swallowing your dumb pleads so he can rail you right, enjoying how your moans of his name muffles into his mouth, his tongue playing with yours. His hands slide up to your waist, making your body jagger down off the door a bit, sliding down on his cock.

He groans as your wetness coats down his balls, uncaring for the pool of his pre and your juices under you and him. "C'mon, mama, gotta get you comfortable,"

He thrust up into you one last time before grabbing your waist and pulling you to him, your sweat on the door when he gets you off, cock still nuzzled into you. Satoru takes you to the couch, pinning you down as he rest his elbows behind your knees, pressing you far back into a mating press.

"'toru—ah, please fuck me full, wan' to carry y'er kids!" You dumbly beg of him.

"don't need to ask me again,"

He leans his frame over your helpless body, rising his hips up before slamming back down. He rocks the couch hard, making you fear it'll break, but the incoming feeling of his seed spilling inside you makes the fear demolish. "Finna fill you, slutty cutie. Wan' it, ya wan' it?" He taunts you, moving his arms to tilt you head to his, getting a good look of your lewd face, drooling.

"yesyesyes, please, 'toru!" You whined, soft tears forming in your eyes. You were definitely desperate now, not only for his cum and the feeling of it spilling into you, but to be able to carry the kids of the strongest, birth them, and raise them. Fuck the pain, it's all this right here and now.

He smirks at your begging, chewing on his lips at the sight. "Oh, baby, you're so perfect for me... Take it all, don't waste it, wanna give it all t'ya!"

He pounds rougher, making your scream as he bullies your cervix with his angry tip. "Finna do it, be a cum slut and keep it inside." He looses it, soon spilling inside you and still fucking in, his thrust uneven and based off the need to fill your cunt, make you pregnant with his baby.

You arched your back off the couch, eyes screwing shut from the unholy pleasure racing through your body, damping the couch and pillows around. A thick ring of cum builds around the base of his cock, the pearly white smearing around his length once he pulls out.

"o-one more, mama, lemme load ya over 'n' over," he panting like a bitch in heat, pulling his cock out to watch his seed pooling from your small hole. Two slender fingers penetrate you, rubbing inside your slick and sticky walls, pushing his cum deep for ya.

You whimper, hands flying to his shoulders for support, "more, fuck me more, wan' ta be full, please." You whine, your cute eyes building up tears on your waterline, lashes damp.

You pouted for him so fucking cutely, sending all the blood to his cock, hardening all over again. He laughs through his nose, smirking down at your needy form.

But he isn't any better.

He waste no time, whispering into your ears as he pulls out his fingers, "suck em, baby."

That's all you had to hear before you opened your mouth, tongue lewdly hanging out. You feel the sweet and salty mix of yours and his arousal of that nasty sex pressing on your tongue before you suck on his fingers as if it was his dick.

You lick over his palm, going to the tip of his fingers before sucking on the flavor.

He groans at the show, your hot mouth making him wish it was his cock.

"atta baby, such a pretty girl." He cooed to you, removing his fingers to grip your thighs and fold you further, earning a small grunt from you.

His cock kissing your cunt again, finding it like a magnet. Easily, he slides his tip into your itty bitty hole, listening to the wet squelching sound and swishing of his seed inside you, his eyes rolling back from the feeling.

Like a beast, he rocks the whole fucking couch to be deep inside that pussy. The tip of his tongue pokes out, eyes shutting as he feels you clench again—oh, it will never get old.

"mhmm, s-such a creamy mess of us, us, baby... oh, fuck—" he babbles, looking down at your face.

As soon as he sees how fuckin' fucked dumb you look, eyes crossed and with such a slutty smile, he's gonna bust. "Oh, fuck..."

He goes even faster, not even thrusting into you, but needily pushing his cock deeper just to fuck cum inside you again. His speed alarms you, nails scratching the couch desperately.

"s-satoru!" You gasp, practically hyperventilating to get air, but he pumps it all out of you. He deliriously giggled at your display, "scream it, baby, fuckin' scream my name." He growls, pressing all his weight onto your small, helpless frame.

Small tears bead out your pretty eyes, finding it hard to breath a bit. But the pleasure overrides it, your pussy soaking it all up.

"cum again, cum again, cum f'me..." He fucking begs you for you to cum likes it's his orgasms. "Rub that clit f'me, pretty girl—" he chokes out,

"play with yourself."

Your weak arm moves down, fingers a bit shaky as you find your neglected bud, taking two digits and not even making patterns, just rubbing it around to feel something messily.

"'toru, finna cum on ya c-cock!" You gasp, fingers swiping your clit hard. He throws his head back again; it was just your voice sounding so hot.

"do it f'me, milk my cock, baby. Squeeze the fuck out of it, girl." He rams into you, so needy to cum and make you cum—the pussy drunk fucker doesn't even know he's about to bust.

You cream around his base, body shuddering and lagging, your fingers faltering from your ministrations on your clitoris, moaning out his name like a prayer of forgiveness. "Look at ya, baby, s-so fuckin' cute and slutty f'me, gotta keep you cumming n' screaming my name, pretty girl." He leans down, whispering all his dirty thoughts into your ears, nibbling on your ear lobe.

He was so lost in it, he cummed deep in you without warning—but you don't care. It's his cum that you both were dumbly after.

He stiffens his body, realizing that he just let out his creamy liquid in you. "A-ahh, there we go," he lewdly grins at the feeling, cumming without even knowing. "Feel it inside?" He presses his hand on your tummy, feeling his cum stirring deep into you.

"y-yeah, feel ya t'good, baby..." you pant, grinding your hips on him, "gimmie m-more..."

"more, ya slutty cutie? I just gave ya more." He mocks your needy tone, making a pout for you. "My cock got you dizzy?"

You feverishly nod, hands snaking up to his chest to feel him down.

"good thing, cuz this pussy got me drunk."

You can even call it sex anymore, both of you just moaning out for the feeling, your cervix getting hit hard now, whining at this point. Satoru just whispered your name repetitively, his cock going damn near numb as your pussy clamped down like you wanted to glue him in.

His orgasms started to chase on faster from his veins being constantly stroked by your wet walls—and he just gave in, not caring if he lasted long, not caring if he cummed before you, just caring if his cum went into you.

No words, he just spilled his release into you.

Both of you groaned at the feeling, becoming so familiar. You twitched around his cock once again, body jerking violently before you squirted aggressively against his pelvis.

It was so fucking filthy, so damn messy and lewd, it didn't make any sense.

None of you cared much as he finally slipped his cock out. No words. Just panting, small whines, sniffling from tears falling down. He gives in and lays on you, making you grunt.

His weight pushes out some of his well earned cum from your cunt, the white liquid smearing down your anus and onto the couch. "I think... You'll have my kids now." He mutters into the crook of your neck.

You weakly nod your head in response, shaky hands reaching for his sweaty snow white locks of hair, combing his hair. "m' so full..."

"ey, that's good. I wan' ya to be full of me, baby. S' fucking worth it."

˚꩜⋆.°⭑Do not copy, translate, or steal in any way, reblogs are appreciated and allowed.

I need to be breeded now.

@lxnarphase (I just wanted to encourage this idea so bad + follow lxnar for similar content)

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #satoru smut #gojou satoru x reader #satoru x reader #satoru x you #gojo jjk #smut fic #smut #x reader

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cryptidcasanova · 2 days

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Lover Boy

Mob!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: It's the Bridgerton carriage scene, but make it mob!Bucky.

Warnings: Angst, light Smut, Language, Possessive Bucky.

3.5k

The poll results are in, and I couldn't help but think this might be a good way to remedy both sides.

You were mortified.

One hand fisted against quivering lips, and the other gripped at your clutch. As if anything else could go wrong tonight. Shaky steps guided you down the carpeted stairs.

There was another gala, another meeting of the power players in town. And it was another night wasted at the hands of James Barnes.

You hated how much you cared for him. You still cared for him even after all the stunts he pulled to pull you away from the Maximoff heir. Always had.

Ever since you were kids, you remembered having that love-sick look in your eyes. You grew up with inner-circle families and were friends with Rebecca, Sarah, and their brothers. And Bucky? Well, shit, he was always there with his dark hair and curious eyes. It was hard not to fall for him.

Even as you grew up, numbing yourself to the reality of the business and the choices that came with it, you couldn't ignore him forever. You knew that Bucky was raised to be powerful, honorable, and frightening. You knew the stories – of all the beautiful women who couldn't tie him down longer than a night or two. You knew how he flaunted some new girl at every event. It was hard not to overhear them whispering among the men.

'What about her?' and the laugh on his hips saying, 'She's just a family friend. Don't worry about her; I'd never be with her like that.'

You knew he would break your heart, and still. You loved him.

Again, mortified.

He was your first kiss on some lonely night when you couldn't help but ask him. But that had been ages ago. He was grown now, the head of the family and the king of his empire.

But there was something different about tonight, something predestined that started long before you stepped outside your door. It started out as Sam's idea weeks before, in the same bar where you ended up every weekend.

He wanted to try and get you to mingle among the local 'rabble-rousers' as if he pretended not to be one of them. Your laugh at his suggestion pulled Steve and Bucky's attention from across the bar.

"You want me to do what, exactly?" You teased. "Throw myself in the way of wealthy investors and scout out the competition? That's much more up Nat's alley; there's a reason why they call her the Black Widow, you know –"

"No, nothing like that," he shook his head, that charming grin on his lips. Once Sam got an idea, it took a lot of work to dissuade him. "Look, there's more to this life than watching shipments and making small talk with the hens in town." He paused, knowing all the time you spent logging backorders and saving face with the mercs' wives. "I want you to be happy. We all do."

You leaned against the bar, pressing your palms against the hardwood.

"So you think it's time for me to settle down?" You challenged with a smirk. "Get married to some silver-spoon jerk upstate?" Sam's smile turned close-lipped as he noticed the other's approach.

"We could help you find a good one." At least he sounded hopeful.

"In this town?" Steve overheard, tapping his beer on the hardtop. "You're gonna need all the help you can get."

Your sneaking suspicion grew as they hounded like vultures. You looked from Sam to Steve with weary eyes. The only one with less enthusiasm was Bucky. Bucky, who usually was primmed with pressed shirts, was tired. His hair fell into his face, his shirt wrinkled, and his tie long discarded at one of the tables.

"You want to help me find a man?"

Bucky looked to his friends with a hooded expression, letting his hand reach out before him. With the click of his tongue, he softly smirked.

"We'll help you find a man. Have we got a deal, doll?"

It was a business handshake, one full of promise. And as soon as you grasped Bucky's hand, one you'd come to regret.

You didn't expect their advice to work so well…or so quickly.

At the gala, Bucky strolled over with that sly walk and pressed navy suit, conveniently carrying your favorite drink in hand after Pietro ordered you both dirty martinis. You never cared for the drink, but you weren't about to tell him that. But trouble started when Bucky slid between you with that close-lipped smirk.

"They must have made a mistake at the bar," He explained with a shrug. "I remember you liked these. Here, doll." Bucky said, swapping out the drink in your hand before sliding away. No one could fault you for your eyes lingering on him as he walked back to Sam and Steve.

Later in the night, when you were dancing along and finally falling into a rhythm with Pietro, Bucky interrupted again. It was the turn of the tides, the slow pace of the music building, until it felt like one of the underground clubs.

All the weeks spent flirting and learning more about the Maximoff family were crumbling before you. You were a fool to think it would last.

The music built to the familiar strum of old songs you used to listen to, and before you knew it, Sam, Natasha, and half the crew surrounded you on the dancefloor, pulling you away from your date. And it was all orchestrated by Bucky, leading them like a pack of wolves. You knew that look, the suave pull of his hand through slicked-back hair. And then, before you knew it, you were dragged away from the dancefloor.

"Hey," Pietro called over the music, pulling you to the side. "I like you. I do, but this isn't working."

"Wait –" You tried, reaching for his arm. But he was quick to deflect, and embarrassment warmed your cheeks.

"Whatever you're looking for," his eyes moved from Bucky and dropped when you noticed. He looked down with a sad smile. "Whoever you're looking for, I hope you find it."

It felt like a knife twisting in your chest.

"Please don't go."

But it was too late. Your plea was lost as he pushed himself away. Everyone saw it. All your friends' efforts and your attempts to find the one were wasted. Your feet carried you away too fast to notice the somber look Steve gave Bucky.

"You're running out of time, punk."

The city lights passed in a blur as a taxi drove you farther from the gala. The searing ache in your chest left you confused.

For years, you dreamed of Bucky Barnes, hope a dangerous feeling companion of yours. But you knew how he felt. You were nothing more than a friend; he had made that abundantly clear. But you couldn't cut the tether, even while someone else caught your interest. Pietro Maximoff was handsome and kind and loved his sister more than the world. But with Bucky's interruptions, it was no wonder why he didn't want to get involved.

But it still hurt.

A sob was swallowed back, but you couldn't stop the tears from rising. You were pitiful. It was the last time you'd ever ask the guys for help.

But the thought was gone with the sudden screeching of brakes. It made you hold on to the headrest in front of you. Trying to peer around at the commotion, you didn't expect to be cut off by two black SUVs. A moment later, a ringed hand banged on the taxi's hood.

"Get out of the car."

You knew that voice. And as you looked through the windshield, you could see Bucky Barnes peering back.

He was as poised as he was at the party, and the sharp look had you bracing the seat. The bitter spark of rejection caught the light, burning into brutal frustration. You didn't want to talk to him. You didn't want to see him. Not now.

"No."

He tilted his head to the side at the challenge.

"Get out of the fucking car." Bucky gritted. "I need to talk to you."

His voice was teetering dangerously into territory you had only heard about. It was his back rooms, no nonsense voice that snapped you back into the moment. Like hell it would work on you. So it was to be a standoff, one that that you weren't ready to back down from.

Once Bucky realized your position, he took a new approach. You could hear his intentional steps against the pavement as he reached the driver. He didn't say anything but dug into his pants pocket, his fingers flicking through his wallet smoothly.

"Unlock the car," Bucky ordered, pressing cash bills against the window.

The immediate click of the locks didn't help your bellyache, nor did the split second of peace you had before Bucky forced the door open and pulled you out of the cab.

"Are you crazy?" You barked, forcing him to release you as the cab sped off in the other direction.

But you were left in the middle of the road in Barnes territory, the sweep of their dark SUVs cutting off any chance to get out of this conversation.

"What's gotten into you?"

"I didn't want you to leave the party." He explained, his words softer now. "Not like that."

You couldn't believe him. You followed their advice to try and bag a good guy, but to what end?

"What?" You dared to challenge. "I don't know what you want from me. I'm not in the mood, James."

The curl of his name lingered, making your intentions clear. You never called him by his first name. And Bucky didn't like it one bit.

"Let me take you home."

As if you had a choice.

You choked on a frustrated snarl, wanting to hide and cry away your worries and wanting to claw at him like a villain. You hated it. You hated the pressure of his eyes, blue and dark against the night, to get in the car.

So you lifted your head high, took a steeling breath, and walked ahead of him. You were separated from the rest of the world in the backseat of his company car. The divider was a saving grace. You didn't want one of the drivers to see you like this.

But Bucky followed behind so quickly, getting in and closing the door before you could protest for space. You chose to stare out the window instead of looking back at him. The car lurched forward, and you took a moment to find balance.

"You're unhappy."

"No shit."

"Please," He started, turning his shoulders in toward you. Even out of the corner of your eye, you knew he wouldn't let this go. "Please talk to me. Don't close me out. I hated seeing you leave like that. Whatever Maximoff did, I'll fix it."

"You can't fix it!" You finally said, turning to him and gripping his shoulder in frustration. "You say you want me to be happy, to find someone, and then manage to scare off anyone that has the potential to do it." As your voice raised, heat radiated from your cheeks down your neck. His eyes were wide, listening to your grief. "He left because of you. It's not like you have feelings for me. What's the matter with you?"

You couldn't stand to look at him, not when he was so close. His cologne burned your nose, and you desperately needed him to get out of your system.

"Doll," Bucky breathed. He inched his way closer, not letting the anger of your words settle over him. "What if I did have feelings for you?" You would almost call his stare desperate. And then you confirmed it as his shoulders dropped, turning toward you. "It's all that I've wanted to tell you. And I can't see you with him." He admitted.

He moved with purpose all night, not intending to ruin your time with Pietro but to show you that he was the one who needed you. He should have been the one to hold you between dances and order you fine drinks. He should have picked you up so that you would never dare to get in a yellow cab.

But you weren't some wilting flower. You knew the risks of your following words.

"We're friends, Buck."

You held yourself together. You were strong and brave and gripping your heartstrings.

"Yes," He agreed. "But we…"

And for once, he was at a loss of words. The years wasted pining after him would finally be out in the open. You could finally be free of his torment. His eye contact was overwhelming; if he looked away, you would disappear.

"Look, We've been friends for a long time." And with an ounce more of bravery, you sighed. "But I'd like to be more than friends." You admitted. "I want to be so much more than that."

You were waiting for the other shoe to drop. But Bucky leaned closer in earnest, over the seat and bringing his face close. There was no teasing, no torment in his expression.

And with the tip of his chin, you were lost, pulled tight into a kiss and letting it blossom as cold metal snaked around your waist. You dreamed of his touch, and it burned down your throat like honey whiskey.

When you opened your eyes, Bucky had moved. He was no longer in the seat, now chest to chest with you. He was kneeling in the cramped space, the divider shielding you from the driver and the outside world.

"Do you know why Sam offered to help in the first place?" His words were slow as he pulled away, loud enough to hear. "Do you know why Steve jumped on board and corralled us to join? It's because he is tired of me dragging my fucking feet."

"Bucky-"

But he closed the space for another set of slow kisses, deep and intentional.

"I've been an idiot." He admitted. "The guys know how I feel about you. I think they've always known." Another kiss as you pulled back, gripping the shoulders of his jacket. Expensive fabric under your fingertips, hot breath against yours. You were dizzy.

"And you agreed to help with this idea." You noted.

It wasn't a question, no challenge in your words. He agreed to help find you a man. Bucky took a hefty exhale.

"You know the business. It's not safe –" but you raised your hand with a groan, not buying his excuse.

Your fingers brushed over the curve of his chin, the sharp line of his beard a welcome sensation. God, you only ever dreamed of this. You savored the feel of him, your hand moving up his ear and combing your fingers through his air. Buck's eyes were darker than you've ever seen, his open mouth curving up in awe.

"'s not safe." He whispered. "I'm not gonna put you through that."

It was a weak defense. You knew the coterie of mercs, the warehouses, the shipments. You knew all of it and were aware of the danger. But it wasn't like you could cut ties and leave your life behind. You weren't sure you even wanted to.

"You wanted me to find someone else?" You dared to ask. The whisper died as he shook his head.

"All this deal did was make me jealous." He affirmed. "And tonight," His eyes raked down your frame. He never did finish his thought as lust washed over him. A breath passed between you two. "I never meant for you to hurt over it."

The limited space lets you mimic his actions, noting his heaving chest, blue eyes, and the pout of his kissed lips. How he kneeled down in front of you, crowding your space, made you dizzy. While your mouth curved up into a wanton grin, you couldn't help but chase another kiss.

Each touch melted the last of your anguish. The night was long forgotten as soon as he pressed forward, flattening you against the back of the seat. While you pulled up for air, his other hand moved to cup your chin. And then, with your eyes locked on his, he tilted your chin, eyes staring into the roof of the sedan as you felt lips against your jaw.

Hot, languid kisses burned against your pulse. The scrape of his teeth and burn of his beard drove you wild. And as he pulled back, his hand released your chin, following a mesmerized pattern down your skin.

The palm of his hand cupped your neck, down your shoulder, pulling down the thin strap of your dress. Your soft skin was on display, and Bucky's expression was wonderous. But his hand continued mapping, cupping the curve of your breast. A tactful squeeze left your head falling against the seat, a soft gasp on your lips, and your hand blindly reaching up to cover his. With a sharp breath, you found his eyes again. His pink lips were parted, eyes pleading with you.

You knew Bucky was a man of action, but this was uncharted territory. Your nod and an affectionate squeeze of his hand pulled him from his reverie.

He needed more, craving your skin. And as his hand fell from your chest to a solid grip on your ankle, you craved his exploration.

Shallow breaths were traded for deep, hungry kisses. Years of longing, of yearning for his touch and affection, finally were coming to a head. The brush of his tongue left your mind reeling, and regardless of the heat, a trail of goosebumps followed the path of his hand. Under your dress, he lingered over the smooth skin of your calf, over your knee, up your thigh, and to the meat of your hip. Rough, dexterous fingers carved prints into your skin hot enough to burn.

You refuse to miss a moment, eyes fixed on Bucky's as his palm covers the top of your thigh, the intention sitting heavy in your stomach. A live wire of nerves, you can feel him from the heat of your cheeks buzzing down to your toes.

And then, palming where you needed him most, your mouth dropped open with the softest of moans.

Bucky's eyes are wide, but it doesn't last as he finally lets himself get lost. As his eyes close, you admire the curve of his nose and his soft, dark eyelashes. But Buck is greedy, and as he peels his way under the cloth of your panties, you, too, close your eyes. Fingers are nimble, caressing your dripping seam under the dress.

You're a vision.

Convulsing under his touch, rogue pulls off his fingers drip honey down your thighs. Your breath is heaving, and your chest is dangerously close to falling out of the dress. Bucky finds refuge by rubbing slow, devastating circles against your clit. Every hitch of your breath and moan spur him on until you are staring at him with such reverence he thinks he'll collapse.

There's a magnetism, the long-lasting chemistry drawing you nearer to him. He swallows your moan as he slides a finger inside. You're in a desperate frenzy, pulling him close and arching into his body. He spurs on a need you've never had, demanding his smoldering kiss as you shake in his arms.

He's all you've ever wanted. You're crazy to think it could have ever been anyone else.

And then the car jerked to a stop.

There's a breathless laugh as he pulls away, Bucky's forehead resting on yours. You kept a hand on his cheek, thumb brushing his chin. Maybe, if you just ignored it, the outside world would go away.

That is, until you see a porch light turn on from your periphery. You try not to let embarrassment flood your system as you realize your situation, with one of your closest friends knuckle deep in the back seat.

Bucky doesn't share your distress.

He pressed a kiss to your cheek, finally pulling his head back. Bucky smiled. His fingers lingered longer before pulling away, leaving you empty and wanting.

You must have looked as desperate as him, finally looking down at the brutal strain in his pants. But you had no time to overthink as his fingers carefully plucked at your dress strap. He was putting you back together, smoothing out the burn of his touch as he sat up.

If you begged, you were sure that he'd ravage you right there in the seat. But you tilted your head to look outside. You needed a distraction, anything to regain your good sense.

As you focused on the brownstone, you knew where he took you. You were in front of his house – the Barnes family house. He said he was taking you home.

"This isn't my place."

His smirk reached his eyes, and as he pulled open the door and jumped out, his gaze was fixed on you.

"For fucks sake, doll," Bucky's eyes were soft, still blown out. He held a hand out. "We've known each other our whole lives. I'm crazy about you. Are you gonna come up with me or not?"

And with an ardent stare, as if he hung the stars himself, you reached for his hand.

#mob!bucky x reader #mob!bucky #mob!au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #the carriage scene #bucky barnes #lover boy

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moonstruckme · 2 days

Note

hello i’m not sure if you are taking requests but i have binged all of your emt marauders and absolutely loved them. i was wondering if you could do one where the boys get a call in for an emergency and turns out the reader called for it and by the time they get there they find the reader unconscious.you can chose the reason for why reader is passed out. also have an amazing day and yeah <3

Thank you for requesting lovely!! Slight deviation because reader doesn’t call them herself

cw: fainting, hospital mention

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You wake to a firm tapping on your face and the din of too many voices.

“Y/n?” The tapping persists. You try to unstick your lashes. “There you go, sweetheart, open your eyes for us.”

You try harder.

“Good girl. I’m just going to shine this light in your eyes, keep them open…”

“Sirius,” you say. Or try to say. Your mouth is a desert, and your lips move without much sound coming out.

Sirius seems to hear you anyway. His businesslike tone softens into something more tender. “Hi, baby.” When he clicks off the light, you can see that his eyebrows are set close together, hooking upwards. “How are you feeling?”

“M’okay.”

A little grin. “Try again, sweetness.”

You blink. It feels like it takes ages. “My head hurts.”

“What kind of hurt, angel?” Another familiar voice, and you look up to see James crouched above your head. He gives you a quick smile, too handsome for your fragile heart to keep up with, before he tilts your head back the way it was and starts feeling about your scalp with gloved hands. “Is it like a headache, or do you think you might’ve hurt yourself?”

“Um.” Your head swims. “Like a headache.”

“Okay, thanks. Wanna roll onto your back for us?”

“What’re you doing here?”

James’ hands slip from beneath your head. “You fainted,” he says. A gentle touch on your shoulder, pressing downward. “Roll over, okay?”

It takes more effort than it should. You feel like you’re moving through a thick sludge, your head pounding and a hint of nausea at the back of your throat.

“Some space, please. We’ve got it from here.” Remus comes into your field of vision, looking vaguely irritated. Some of it melts away when he meets your eyes.

“Hi,” he says softly, crouching beside you. He takes your hand and gives it a squeeze. Looks at Sirius. “Any signs of a concussion?”

“No,” he says. “Her pupils look fine, and there doesn’t seem to be a contusion on her head. Yeah, Jamie?”

“Yeah,” James agrees. He puts something cold underneath your neck. “I think falling onto the grass probably helped.”

Remus nods, stroking the side of your thumb absentmindedly. “The woman I just spoke to thought the same, said the way she fell sideways had to have kept her from hitting her head.” He sounds wry. “She had a lot of opinions, actually. You had quite the group of concerned spectators looking out for you, dove.”

Remus is giving you a small smile, but his words finally register the sheer amount of people standing near you. They’re spread in a loose circle around you, random pedestrians who just happened to be walking by when you apparently crumpled like a tin can off the edge of the sidewalk and have since stuck around to watch the show. Your head is still too fuzzy to muster up any response that feels correct, but you know you don’t like it.

James picks up on your unease first. “Don’t worry about them, sweetheart, just focus here, yeah?” He gives Sirius a look, and your scariest boyfriend gets up, going towards the nearest onlookers. James takes his place at your side. “I need to put these ice packs under your arms, so I’m going to reach up your shirt, okay?”

“You do that all the time,” you mumble. Remus snorts.

“True,” James admits, chuckling as he slides the ice packs up one side of your shirt, then the other, “but I’m fairly sure I’m supposed to maintain some degree of professionalism while I’m on the job.”

Your bones seem to melt where the ice packs cool your skin, which doesn’t make any sense because you’re fairly sure you’re already as melted as a girl can get. You feel much more at ease with your boyfriends here to handle things, and you’ve been tired for so long it feels like forever now. You close your eyes.

And then Remus sprays you with water like a misbehaving cat.

It’s surprising, but nice. James laughs again at your expression when your eyes open, and Remus too is smiling to himself as he sprays several points on your body with the fine mist.

“You’re right,” Sirius says to Remus, returning, “that one woman was fucking pushy.”

“Purple glasses?” Remus asks.

“That’s the one.”

He hums complacently.

Your eyes have slipped closed again. Sirius thumbs at your cheek, prompting them open.

“You ready to get out of here, pretty girl?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. Talking is easier now. “Where are we going?”

Sirius’ grin goes a bit sheepish, as if he knows you won’t like it. Remus breaks the news instead.

“We’re taking you back to the hospital with us,” he says. “You’re dehydrated and overheated. You should be on fluids for a little while before you go home.”

A petulant sound rises from the back of your throat. You’re too exhausted to be embarrassed of it.

“Oh, come on, it’s like take your girlfriend to work day!” James grins at you, squeezing your upper arm bolsteringly. “You can just relax and recover for a few hours, and when we get off we can all go home.”

“I don’t like your work,” you complain, even as James and Sirius move you onto the gurney.

“Crazy coincidence, because I don’t like seeing you at our work,” Sirius teases. He pinches your chin meanly. “Honestly, doll, could you do us a favor next time and drink water? I almost threw up when we got here and saw it was you. And I’ve never seen Remus move that fast in his life. He vaulted over a park bench.”

“I went around it,” Remus says, rolling his eyes. “There was no vaulting involved.”

“And if I’d thrown up, and Remus had broken his ankle performing athletic feats,” Sirius goes on, “then our poor Jamesie would’ve had all three of us to deal with! Really, my love, try to think ahead next time. There’s more on the line than just you, you know.”

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boiohboii · 11 hours

Text

The Lost Keychain

(Max Verstappen x f!reader)

When Max loses a key chain gifted to him by his girlfriend, the world realises that a race track isn't the only thing he dominates in.

When Max's girlfriend shocks the world about how she has 2 different personalities.

WARNINGS: NOT PROOFREAD, JUST SOMETHING QUICK, A BIT SUGGESTIVE. no actual smut but description of a spicy position in a photo and a suggestive quote engraved on key chain.

Masterlist

Everyone knows how much Max hates media days and reporters invading his privacy, he hates talking about his personal life, especially his girlfriend.

When they first started dating Max tried to keep her away from the media as much as possible, and no one blamed him seeing how sweet, kind and lovely she is, nowadays some of his fans even save her from reporters during race weekends, everyone loved her and they all followed Max's footsteps into protecting the sweet, shy girl.

So maybe this was his fault, actually scratch that, it is definitely his fault, he shouldn't have lost such a precious gift. He feels like everyone is watching his every move much more than usual ever since the incidence at the redbull garage got out, but what can he do, after all a gift like that shouldn't have even been outside of his hotel room.

"Guys, who lost their keychain?"

A redbull mechanic screamed over the noise as he waves the found item around, jiggling sounds from what appears to be multiple house keys and two gate keys gradually drawing the attention of the entire redbull garage.

"Why would anyone even bring their house keys to the garage?" an intern dismissed "none of us have a house in this country man."

Shrugging, the mechanic decided to keep it with him until it's owner realises, and until then he decided to just examine it, maybe there'd be a clue of who it belongs to.

The chocking sound alerted some fellow mechanics, making them get closer to the one who was now red faced with wide eyes looking at the lost keychain.

"Damn," a mechanic said as he took the keychain "that's one lucky motherfucker"

Other mechanics make their way over to the commotion, a crowd forming to see why such an item is taking so much attention.

It was a silver keychain, that much was seen by all the mechanics from afar, what wasn't seen from afar however was what had all of them coughing awkwardly, some even blushing.

On one side of the diamond shaped chain you can see the words 'welcum home. Dinner is ready.' Now, you would think that the pun is just weirdly placed and doesn't match with the sweet message, but the message was intended to be anything but sweet. Turning the chain to its other face, you would see another engravement. A picture. A woman who appeared to be resting on a flat surface supporting her weight on one elbow so that she can lift her torso up, with her legs wide open, palm covering her and a bike helmet on her head. But it wasn't a bike helmet, it was a helmet with an outline that's eerily similar to the design of Max Verstappen's 2021 helmet.

"Holy shit."

"Do you think-"

"Hey, has anyone seen a silver diamond shaped keychain?" The familiar voice of their three times world champion cut through their talking, making them all look like they were 5 year old children with their hand in a cookie jar way past their bedtime. And Max noticed.

Walking closer to the mechanics Max's cheeks got redder and redder with each step, coughing and smiling awkwardly.

"So," clearing his throat in a failed attempt to make things not so tense "that's mine, give it back."

Trembling hands dropped the silver item into Max's awaiting palm before he clenched it around the treasured chain, turning and taking his leave.

"What did you guys do to Max? His face and ears are all red." GP's voice cut through the awkward atmosphere, no one knowing what to say or do.

Noticing the environment and reading the room, GP laughed as he looked at the rest of his colleges. "Did he lose the keychain again?"

#max verstappen fic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen oneshot #max verstappen x female reader #max verstappen x yn #max verstappen x you

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pretty-little-mind33 · 2 days

Text

James Potter x fem!reader

Summary: Your brother's best friend teaches you pleasures you've never experienced before.

Genre: SMUT (nsfm)

Warnings: dark themes (kinda?), james is kinda morally grey in this, james is nineteen, reader is eighteen, reader is sirius's little sister (no physical descriptions!!), innocent!reader - she has never had an orgasm, sub!reader, virgin!reader, mean dom!james, swearing, corruption, penetrative sex, fingering, nipple play, oral sex (m receiving), degradation, praise, spanking, slapping (sexual), choking, exhibitionism, almost getting caught, crying from sexual overstimulation, reader is hesitant in the beginning but not unwilling, bleeding from loss of virginity.

~ this is absolutely filthy. enjoy. 😩🫶 ~

"Siri?" you ask as you adjust the hem of your dress.

Your brother's attention leaves his friends and he looks at you, his eyes narrowing, "What are you wearing?" he asks and crosses his arms, surprise obvious in his tone.

You smooth a hand over the silk, "A dress. I-I have a date," you explain.

"A date?" James Potter, Sirius's best friend, interrupts as he turns around. You see a glimmer in his hazel eyes as your eyes find his and take him in; how his hair is damp from a shower, the way his shirt hugs his shoulders, and the round, black-framed, glasses on his nose.

James sends you a smirk, "I didn't know you went on dates, Y/n/n," he teases.

Embarrassment flushes your cheeks and Sirius slaps his hand backwards to hit James's chest and push him away a little, "Shut up," He hisses. Then, he looks you dead in the eyes, "Who is it?"

"Huh?"

"Your date? Who. Is. It?"

"William. You know, my friend? You've met him," you explain, a little surprised at Sirius's worry. William is kind, he's funny and he's safe.

You know loving him wouldn't hurt you like other boys would.

Unconsciously, you glance at James and when he sees you looking at him he asks, "The super skinny one?" He is obviously suppressing a smile, and Sirius's shoulders visibly relax.

"Oh," your brother sounds reassured, "He's fucking harmless."

"Harmless?" you ask but Sirius must have lost interest in your conversation because he just shoos you with his hand and starts a conversation with another one of his friends.

You want to scream.

"Hey," James senses your annoyance, "What's up?"

You tilt your head up at him, a little embarrassed to ask him. James has always made you a little nervous but these last months have been simply torturous and you don't understand why, "I don't have any cute jackets to match with my dress and I wanted to ask Sirius if he has one I could borrow."

James chuckles, "You can borrow one of mine," he hovers a hand over the small of your back and turns you to the stairs that lead to the dorms. You nod and allow him to guide you up the stairs. You sit on the end of James's bed, watching, as he rummages inside his trunk.

James pulls out a burgundy bomber jacket, and holds it up to you for approval. "You know, usually you'd ask your date for his jacket," he mentions with a smile. You stand and with a small smile, take the jacket from his hands.

"Oh?"

"At least that's what happens when I go on dates," he winks and your heart sinks at the mention of him dating someone. You nervously play with the sleeve of James's jacket and avoid his gaze.

"I mean, I wouldn't know—"

James pauses and frowns, "What was that?"

"I said, I wouldn't know," you say less quietly, "I mean, I've never been on a date."

You look up and James looks you up and down and then slowly makes his way to your eyes again. "But you have done other things, haven't you?" Your heart pounds and he clarifies boldly, "You have been kissed? You must have—I mean a girl like you. You can tell me, I'm not Sirius."

You turn your head, embarrassment pricking at your skin, until you feel his hand tilt your chin up at him again. When you look at him, his eyes, even while accompanied by the tenderness of his tone, look dark.

"Do you even know how to kiss someone, Y/n? Where your hands go? How much pressure to use? Where to touch?"

You shake your head slowly but you can't tear your eyes away.

"Oh, you sweet thing, you don't know a thing do you?"

Your cheeks burn and your skin tingles but James soothes you with a soft sound and a warm palm resting on your cheek. "Shush, that's just fine, love. Do'you want me to show you? So you don't embarrass yourself tonight?" James asks kindly, but a shiver runs up your arm.

You're frozen. James pushes some hair behind your ear and his face is so close to yours now. "I-" you whisper, "I don't know."

James smiles a little and his hands move down your arms to capture your wrists. He brings them up to his cheeks, "Here," his voice is smooth as honey as he allows you to touch him. "Good girl," he mutters when he slides your palm over his mouth and kisses it.

"James," you practically whimper, confused but not disliking what's happening.

"Shhh," he interrupts you by leaning in and kissing your cheek and the skin around your ear.

You let out a breathy sound when James's hand wraps around your nape and he holds you just over his lips. Your hands fall from his face to rest at your sides as James looks into your eyes and after a moment, he turns his head and looks to the door, mutters a spell underneath his breath and you hear the latch lock.

Then, almost instantly, his lips crash onto yours.

You're too surprised to push him away, not that you would, but you don't kiss him back until James reprimands you sweetly. "You have to work with me here, darling."

You nod, moving your lips against his, cautiously—unsure—and his hand returns to your nape as he holds you against him. His nose bumps into yours a few times and you feel clumsy as you mutter apologies in between your kisses.

James pulls away and stares at you, his pupils dilated and he smirks. "Open your mouth for me," he demands a little harshly as he tips your head back, "Come on. Wider."

You do as you're told and squeeze your eyes shut when he practically shoves his tongue in your mouth and kisses you again.

There isn't any tenderness in this kiss and you shift your hand to clutch at his shirt. You kind of want him to stop, but a bigger part of you wants him to continue.

To have him claim you as his.

You whimper as the back of your knees hit his bed and James almost falls into you. He disconnects your lips, admiring how swollen yours look, and spins your bodies around.

James sits on the end of his bed and tugs your hips forwards, having your thighs straddle him. "This is how you kiss someone probably, Y/n." One of his hands runs into your hair as the other hooks around your back as he holds you against him.

He kisses you quickly, "Just like this," he murmurs and then slides a hand down to your neck and trails his index in between your breasts.

"Go ahead, kiss me. Show me what you learned, my love."

You hold onto his shoulders, breath uneven as he looks at you expectantly. You shake your head.

James fakes a pout and says, "What's wrong, are you embarrassed?" He starts to move your hips and your dress rides up. James slowly spreads his legs and with a soft moan, you land on one of his thighs only. He continues to move your hips in small circles as your panties rub against his jeans.

You shut your eyes as your insides twist, "James, I- I feel weird," you mutter and instinctively bury your head in his shoulder.

James is still your older brother's best friend. He's someone you trust and as your stomach tightens again you can't help but turn to him for some reassurance.

He cups the back of your head but starts to bounce his knee. "What feels weird?" he coos and presses his cheek in your hair, inhaling your scent. "You can tell me, darling," he reassures.

You squeeze your legs around his thigh and let out another whimper. "It feels weird. D-down there," you feel a little helpless as you cry quietly.

"Since you kissed me?"

James suddenly pauses his movements and he holds you closer. He caresses a hand in your hair. "You're okay. Is this the first time your pussy feels like this?" he mumbles the question hoarsely in your ear and you cry a little harder.

No one has ever asked you a question like that, or mentioned something so private in such an obscene manner.

You don't know what to think or say.

"N-no?" you hiccup.

James kisses your temple. "Can you be more specific for me, darling? I wanna know how I can help you," he teases you.

"I- mean - It happens sometimes. When I'm alone or sometimes w-when you're around," you admit in a whisper, "But it's so much worse now."

James just chuckles darkly and asks, "What do you usually do when this happens? Do you touch yourself?"

You squeal when he bounces you on his thigh again. "N-no! I just let it pass. It usually passes," you sound desperate and when you hear his little sound of disappointment, you bite your lip to prevent yourself from bursting into more tears.

James groans.

Fuck, he shouldn't like this as much as he does but you're just so cute.

You feel James's hand wander up your sides until he reaches your dress straps and without hesitation, he snaps them. The top of your dress starts to slip and instinctively you sit up and cover your chest.

Your eyes shimmer with tears, "James?"

James pulls your hands away. "Shh, I want to see something," he explains, his eyes never leaving your chest as he tugs your dress down so it bunches at your waist. Then, his fingers move around the skin on your back as he unclips your creamy-white bra and it falls to the ground.

You gasp when James cups your breasts in his hands and slowly teases his thumbs over your nipples. Your entire body shivers as the sensation moves to your core. You cry out and try to move away from him.

"This is so much worse than I imagined," James shakes his head and pinches your nipples until you moan in pain, "Poor thing, just relax and let me help you," he says, his voice sickeningly gentle as he moves you from his thigh to kneel in between his legs.

You squirm as James quickly unbuckles his jeans and you look at him. "W-what are you doing?"

"Helping you," he fists a hand in your hair and moves you to him until his cock hits your cheek. James groans and instinctively, you open your mouth to take him. "Suck on that, my darling, you'll feel much better."

You do as he says, tears sliding down your cheeks every time he pushes in further and his cock hits deeper in your throat. You cough and struggle but James doesn’t relent. Instead, he fucks your throat with no mercy and as he coos praises in the midst of raspy moans,

"Shit, you're doing so fucking good for me," he looks down at you through lidded eyelids and smirks, "You're making such a fucking mess," James points out the mixture of drool and pre-cum on the side of your mouth, almost dripping down your cheeks, and you flush with embarrassment.

You want to defend yourself. Tell him it isn't your fault and that you're trying so hard to take him. You want to warn him that the pain in your middle hasn't disappeared and that it't much worse now. But you can't speak with his dick in your mouth.

You start to tap on his thigh lightly, pleading with him through your teary eyes and James understands, "Rub your thighs together. Yeah, there you go," he chuckles, rubbing your head soothingly, and when you do and taunts you, "Such a filthy thing, getting your thighs all sticky because I said so. What would Sirius say if he saw you like this, huh?"

You whimper and close your eyes. You don't want to think about that now. However, James's hand suddenly grips your chin and he pulls his cock out of your mouth. "Don't do that. Don't look away from me." He turns your head harshly and admires the dried tears on your face, "Fuck, Sirius would have my head for this," he whispers.

"Stand up." James orders and you scramble to listen. Your legs feel shaky as you stand in front of him, his head level with your lower stomach.

James hooks his fingers in the remaining of your dress and tugs it over your hips until it falls at your feet. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you in, kissing your stomach. Sucking marks on your skin.

He starts to play with the little bow in front of your panties and says mockingly, "How fucking adorable."

You stammer, "James, I don't know if w-we should."

"Shh," he says as his hand moves to cup your pussy, "You're okay. Just relax. You don't need to worry, sweetheart, let me take care of you."

You cover your mouth to suppress a moan as your eyelids flutter. This feels surreal, having him like this. You've wanted him for longer than you can remember, but it was only ever a fucked up fantasy.

It definitely isn't a fantasy anymore.

James slides your panties down, leaving you completely bare in front of him. You feel insecure as his eyes roam around every curve and crease on your skin.

You have to bring your second hand to cover your mouth as well when James pushes his middle finger into your pussy. It hurts but when you squirm, he uses his other hand to steady your hips.

"Shit, you really are a virgin," he starts to move them in and out and you let him, the pain starting to feel like pleasure.

After a few moments of James teasing you with his finger, you feel a weird sensation in your lower stomach. However, before it can come to a finish, your legs tremble and you almost fall over, "Woah," James sounds surprised as he catches you.

He pulls out his finger, feeling your hands squeeze around his shoulders, and looks up. He stands up and gently turns you around with him so he can lay you on his bed. He kneels in between your legs and spreads your thighs.

You look down with him and when you see the inside of your thighs absolutely soaked from your juices, you make a small whimper.

In your mind you look obscene, dirty even, but James doesn't seem to mind, "You're so pretty."

He uses his hands to pull apart your folds and he presses a sloppy kiss to your clit. You moan and squirm.

When you hear him pull down his trousers and take himself out of his boxers again, you whimper. "Wait, please," you whisper and James stands over you, hooking his hands around your thighs and scooting you closer to his hips.

"Hush now," he lines himself up with your entrance, "I'm helping you so that when William fucks you, you're prepared for him." He chuckles but his thumb draws reassuring circles around your hips.

You gasp and feel tears slide down your cheeks, tasting the salt in your mouth, "I-I don't want William to fuck me," you say.

James pushes himself in and at the same time you squeal, he moans, "You're so fuckable though, baby. Shit, you're taking me so well I can barely control myself around you."

He squeezes his hand around your thighs, bruising your skin as he pushes into you. Your hands fist the sheet as James starts to pound into you with no mercy.

"This okay?" he whispers, breaking the dominance for a crucial moment as he looks down at you with what can only be described as pure adoration in his eyes.

"Y-yes," you whimper, as overwhelmed as you are you feel so good.

"Where is my cock, hmm? Where is it?" He suddenly asks harshly as he brings a hand to your chin when you squirm, "Don't you move away from me."

James lightly slaps your cheek, "Answer the question," he snaps. You choke on your cries, barely recognizing the man looming above you.

"Inside me?" You mutter.

"Where?"

"My p-pussy," you bite down on your lip as James thrusts harder and leans in to bury his face into your neck. You gasp as the pleasure intensifies.

"Good girl, fuck," he mutters and nuzzles his nose into your hair, "William might get your first date, but I'll always be the first one to have kissed your lips," James kisses you hungrily, "The first to touch you, to fuck you. And Merlin, you just love to be fucked, don't you? I can feel you clenching around me. You really are a filthy slut."

Suddenly, you hear the door handle rattle and your eyes widen. James pauses a moment but when he hears your brother's voice from behind the door, he forcefully crushes his hand over your mouth and sends you a dark look.

"Prongs? Open the door, I know you're in here!"

James looks down at you and smirks, "I'm fucking busy," he calls out to his friend, his voice strained as he slowly continues his thrusts.

"Don't tell me you're wanking one out now?"

You blush when James laughs. Sirius tries the door again, "Is Y/n in there? I can't find her anywhere."

You squeeze your eyes shut. You're so scared your brother will find you like this. Naked on his best friend's bed.

Merlin, what would he think of you?

"You just missed her. I think she left for her date," James answers with a smirk, still fucking you and hiding your moans and gasps behind his hand.

"Oh, alright," Sirius sighs and then, he slams his palm in the door as an indicator that he’s leaving, and you jump.

James looks down at his cock disappearing into you and waits a moment before groaning, "Come on, look at me inside you," he fists your hair and forces your chin down to look at your pussy.

Your vision blurs as you see your juices mixed with a little bit of blood smeared on your inner thighs and under your ass. Your hands clutch at James shirt, legs trembling as you make small gasping sounds to his thrusts.

"Hush, you're okay baby. It's normal," James coos, pressing a kiss to your forehead, "It doesn't hurt anymore, yeah?"

You nod.

"Aren't you happy it's me and not William taking your virginity? Making you feel like this?" James says William's name with bitterness and punctuates his words with a harsh thrusts.

He smirks, kneading your breasts and rubbing your nipples. "You look like such a brainless whore."

You moan uncontrollably when James pinches your sides as his hands travel to your pussy and he meanly slaps your clit.

"I've ruined you, baby. Made you so cock hungry for me, huh?" He rubs your clit harder and you start to sob and violently shake your head,

"James!" you plead, "It feels weird. I- something is h-happening."

James just smirks and wipes some drool from the side of your mouth with his thumb. "Aww, sweetheart, are y'gonna come for me?"

"I-w-what?" you mumble, embarrassed.

"You don't even know what that is, do you?" James groans, feeling you clench around him, "Shh, don't you worry. Just let it happen, okay? It’ll feel good. I promise.”

You moan when the pressure finally builds and your legs shake. James continues to fucks you through it until he feels you slip into full bliss and he finally comes inside you, leaving you a shaky blubbering mess from your second orgasm.

He leaves the bed and starts to dress.

You squeeze your thighs and move them around, feeling the stickiness from his cum, yours, and your blood. You shut your eyes and curl into yourself.

James turns to you and immediately shrugs off his shirt. He walks over and sits by your side, "Shhh, here," he pulls the shirt up and over your head, making sure to cover you up, and he kisses your cheek.

His hand runs circles around your thighs and when he spreads them again, his eyes soften when he sees your pussy. "Oh, my darling. What a filthy mess, hmm?"

James walks to his drawer and takes out some tissues, which he uses to gently clean you. You flush with embarrassment as he touches your pussy again.

"William won't wanna fuck you if you're full of my cum," he says calmly

You stare at him with teary eyes. "I don't want William to fuck me. Please, James, don't let him," you feel so sore you can't even fathom someone else touching you.

James's mouth opens but he only lets out a shaky breath. His hand comes to hold your cheeks and you subconsciously lean into his touch as he calms you down. "Okay, love. He won't touch a hair on your pretty head, ok? I promise."

You nod, eyes glossy and you lean into him—seeking his comfort after what happened. James hesitates a moment, his mind filled with guilt and fuzz and then he pulls you in closer to him.

"I- I'm sorry if I was rough on you, my lovely," he whispers into your hair, inhaling your scent and then kissing your hairline.

You hum, your eyes droopy from exhaustion and overstimulation. "It's okay, Jamie," you whisper, "I really liked it. You made me feel good," you say honestly and James smiles.

"Good," he kisses your nose, "You can nap now, love," he say calmly and pulls you into his lap, "I'll watch over you, I promise."

James knows you'll miss your date with William, but he doesn't care. You don't seem concerned either as your breathing calms and your eyelids flutter shut.

Yes, perhaps it is for the best you'll miss your date, James thinks, you're his now and he'll make damn sure he keeps you.

His darling girl.

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gh0stsp1d3r · 2 days

Text

Season one rafe will do crazy shit just to get his get back.

Routledge!reader, MDNI, p in v, virgin reader, revenge sex

“What do you want with me, rafe?” You asked him, he had been following you the whole way back to your house and the cut

“C’mon, just one night. That’s all i fuckin’ want. One night in your pants and ill… I’ll leave your brother and his fuckin’ friends alone.” He shrugged. Lies.

That’s why he wanted you, to get back at your brother. But you didn’t have to know that.

John B and his friends had done it again, managed to piss Rafe off. But Rafe had the perfect revenge now, when he set his eyes on you in the store you worked at, and quickly recognized you as his younger, snappy sister. It was just a perk that you were hot.

“You’re so fucking weird.” You scoffed at Rafe, trying to pick up your pace. But his car was faster.

“I got 2000 dollars in my back pocket.” He offered, raising his eyebrows.

“Im not a prostitute.”

“Really? Cause you dress like one. C’mon. One night.“

You sighed, looking at him finally. “If i do, will you shut the fuck up and stop following me from work like a weirdo?”

“Yes.” No.

“Fuck. Do not tell John B about this.” You mumbled, getting into his passenger seat.

“You got it, princess.”

“This is just for the money, and because you won’t leave me the fuck alone, got it? I don’t like you or anything. Shit.” You told him.

“Feelings mutual.” He retorted, staring at the road ahead. “Would never get with a pogue girl in the first place.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes at him and looking outside. This is un fucking believable.

The second you stepped into Tannyhill, his mouth was on yours, not even letting your breathe for a moment. He pushed you against the wall, and took you straight to the table.

He had you bent over the edge of the table, it cutting into your skin. But Rafe could care less as he pulled his cock out, top red and angry, as he ripped your panties off.

“I’ll buy you new ones.” He mumbled when you opened your mouth to complain. He slid in, and you let out a gasp. He was big, and you weren’t even sure if you could take all of him.

He had a devilish smile on his face as he grabbed his phone, your moans and the sound of skin slapping the only sound behind heard as he bottomed out, recording the audio of the whole thing.

“Goddamn. You’re so tight, you a virgin or somethin’?” He asked you, grunting out.

“mhhmm..” you managed to mumble out.

“Fuck.” His pace quickened, glad that he was the one to pop your cherry.

You screamed his name, making him let out a groan. Rafe made sure to record every sound you made. He stopped the recording, still thrusting deep into you as he typed out your brothers number.

“This your lil sis?” He sent with the audio, setting his phone down as he relished in sweet revenge.

You cried out, having the best orgasm you think you’ve ever had and the best you will ever have.

You breathed heavily, your head against the table now. He slapped your ass as he pulled out, jerking his cock over your back and releasing it all over, a small smirk on his lips at your ruined state.

“Well, you should probably get home shouldn’t you, kid? Wouldn’t wanna worry your brother.”

#rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe smut

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writtenbymoonflower · 2 days

Note

Hiyaa!! i LOVE!!! your poly!maraduers x reader fics. i was wondering if you could make a fic where the reader has had an absolute horrid week and just got their period and our sweet boys comfort us bc of how good boyfriends they are 🥹🙏

-🌻

thanks for requesting! I hope this is okay! gn!reader x poly!marauders

cw: period cramps/symptoms, hurt/comfort

1k words

Your eyes were pinched tightly as you clutched your stomach, easing and tightening your hold as the pain ebbed and flowed. You had been feeling crummy all week with no explanation until you were getting ready to take a shower last night and saw the red rorschach stains on your thighs. Thankfully, you hadn’t bled on anything, but you still took extra care to check everywhere you had been sitting. After your panic had subsided, the previous few days had made sense. There had been a grating brick in the bottom of your stomach and a slimy feeling you couldn’t scrub from your skin. Either in addition to or because of these physical feelings, you had been particularly fragile. Your boyfriends had noticed your state, but you never confessed your emotions since there was no clear source, at least, until now.

You were curled into yourself on the couch, as if the more condensed you were the less pain you would feel. You were nauseous to the point of not being able to stomach pain medicine. You had showered last night but still felt disgustingly greasy. There was a book open on the arm of the couch that you had been pretending to read, but eventually had no energy to continue. Remus was in the armchair next to you with his own book, while James mindlessly flicked through the television channels and Sirius sat in front of the coffee table with an array of snacks before him. They were leaving you mostly alone, probably assuming you were trying to sleep. Another cramp fizzed through your body and you winced, a small whimper escaping. Nearly silent, but Remus’ sharp hearing picked it up. He looked at you, clearly expecting some kind of obvious injury.

“What’s wrong, dovey?” He looked like he was in pain himself. Remus was all too familiar with pain, but the idea of any of his loved ones hurting was enough to cause instant panic within him.

“Nothing, I’m fine-” You almost had the sentence out when another cramp hit, making you screw your face up and inhale sharply. Sirius spun around at your reaction. You curled in on yourself further, tensing your stomach.

“What’s going on with you?” Sirius had his rare no-nonsense tone. When you didn’t give a response he tried to pry your arms away from your torso, but you whined and scooted away.

“I said it’s nothing.” You wanted to snap but you sounded too pitiful to have your desired effect.

“Hey. I’m not fucking around.” Sirius kept trying to inspect you, his brain clearly already at the worst case scenario. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“Pads, calm down.” James scolded before turning his attention to you. “Let us help you, sweetheart.” He coaxed. You huffed, abandoning your hopes of being modest.

“It’s really nothing serious. Just some uh, cramping. From… you know.” You tried to smile. The boys confused, and then quickly relieved but they still didn’t go back for their previous activities like you hoped they would.

“Why didn’t you just say that?” Sirius slumped. “I thought you had fucking appendicitis or something.”

“I think if I had appendicitis it would be a lot worse.”

“I don’t know, lovely girl.” Remus reached over both the arms of his chair and the couch to pet your head. “It looks like you’re hurting pretty badly.” He cooed a sad sound when you winced in pain again.

“Have you taken anything?” James stood up, already heading to the bathroom medicine cabinet.

“Not yet.” You said, feeling Remus’ wordless chiding. You could already hear what he wanted to say. ‘You have to get ahead of the pain, dovey.’ You took the pill bottle from James.

“Have you eaten yet? You can’t take those on an empty stomach.” Remus reminded you. You sighed again, not from cramps this time.

“No.” You said shamefully. Now you were being judged by the other two boys.

“Baby,” James groaned, walking towards the kitchen now. Sirius was already shoving a package of mini muffins towards you. “Why?”

“My stomach hurt too much. I couldn’t get up.” You pouted, slowly chewing a muffin.

“That was when you should’ve asked one of us.” Remus’ gentle bossy tone came out, the way it does when he’s feeling especially protective.

“I would’ve been fine.” You reasoned. “I get this every month, it’s nothing out of the norm.”

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt. Do you think it doesn’t hurt for Remus every month?” Sirius had a charcoal-drawn brow raised.

“That’s different!” You floundered. “Of course it hurts for him.” You got instantly emotional. “I wasn’t saying that.”

“Pads,” Remus huffed before turning back to you. “I know you weren’t. But you see the point. It still hurts for you.”

“ And we still wanna look after you.” James appeared with a glass of water and a hot water bottle for your stomach. You took the medicine while he fixed the heat over your abdomen. When he was done he leaned down to kiss your forehead.

“Thank you.” You mumbled.

“Don’t thank me, darling.” He said, stroking your hair from your face. You jumped again when Sirius climbed on top of you without warning.

“Siri! What are you doing?” You squealed as he settled his face into your neck.

“Lovin’ on you.” He said as it was the obvious answer.

“I’m disgusting right now.” You groaned, pushing his shoulders to shove him off. He just dead weighted and pulled you in closer.

“Not possible, you’re mine.” He argued. James scoffed.

“Oi! Not just yours!” James shoved Sirius away so he could kiss all over your scrunched face. You all but shrieked before he stopped, turning his attention to the TV remote. Sirius turned the two of you so you were on your sides, your back to his front facing the television. His hand was holding the hot water bottle to your stomach. Remus closed his book and laid on his side. His tall frame was folded in a way that was probably aching, but he still held it. He settled his head on the arm of his chair, nearly touching yours and Sirius’.

“Are you feeling better, sweet thing?” Sirius asked quietly.

“I do. Thank you.” You sounded awfully sleepy.

“Wow. You two just shamelessly took advantage of the situation to turn us into the napping house.” James was trying to sound scolding but it just came out as affection.

“It’s called being supportive, Prongs.” Sirius sassed, but you and Remus were already out.

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papaya-twinks · 13 hours

Note

Can you do one with lando. He’s kind of been cold to y/n, thinking about breaking up (for some reason you can make up) and giving her silent treatment to kind of push her away. It’s only after they break up that she realizes that she’s pregnant and she’s unsure if she wants to tell Lando or not. she ends up running into Lando’s mom at the dr office and she ends up telling her that she’s pregnant. Ending however you want

Warnings: Angst, depression, anxiety, pregnancy, cheating

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary: Mixed with this:

A/N - Chat this is how my oldest brother was born FUN FACT also I’m using Lando’s sister, not mum.

You’d been feeling like utter shit ever since the Miami Grand Prix - but you’d chosen to keep it out the way, especially from your boyfriend, who still hadn’t come down from the joy of his victory. You weren’t annoyed about it, no way, that was exactly why you didn’t tell him. You didn’t want to ruin his celebrations for him, but you didn’t expect him to hold that AGAINST you. Surely he’d see you as a good girlfriend for it?

“Going out,” he said, it had been three days since his win, and he hadn’t stayed a single night with you. “Again?” you asked, sitting in the bed, wincing as you shuffled a bit. “Well you don’t want to,” he shrugged, ignoring your start to tell him otherwise and walking out. You jumped slightly at the sound of the door slamming before you sighed. He’d been cold with you the second he’d come home from the race and you’d said he could ‘party with his friends, if he wanted to’.

Maybe he wanted you to be there, sure, but still. You didn’t mean for him to give you the cold shoulder. You were woken up hours later by the sound of the door slamming and…a girl? She was giggling, mumbling something along the lines of, ‘Lando, please’. Your eyes widened but you said nothing, listening as Lando went into the guest bedroom, the ‘girl’ following him as she giggled. Did he even realise what he was doing? He was drunk, sure…was he about to cheat?

You didn’t have the heart to stop him, trying to block out the sound of the headrest hitting the wall and her annoying, shrieky moans. In the end, you plugged your headphones in and played the music as loud as you could. Wow. “Morning,” your boyfriend grumbled coldly as he walked into the kitchen. The girl must have gone home sometime during the night, because she was nowhere to be seen. “Have fun?” you asked, sipping on your tea. “At the party?” he asked. “Sounded like more fun at home,” you shrugged, looking away.

“Okay, Y/N, what the fuck does that mean?” Lando said, shoulders raised. “Why are you getting defensive?” you asked, putting the mug down as you turned back to him. “Fuck you,” he spat, scoffing as you frowned a bit. Harsh. “I’m done with you, Y/N,” he pushed your mug away, caging you in with his arms to the counter, “I’m done with us,”. You’d expected many different outcomes from your comment - but him dumping you? Not one of them. He walked away, leaving you with your thoughts as tears clouded your eyes.

“Be out by 10,” he yelled from upstairs. You coughed, your illness fading back to you as you flinched at his tone of voice. Ouch. So you did that, moving into a small hotel room for a few days, your illness getting worse and worse with the stress and anxiety, your eyes red, lip blue and body shaking. “Go to the doctors, Y/N,” your friend said sympathetically over the phone as you sighed. “Fine,”. You arrived at the small clinic, seeing a nice nurse waiting for you.

“Y/N, right?” she smiled gently. You nodded. “Tummy aches and a cough, is that it?” she asked, leading you to a chair. “Head hurts a lot too,” you mumbled. “Is it okay if I take your temperature and ask you to do a few tests?” she asked, to which you nodded. She gave a lot of tests. But of all of them, you didn’t expect the one to be positive. The pregnancy test. “Oh, hi, Y/N,” a voice said brightly behind you, making you jump and clutch the test to your chest.

“Hi Cisca,” you mumbled. You guessed Lando hadn’t told her. “What’s that ya got there?” she chirped, smiley and nice as usual. “Nothing,” you said, far too quickly. “Y/N, are you alright? Your eyes are all red,” she said slowly stepping forwards. “Just ill,” you said. “No, you’ve been crying,” she frowned. “Y/N, did my brother do something?” she asked, taking your hand as you tried to stop shaking.

“I just…” you trailed off before the nurse left, leaving you two together, as you explained to her. “And now?” she asked, eyes wide at what Lando had done. “And this,” you showed her the test. “You’re pregnant?” her jaw dropped. You nodded. “Oh sweetheart,” she hugged you softly as your tears poured out, head buried in her shoulder. “Cisca, it doesn’t take a fucking decade to- Y/N?” a familiar voice said, making you jump. Lando.

“Fuck you, Lando,” Cisca snapped at him as he raised an eyebrow. “What bullshit has she made up?” he asked, looking at you, unimpressed. “Made up?” his sister scoffed. “Don’t, please,” you gripped her hand as she groaned. “He’s a been a right dick, though,” she huffed, frowning a bit. “He needs to know,” she added. You sighed, still holding her hand slightly. “I don’t want him back,” you said softly, as she nodded.

“Tell him anyways,” she said, frowning at her brother. “Tell me what, exactly?” Lando said, crossing his arms. Slowly, you stepped forwards, pushing the test into his hand. “What, you got STDs? Who d’you sleep with this time?” he snorted, not even looking at the test. “Very funny, Lando. Now stop running your mouth and look,” Cisca pulled you back. “What the fuck is this?” the Brit demanded to you as you turned away. “Oh fuck, slipper my mind,” his sister said haughtily, “she’s pregnant,”.

“Who’s the father?” Lando demanded. “What?” you asked, eyes wide. “You, obviously? Because unlike you, I don’t go around sleeping with other people when my significant other is in the other room,”. Lando rolled his eyes. “A simple misunderstanding. Was drunk, thought she was you. You look the same as every girl. Basic and simple,” he shrugged as you turned, tears welling again. “Don’t EVEN,” Cisca snapped, pulling your hand.

You ended up staying with his sister for a few weeks, which led to months, and eventually, a year. Your bond with her had been strong before, but now? Stronger than ever. She helped support you and your beautiful baby girl, Cherrii, til she turned 1 years old. You loved her so, so much, but she was almost like a painful reminder of Lando, with soft brunette curls, wide green eyes, and his nose and face shape.

It was almost like he’d done the whole tango thing himself. Lamdo had cut off all ties with his sister too, so as to avoid you before suddenly, on a random day, the doorbell rang. And you expected a parcel or something, as you sat in the lounge, playing with your daughter and her pretend dolls, when a shout came from the door, from Cisca. “What are YOU doing her?” she yelled. “Baby, I’ll be back, okay?” you said to your daughter, kissing her cheek before peering round the door.

Lando.

He looked so much more…different. He had a beard, for fucks’ sake. “Y/N?” he saw you round the door as you pulled back. You weren’t ready for him. You gasped as an incoherent babble made you look down, seeing your daughter waddling towards Cisca. “Cherrii,” you frowned, lifting her into your arms as she pouted slightly, her curls bouncing. “Is that..?” Lando asked, eyes wide at the girl. “It doesn’t matter, you,” Cisca pointed her finger in his face accusingly.

“I just…Y/N, I…she’s beautiful,” he began, gesturing to the girl as she turned to him. “Who he?” she said, frowning a bit. “Doesn’t matter, baby,” you shook your head. “Eyes,” she said, pointing at him, then her. The resemblance was uncanny. You frowned putting her down and shutting the door before standing behind Cisca. “What do you want?” she demanded. “I just…I made a big mistake,” he said weakly. “No shit,” Cisca said sarcastically. “Cisca,” you held your hand up. “Took a while to realise it,”.

“Cherrii? That her name?” Lando asked, to which you added. “Pretty. Like you,” he said. “Thought I was ‘boring and simple’,” you said, the words still stung to this day. “Y/N, please, I need you back,” he said, almost begging now as you turned your head, “and Cherry, she…” he trailed off, but you knew of his implications. “See her,” you said simply. “I don’t care for you. I don’t want my baby growing up without her dad,” you said coldly. “Thank you,” he said, following you into the room.

“Cher,” you smiled at the girl as she grinned toothily - Lando’s smile. “This is…your dad,” you almost sighed. “Daddy!” she clapped her hands, reaching them up so Lando could pick her up. “Hey princess,” he gave her the same smile, “look at you,” he held her up as she giggled, making you turn away from the sight. You did miss Lando. But he’d need to prove he wanted you back, and not just your daughter, who you’d spent your time and effort raising.

“Y/N,” Lando said, planting his hand on your waist. “Please,” he said, one last time, before pressing his lips to yours. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” you huffed, pulling your daughter back. “You have a year to make up for,”.

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you #lando x reader #f1 #lando norris smut

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elliesmainhoe · 3 days

Text

Sundress Season

Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader

NSFW imagine • 18+ ONLY

Summary: A picnic date can really only end one way~

Contents: Fluff, feminine reader, kissing, cuteness, hickeys, ✂️✂️✂️, Abby loves your tits, use of pet names (baby, sugar, doll, beautiful).

WC 1.1K

DAY 1 OF SAPPHIC SUMMER.

June was your favourite month by far. The sun beamed down onto the hillside, it's rays setting a gold hue across the grass , the wind still held a crispness to it that was not yet tainted by the humidity of late summer heat but still warm, the flowers began blossoming their buds and petals and the birds started to sing their songs.

You loved it. That's why, when the signs of early summer began showing you immediately knew that you had to celebrate the occasion. And what better way than a picnic with your favourite person in the whole wide world, your wife.

Sandwiches, fruit, lemonade and some homemade cupcakes were packed into a brown wicker basket, along with a cliche red and white chequered blanket to lay on the still slightly dewy grass.

"Are you ready beautiful?" You heard Abby's voice sound out from downstairs, like usual she put on her usual clothes and braided her hair without a bother in the world. You however, showered, did your skincare, dried and styled your hair, applied your make-up, and put on the prettiest dress you owned. A floral blue off the shoulder dress that draped down to your knees.

It was annoying, in all honesty. How effortlessly beautiful she was.

"Yes, Coming!" You yelled back, clipping the clasp on your necklace as you left your bedroom and running down the stairs excitedly. "I've packed all of the food that you told me to- it looks delicious" Abby told you, smiling at your excited form- as you hop up and down.

"Thank you Abs!" You smile in appreciation, grabbing her hand and ushering her out the door. A stupid lovesick smile plastered onto her features as she beamed at the nickname.

The old rust bucket truck purred into action as soon as Abby's key turned in the ignition, hand placed firm on your thigh. Thumb moving in a circular motion- before her arm moved over the back of the leather seat you were sitting in as she reversed out of the drive.

It took about ten minutes to get to the location you had in mind- living in the countryside definitely had its perks for sure. Soft music drifted out the cars speakers, filling in the comfortable silence that fell between you and Abby, the only noise other than the music being your quiet hums.

The riverbank was beautiful, with sound of rushing water, twittering birds and tall trees casting shade on the ground. You laid the chequered blanket by the tree, hoping to be kept out of view from the sun.

Abby kneeled down on the blanket, assisting you by unpacking the basket, humming in approval at the sight of the food. Once she'd emptied the wicker baskets contents she sat down, back resting against the rough bark of the tree.

"c'mere, sugar" she grinned, patting her thigh with a chuckle.

Of course you sat down, smiling sweetly as you picked up a cupcake from the spread of food, licking at the icing, earning an eye roll from Abby.

"Really?" She scoffed, with a smirk on her face.

"really."

Her hands grabbed your hips softly, kneading at the plush flesh over the thin fabric of your sundress. Her mouth connected to the naked skin of your collar bone, sucking and kissing leaving purple marks behind in her tentative wake and drawing soft whimpers from your lips.

Soon her mouth had travelled to your neck and then your jaw and then she eventually dipped down to the top of your boobs, her teeth nipping at the soft flesh of your cleavage.

"Aren't ya just so lucky to live in the middle of no where, so your girlfriend can play with your tits whenever the fuck she wants and no one can see ya?- lucky girl" she purred.

Her hands began tugging down the straps of your dress, breasts spilling out from the built-in cups of the floral dress. She left light kisses across the plush of your skin, slowly moving down the valley in-between your breasts before moving back up to slowly suck on your sensitive nipple.

As her tongue rolled over your sensitive bud, you felt her calloused fingers creep up your thigh, pinching at the fat before settling over your clothed cunt. Her fingers brushed over your sensitive spot, still shielded in thin fabric as you gasped at the sensation.

You cried out when her hand left your mound, the sound of a belt unbuckling with a clunk, as you felt Abby move from beneath you, shimmying out from her worn jeans and panties.

In a swift movement, you were now laying flush against the red and white gingham picnic blanket, Abby straddling your hips as her fingers fidgeted with the waistband of your pink panties, asking for permission which you quickly gave with a nod of your head. She tapped on your ass, signalling you to arch up a bit so she could take them off more easily.

"god you have such a beautiful pussy baby- fuck, could stare at it for hours." she hummed, finger creeping down to collect your slick. "All wet for me already baby? haven't even touched your cunt yet? god doll, gon' drive me crazy" she huffed, licking the slick from her fingers like a woman starved.

"fuck baby, you even taste sweet-" she praised, causing an impatient whine to leave your pouted lips. she laughs "alright doll- I hear ya' lift this leg up for me" she instructs patting at your right thigh, as you obediently follow.

she maneuvers so she now hovers on top of you, unclothed cunts centimeters apart from each other before she slowly begins to roll her hips. Moans leaves both of your mouths at the sensation of your clits rubbing together, over and over and over again.

"fuck baby~ God I love those pretty sounds you make~" she whines, head tilting back as your hips buck up into hers at the praise, cunts moving together as Abby grabs your tits in her palms, rolling your nipples in-between her index and thumb.

your hands reach up to cup Abby's cheeks, pulling her down into a sloppy passionate kiss, the bucking of your hips becoming faster as the feeling in your core tightens.

"gon' come abby~ wanna come with you" you whine into her mouth desperately.

"come with me baby- come baby- please" she grunts breathlessly, the moving of her hips becoming sloppier against yours, as the coil inside of you both snaps together, erotic moans leaving both of your lips as you ride out your high, mouths still interlocked in a desperate kiss.

Abby sighs, body lowering bedside you after a few minutes, catching her breath, a cheeky grin plastered on her face as she gazes at you, your tits covered in bites and your thighs coated with her cum.

and all she could think was 'i hope she wears that sundress again'

-------------------

can you tell I've never scissored someone before? 😞

not proofread

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whatswrongwithblue · 2 days

Text

Girl Talk

Part Two of my Imagines with Angel Dust.

“So Alastor, he’s like all . . .” Angel Dust made strange gestures with his hands above his head, his thumbs pressed to his hair and fingers splayed out, and you were fairly certain he was trying to mimic antlers growing. “. . . murder-y and shit right? Even if he’s at the hotel, you can’t expect us to believe he’s stopped doing all that.”

It was late at night and you and Angel were at the bar, keeping Husk company, and nursing a couple of cocktails.

Alastor had disappeared hours ago, which wasn’t unusual, but it was getting late. You weren’t letting yourself be worried just yet, he was the Radio Demon after all, and could certainly take care of himself. But you couldn’t help being a little on edge. Alastor always came home but still. He could give you an idea of where he had gone off to and what he was doing when he took off like this.

“Why, are you going to tattle to Charlie if I say he is?” you said, a little too defensively.

“Hey, I ain’t no rat,” Angel said, also defensive. “I’m just trying to figure the guy out.”

“He’s still the Radio Demon,” you respond vaguely.

“Oh well that tells me everything.” Angel rolled his eyes.

Husk chuckled, wiping a glass dry.

“He’s a serial killer and a cannibal. The day that guy stops doing all that is the day I’ll stop drinking and gambling.”

You scowl over the rim of your cocktail.

“You make him sound like a monster when you say it like that.”

Husk raised an eyebrow at you.

“Excuse me if I ain’t your boytoy’s number one fan. ‘Sides, not like anything I said wasn’t true.”

“Hey, he’s not out their killing all willy nilly, right?” Angel offered. “I mean, I pissed him off the other day and he let me go. Val woulda done way worse. So that means he’s got a type, I’m assuming? Like a uh . . . a demographic . . . of people he kills. If you ain’t that, he’ll still be creepy and fucking weird, but you’re probably safe.”

“Probably,” you smirk.

“Whatever,” Husk said with a grumble, and threw his towel over his shoulder, turning his back on the two of you.

“So, about those tentacles-“

“No,” you snapped, cutting off Angel’s sentence before it could be finished.

“Oh come on! You can’t leave me hanging like that!”

You just rolled your eyes and sighed, taking another sip of your drink.

“Oh . . . hanging, now there’s a thought,” Angel pressed on. “So suspensory play, huh? I bet those are really fun for that. Just how talented is the guy with those things? Because I bet with some practice, you could even use them for some interesting kind of Shibari. Or is he unimaginative and just shoves them right up your-“

“Angel, seriously, did you not learn your lesson last time?”

“Oh I learned my lesson all right. I learned how hot it is. So c’mon, admit it,” he teased, leaning closer to you, “you guys are into bondage.”

You laughed, unable to hide the sly smile on your face, but said nothing.

“I guess it makes sense,” Angel continued, “the guy does own souls. He’s probably gotta have that type of control in the bedroom.”

“You just go ahead and let your imagination run wild, my friend,” you said with a giggle.

“Baby, my imagination can run marathons,” Angel bragged. Then suddenly, he turned serious and looked over at you. “Wait, does he own your soul?”

Husk turned around and both men were now looking at you. Knowing both of their predicaments, you almost felt bad for your answer.

“No,” you said quietly.

“NO?!” Angel yelled, slapping his hand down on the bar counter.

‘No,” you repeated.

“But . . . but, that’s what he does. I mean, he even owns Niffty’s soul. So why are you with him-“

“Angel,” you interrupted, putting your hand on his arm. “I’m with him because I love him. Because I choose to be.” You said your words firmly, making sure your point was crystal clear. “And anyway, Alastor’s not the type to sleep with a soul he owns. It’s hard to explain his twisted moral code but he would think that was rude . . . or abusive . . . or just trashy. No offense.”

You knew about Angel’s forced and strained deal with Valentino and felt awkward, exposing the stark differences between your relationship and theirs.

“If I was making him sound like a monster, you’re making him sound like a fucking angel,” Husk said.

“Fair,” you agreed. “So, he’s complicated. But so am I.”

“So you really are into monster fucking. Got it,” Angel said, sounding deadly serious but when you looked at him, you saw the hint of a smile beginning to spread across his face.

“Wellllll,” you said, drawing out the word and giving Angel a side eye, “sometimes he has to blow off some steam. And those antlers are great for holding onto for balance.”

Angel choked on the drink he was taking a sip from.

“Now we’re talking,” Angel replied, eagerly leaning towards you again.

You held up a finger, stopping Angel from invading your space anymore. “That’s more than enough information for now.”

“Let me get this straight. He’s got the tentacles, he’s got the antlers,” Angel listed, holding up a finger for each item on his list. He held up a third finger, looking at you and tilting his head expectantly. “Say, you ever have a threesome with his shadow?”

You felt your face heating up, desperately trying to keep your composure and think of a witty response that wouldn’t give anything more away than your expression was, when thankfully you were saved by the front doors of the hotel slamming open.

Alastor walked in, his usual confident walk more of an exhausted shuffle, and he was covered head to toe in blood and the occasional clump or string of viscera.

“Holy shit buddy,” Angel exclaimed, “looks like you bit off more than you can chew.”

“I’m fine,” Alastor huffed and waved his hand dismissively. “Splendid, really. Just need some cleaning up.”

“Do you need any help?” you asked, sounding more flirty than concerned.

“Down girl,” Alastor replied and tapped you on the head with his microphone as he strode past you. “I’ll see you all in the morning.”

He evaporated into shadow as he reached the staircase.

“If he could just do that, then why’d he have to make a show of walking through the front doors?” Angel complained, “He left bloody footprints all over the lobby!”

“That’s Al’ for you,” Husk said, “Always gotta be dramatic.”

You sat in silence, ignoring the two men’s banter and you gripped the glass of your cocktail, staring at it as if it had your entire focus.

A few moments went by where no one said anything and the lull in conversation became awkward.

“You don’t have to stay down here, you know,” Angel offered. “I can tell you want to go sexually attack him.”

You nodded. “I need to go lick every inch of that man clean,” you said and headed upstairs.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor fanfiction #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #angel dust #hazbin angel dust #angel dust x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor imagine #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel fic #hazbin hotel fanfiction

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endelineinwonderland · 2 days

Text

Let The Light In: Part 8

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Words: 2.5K

Pairing: Paige Bueckers/Media Manager! Reader

Warnings: Angst, Friends to enemies to lovers (but the reader doesn’t know why they’re enemies), reader is actually so incredibly in the wrong, slow burn

A/N: One step forward, ten steps back! :)

Even though you’d been stuck in a shoot today you had heard that it had been a beautiful day for February in Connecticut, a time when the skies are usually grey, and the streets are usually blanketed in a heavy layer of snow. The unexpected warmth, you decide, likely explained why the local ice cream parlor was bustling with people, their laughter and chatter spilling out onto the streets.

People were out in droves, couples, families, and groups of friends taking advantage of the unseasonable warmth. You sit in the car next to Paige, the both of you watching the scene unfold with matching expressions of confusion.

“Now probably isn’t the best time for Paige Bueckers to show up, huh?”

Paige shrugs, a small smile playing at her lips. "I mean, it’ll probably be fine. It’s not like I’m with the whole team or anything. I might get stopped once, but I doubt it." She sounds confident, but you notice the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers tap restlessly on the steering wheel.

You glance nervously forward, watching as a group of girls enter the store, shedding off their coats to reveal that at least 3 of them had t-shirts emblazoned with the 'UConn WBB' logo just as Paige finished speaking. Almost as if they’d been summoned by the sound of her voice, and you let out a dry chuckle and tried to suppress immediate feelings of déjà vu from the conversation you had at the café a few months ago. When everything had truly fallen apart.

"Well, there goes that plan," your eyes flicking between the group and Paige. You silently prayed that none of them would glance over and discover the star player sitting right outside.

With a resigned sigh, the blonde leans back against the driver's seat. Her shoulder brushing against yours in the cramped space, she reaches into the pocket of her jeans and pulls out her wallet, fishing out her credit card and handing it to you, disappointment written all over her face. “We can still get ice cream if you want to run in for us. We might just be stuck eating it in the car.”

You accepted the card (despite having no intention of using it), taking it from Paige's extended hand with a small nod. "The usual for you?" Paige rolls her eyes in response, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Duh.”

The moment you return to the car, clutching two plastic cups filled with two generous scoops of ice cream, Paige quickly springs out to open the passenger door for you. Taking her order and the unused credit card from your outstretched hand, settling back into the car with a smile.

Without even thinking about it, she automatically digs her spoon into your cup before taking a bite of her own. As the spoon left her mouth, her brow furrows in confusion.

"Wait, I think they gave you two strawberry’s by mistake," she said, reaching for your cup. "It's okay, though. I can go back in and ask them to fix it."

Your hand gently grabbed at hers to stop it, taking the ice-cream bowl back. "No, it's fine. I requested that they put a scoop of cherry and a scoop of strawberry in each cup," you explain, starting to mix the two flavors together and taking a mouthful.

"Oh. Why did you do that?" Paige asked with a slight strain to her voice, brow furrowing further as she fixated on the spoon stuck between your lips.

Noticing her sudden change in behavior you tried to explain what you thought had been remarkably clever, panicking slightly as you spoke. "I thought it was a good idea," you began, your voice filled with slight confusion. "You know, this way we each have our own, and we don’t have to keep reaching for each other's ice cream all the time and we won’t make a mess of your car. And don’t worry, you can still have my extra if that’s what you’re worried about. Plus," you forced out a nervous chuckle, "there will be even more now since we each have a full-sized scoop."

Her expression dropped suddenly, and she quickly abandoned her barely touched ice cream on the center console.

You called out her name, your voice laced with concern, and carefully placed your ice cream next to hers before placing a tentative hand on her shoulder. "Paige, what's wrong? Did I do something?”

Paige shook her head, hands going to briefly cover her face. "It's okay, you didn't do anything," she muttered, her voice muffled, "I just... fuck, I'm sorry, it’s nothing I’m just being stupid." She dropped her hands from her face as she turned to look at you, her expression briefly meeting yours before turning away to focus on the console. "Which one's mine, again?" she asked, her tone still tense.

You withdrew the hand that had been resting on her shoulder as you leaned down to examine the two cups on the center console. "Uh, this one I think," you nodded, pushing one of them to towards her. The temperature of the ice cream sent a chill through you, its coolness in sharp contrast to the warmth that had coursed through you when you touched her.

She reaches for it wordlessly, hastily grabbing another bite, refusing to meet your gaze.

You’ve never seen someone eat ice cream angrily you think.

"Paige?" you asked again, softer this time, your concern growing as you watched her ignore you. "Hey, talk to me. What's going on?"

She let out a shaky breath, her spoon stilling in the cup of ice cream. "It's just... it's been a lot, you know?" she said, finally looking up at you, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"I mean – I thought I'd lost you for good. And I know now we're trying to fix things, but every little thing makes me worry that it's all going to fall apart again. Like, every time we’ve been near each other I’m so afraid of messing it up and then whenever we’re apart I feel like that’s part of the problem too, but I scare myself to bad and I never reach out or anything and it’s all just so stupid." her voice strained. "It's just... I don’t know. This was supposed to be simple. "

Feeling like your heart is going to give out on you every time you hear her speak is beginning to become all too familiar.

“Hey, we’re gonna be okay. It’s just gonna take some time clearly,” you say, your attempts to be reassuring as much for you as they are for her.

She bit her lip, trying to hold back tears. "I just... I wanted today to be good. And when you changed the order, it felt like maybe things weren’t okay between us after all.” She takes a deep breath, turning to you. “I know it’s so stupid, but I feel like I have to constantly over analyze everything between us now."

“Oh P, no, that’s not what I meant to do at all.” You murmur, your eyes filing up with tears of your own. Reaching over to grab her bowl from her now shaking hands, you place it on the dashboard, grabbing yours next so you can reach over to her without the obstruction. Her hands grip your forearm as you wrap yourself around her shoulders, leaning your head back to kiss the side of her head. “This has been hard, and I’ve been so scared to mess up too and I’m sorry that I just did.” you choke out.

“You didn’t mess up I’m just being dramatic, it’s just I feel like it isn’t supposed to be this hard though” Paige let’s out a sob, “I don’t know why I thought that, but I really thought everything would be back to normal, I just, I don’t get what’s happening with us at all and I don’t get why I don’t get it.”

The tears that had flooded your eyes are now making their way down your cheeks. “I hurt you, I hurt you in ways that aren’t forgivable, and I won’t be mad at you if it takes you a while to get there, or if you never do.”

This was supposed to be light, this was supposed to be easy, a step in the right direction, but all you can feel is yourself being dragged down, deeper and deeper when you thought you were already on the ground.

She vehemently shakes her head, “no, no, just stop. Stop being so shitty to yourself, I’ve already forgiven you.” Her fingers tighten around your arms to the point that it’s painful but you stay still, “I'm the one who's been awful. I’ve been avoiding you like the damn plague, you’ve been trying so hard and I didn’t mean to. I’ve been making your life so much harder for so long and I didn’t realize until I kicked you out of my room that night, I still don’t know why I did that but I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” She repeats the apology, praying you understand it as she becomes almost completely incoherent, the words and sobs falling out of her mouth simultaneously.

You pull her closer, holding her as tightly as you can, sitting awkwardly on your side in the passenger seat. “We’re gonna figure this out,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “This is on both of us, and we are both going to fix it, alright love?”

Paige nodded against your shoulder, her sobs slowly subsiding. “I want that,” she whispered back. “I really want that.”

The two of you stay intertwined, listening to the quiet hum of the radio, both too afraid to speak up and say something else potentially ruinous when you’ve just started making progress again. Eventually, however, you have to move. The ice cream has melted, leaving a sticky mess all over Paige’s dashboard and the lights shut off in the ice cream parlor, the employee giving the two of you a strange glance as she locks up.

You must be feeling unusually brave, or maybe just desperate to keep her near you, probably the latter you decide as the words seem to tumble out of your mouth before you can think twice. “Do you want to come back to mine?” You can't help but thank god when she nods.

The silence continues as you drive back to your place. The streetlights flash by, casting fleeting shadows inside the car, the light occasionally falling on your hand, intertwined tightly with Paige’s. You both let yourself cling to the other until she has to park the car, reluctantly letting you go.

"Wanna head in?" you say, breaking the silence once the cars settled to a stop. She nods, reaching for the handle the second you say it, like she’d been waiting for your permission.

The two of you step out of the car, and the crisp night air hits your skin. You walk side by side to the front door, and for a moment, everything feels like it used to—easy, natural. Once inside, you flick on the lights, casting a warm glow over the familiar surroundings. "Make yourself at home," you say, gesturing towards the living room.

She sits, looking around your place as if seeing it for the first time. "It's been a while since I've been here," she says softly. "Yeah," you agree, the words are left hanging in the air as she fails to come up with a response that wouldn’t bring up any of the laundry list of things you’re both still avoiding. Paige's fingers fidget with the pillow she had moved to rest on her lap, her eyes focused on the floor.

"How about we watch a movie?" you suggest, unsure what to do in this uncharted territory.

She gives you a slight nod, reaching for the remote, opening Netflix and pressing play on some action movie that could not interest you less but for her, you’ll tolerate it.

The movie flickers on the screen, but your attention is fixed on Paige. Her head rests gently on your shoulder, her breathing slow and steady as she drifts into sleep. The soft glow from the TV casts a gentle light across her face, highlighting her delicate features. You marvel at the way her eyelashes create shadows on her cheeks, the slight part of her lips as she breathes. She looks so peaceful, and you’re absolutely positive that no one could ever be more beautiful than she is in this moment, the thought both captivates and torments you.

You swallow hard, feeling a lump forming in your throat. ‘Why does she think I deserve her?’ The question echoes in your mind, each repetition tightening the knot in your stomach. She’s perfect, and here she is, trusting you enough to fall asleep in your arms. But the gentle sound of her breathing is drowned out by the echos of your cameras shutter and her cries pounding in your ears, each one a piercing through you, a guilt filled arrow. You shift slightly, trying to ease the discomfort, but it only intensifies.

You glance at the TV, trying to distract yourself, but the images blur together, meaningless against the backdrop of your spiraling thoughts. Your hand moves to stroke her hair, a gentle, almost involuntary motion. Her hair is soft, slipping through your fingers like silk. You want to focus on that sensation, to ground yourself, but the flood of insecurities keeps rising. ‘What if I hurt her again? What if I can’t be the person she needs?’ Each question is a weight pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe.

When the credits finally roll, Paige stirs slightly, her eyes fluttering open. She looks up at you with a sleepy, tender smile. "I'm too tired to drive home. Can I stay here tonight?" Her voice is a soft whisper.

"Of course," you say, but the words feel thick, stuck in your throat. A part of you longs to hold her close, to find comfort in her presence. But another part of you recoils, terrified of the thoughts that come with her nearness.

‘I can’t do this.’

She shifts again, laying her head on your chest and curling up against you. Her warmth practically seeps into you, a soothing balm against the cold dread that has filled you to the brim. "I love you," she mutters, half-asleep, and her words are like a knife twisting in your heart.

‘She shouldn't love me.'

You lie there, your heart pounding in your chest. The panic is a living thing, clawing at your insides, making it impossible to relax. You replay every mistake, every hurtful word, each one a confirmation of your unworthiness. She’s so peaceful, so trusting, and it only heightens your anxiety.

You’ve changed a lot over the course of the past year, hell, the past months. Maybe, just maybe, the reason it’s been so hard to go back to how you were is because now you’re too different, you’re not the same as you were, it’s not the same as it was.

‘Maybe she’s in love with a version of you that doesn’t exist anymore.’

#paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers #paige buckets #uconn wbb #wcbb #wcbb x reader #wlw #paige bueckers headcannons #paige bueckers fanfiction #uconn huskies #paige bueckers angst #fanfic #angst #wbb

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bellsmess · 3 days

Text

Whenever someone calls Charles Rowland straight, an angel dies.

What straight guy tells his best friend who just confessed to him that there's no one else – no one – he would go to Hell for. And that they have forever to figure out what that means. You don’t get his repressed bisexuality like I do!

Even modern bisexuals (I may or may not be speaking from personal experience) are oblivious to the fact they're bi because heteronormative roles are so engraved in our minds. When you're attracted to other genders, it's easy to miss a same-sex crush, only then to realise that oh, it wasn’t just admiration, it was attraction.

Charles, having grown up at the height of the AIDS crisis, with an abusive and probably homophobic father, killed by racist bullies? That would make anyone repress any gay feelings. Especially if you experience crushes on people with a different sex to you.

Charles sees Crystal and takes his chance. He's enamoured with this smart, strong-willed, pretty girl who can see him not only in a physical sense, but pays attention to him. He longs to be loved. Then he says the infamous "That sounds alot like you, doesn't it? Maybe that's why I like her so much" line. What an icon. And he compares himself and his best friend to the greatest love story of all time, Orpheus and Euridyce's.

When Edwin confesses to him, he doesn't rule out the possibility of returning these feelings. He knows they're already devoted to each other. They've already had 30 years of companionship and solving cases together.

"As long as I have my best mate and a case to solve, I'm good."

Being with Edwin is simple. They solve cases, help others, run away from Death. It's a simple existance. Charles gave up eternity to be with Edwin, because he was kind to him when he was dying. Charles finds him fun, wants to protect him, knows that Edwin is a kind and good person. One that Charles wants to be.

"Bad guys don't worry about being bad guys. And you, Charles Rowland, are the best person I know."

Crystal's role is very important in changing the dynamic between Edwin and Charles. Not only because Charles falls for her, but because she opens them up. She digs out their repressed feelings and trauma. Charles finally deals with his dad's abuse, his happy-go-lucky mask falls. She points it out to Edwin. Charles kept it up so well because Edwin didn't press it, but Crystal does. And Charles finally lets himself process what happened to him, and how that affects his relationships.

Charles never saw genuine love between his parents, and that affects how he views relationships. It impacts how he forms them, too. But he's a loverboy, he longs to be loved, he falls easily. Why wouldn’t he fall for someone who stuck to his side for 30 years?

Crystal and Monty's roles mirror each other – they help the boys figure out their feelings and desires. Crystal makes Edwin jealous that there's someone else Charles cares about in the same sense he cares for Edwin. The Cat King helps Edwin discover desire, Monty – genuine love. As Charles' and Crystal's relationship kickstarts (albeit ends as quickly) and Monty persues Edwin, he discovers the depth of his feelings.

"These complicated feelings that you have? They're for Charles."

I would love to see their wants explored more in the future season(s, hopefully multiple). Charles giving into desire with Desire of the Endless' guidance? Yes please.

I simply cannot believe that anyone would doubt Painland/Payneland endgame. They're everything to each other. They're a constant presence, reassurance, and love. Platonic, romantic, it doesn't matter. Their bond is so deep and genuine that immortal beings see it and leave them be, in the afterlife they chose for each other. Their love is so deep it transcends planes: from mortal plane to Hell, it leads Charles to Edwin. Charles is not Orpheus, when he turns around to hear Edwin out on the staircase from Hell, he manages to get him out. And they have literally forever for each other.

#dead boy detectives #edwin payne #charles rowland #painland #payneland

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justalittletotheleft · 2 days

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my little friend that I play with keeps sending me your stories because she's clearly feeling jealous of the girls in your stories, I think that would make a cute story of a girl who shares this kind of stuff and tries to pretend that it's not absolutely what she wants. She has sent me the "check your pullup" hypno story about 5 times~

aweee that’s so cute! seems like someone’s too shy to admit they need to go back to the basics. here’s a little story for her, hopefully it’ll help her accept her inevitable decline back to diapers!

you stare at the photo confused. is that really what you look like? you look like such a baby! how didn’t you notice before?

a few months ago, you sent daddy some stories. harmless little stories about little girls (like you) being put back into diapers. it’s totally not something you’d want, you’re a big girl! you just though that uh maybe daddy would enjoy it?

after maybe one two many stories, daddy sent you some hypnosis files to listen to throughout the day. you can’t say no to daddy right? so you started listening to them, like a good girl!

it just seemed so natural, adding pull-ups to your shopping list, buying some cuter clothes from the little girls section, not even being alarmed when you’d wake up drooling with your thumb in your mouth!

every call with daddy now seemed to end in a soaked pull-up, but that’s what they’re there for right? he reassures you that “accidents happen”, and not to worry about unknowingly soaking your padding.

so when daddy texted asking for a pull-up check, you immediately got your camera open and snapped a photo. but you look so. babyish.

you’ve been walking around for days, hair in pigtails, clothes from the little girls section, all with a pull-up underneath. you remember getting some funny looks in public, you barely cared. but now, staring at yourself in the photo, you squirm and blush, you seriously look stupid, like an,oversized toddler! how did you leave the house like this?

your phone starts to ring before you can panic anymore. daddy’s calling! he can fix this! you pick up the phone without hesitation.

“princess, what’s taking you so long? your pull-ups not wet, is it?”

“no! course not daddy! i’m a big girl, it’s dry-“

you cut yourself off. hand on the front of your pull-up, you feel it expanding and growing warmer underneath your hand. you were wetting yourself. you could barely feel it.

“awww did you have an accident baby girl?”

daddy croons teasingly on the line.

“uh maybe…”

you hear him chuckle.

“that’s okay potty pants, why don’t you go change into one of those diapers you ordered the other day? you’ve been pottying in those pull-ups a bit to much lately!”

you whine. he’s not wrong. you haven’t had a dry night in weeks, and usually have at least one accident during the day.

“no! what did you do to me! i’m a big girl! why am i acting like a baby!”

you shake your head, trying to get the fuzzy feeling of daddy’s voice to stop.

“what do you mean sweetheart? this is what you asked for! daddy just followed all those cute little stories you sent him.”

“no daddy, those were a joke! just something you’d like, i don’t want to be a baby!”

you whine, moving in front of a mirror stare at the infantile girl in your reflection.

“you don’t have to lie princess. daddy knows what you really want, so go be a good girl and put on a nice thick diaper for daddy, mkay?”

you feel your brain get fuzzy. suddenly, your reflection doesn’t look so wrong. daddy’s right! you do want to be a little baby! why resist him?

“okay daddy!”

you toddle over to your diaper drawer, wet pull-up cooling between your legs.

“good girl, just sink deeper and deeper for daddy okay? i’ll send you some new hypnosis files right now baby, it sounds like you’re ready for phase two of your regression!”

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merakiui · 2 days

Text

me & you, beyond a horizon so blue.

scaramouche/wanderer x (gender neutral) reader cw: slight angst, brief and vague mentions of scaramouche's past and the shouki no kami fight, you and wanderer have adopted a child together, this fic takes place before scara tries to erase himself in irminsul note - after he's defeated in a fight against the traveler, scaramouche wakes up in the distant future and learns a few things about an emotion he's always felt undeserving of.

It’s dark until he has the courage to force his eyes open.

Immediately, he wants to shut them. Near-blinding, the afternoon sun beams into his room through a part in the curtains. If he were human, it would have caused some sort of irreversible retinal damage. He’s not—though he isn’t spared the impending irritation—and so he’s able to adjust with relative quickness, his indigo eyes soon finding comfort in the brightness. It means a new day has dawned. He’s not dead—if that mortal concept can even apply to a puppet like him.

With a weak groan, Scaramouche drags a hand down his face and, like a sluggish, reanimated corpse, sits up in bed. The sheets are clean and soft, a soothing balm amidst the unrest that vibrates through him. It has been a long while since he’s slept through the night, preferring the shadows over the sun. Nocturnal like nature intended. A creature created in gloom can change and adapt, but it will always seek familiarity no matter what.

Intrinsically like a rooted habit.

It’s only natural he would be forced into sleep, considering the fall was not pleasant, nor was the inevitable impact. He brings his fingers to his cheek, presses against the area, and assesses for injury. Nothing is damaged.

But then nothing is fixed. Not internally.

Having expected the dreary interior of an infirmary, he’s struck with bewilderment when he makes note of the bedroom he’s currently confined to. It’s furnished like a typical residence, unlike that of any inn he’s ever known, and there is a strange sense about this space. As if he’s always known about it and has just recalled it, destined to wake here one day and submit himself to its simple charms.

This can’t be right.

He’s never seen this bedroom before, let alone slept in it. Until now, that is. Perhaps a part of him has subconsciously willed it into existence with all of his fruitless wishing, the result of some illusion weaved from the intricacies of hopeful dreams.

Scaramouche glances at the bedside table, his brow furrowed in the beginnings of a wary scowl. Something is so obviously, painfully not right. He knows it has something to do with this room and the fact that he’s alone and unguarded. Lesser Lord Kusanali is not a fool, no matter how much he’d like to comfort himself with that delusion, and so he knows there should be no reason why he’s here instead of where he’s meant to be.

And then he hears them—voices. Three of them, actually. One is high and giggly. It’s a little girl. Judging by the intonation of the other, an adult. Her guardian, to be more exact. He can’t place the third, especially since it’s one that sounds so grossly affectionate. He’s never heard anyone, human or not, speak with such tender warmth.

He’s never known such a thing. Not in a long while.

Scaramouche throws the covers off at once, stumbling from the bed in a panicked flurry. Watching it like it’s a threat, he clutches his chest. He doesn’t feel a heartbeat; rather, it’s the crackle of Electro deep within the core of his being that resounds, fizzling like snapped, angry circuitry. His fingers dig into wrinkled fabrics and he takes pause, realizing his actions.

To think something as mundane as a bed could startle him.

To think comfort would feel like a curse.

What a joke. Even here, I’m not allowed the peace of a lonesome parting.

He walks on intact legs, bidding the room a final glower before throwing the door open and stomping outside. Wherever he’s found himself, whether the mortal coil or a place beyond, he’s determined to get out. He pays no attention to the picture frames on the wall as he stalks down the hall, his mind working twice as fast to conjure a plan. If this place proves to be foul, there will be casualties. Three of them.

Bloodshed is nothing new.

What is new, though, is the scene he walks into when he approaches the kitchen, stepping through the threshold and immediately stopping short when he sees himself.

Only…he’s different.

“You’re in poor shape,” his other self comments, almost conversationally, as if this sort of talk is casual. He’s dressed in breezy colors: whites and blues, the prettiest of hues. It’s a color scheme he would never entertain at present, but it sings of free skies with fluffy cumulus. An unburdened soul, light as a feather.

Scaramouche opens his mouth to retort—so are you—and shuts it because that’s not true. His other self looks better than ever as he sits at the table. He looks healthy.

He looks happy.

“Whoa! There are two Papas?!”

He flinches, horribly rigid, every sense on high alert. His gaze pans over to the little girl peeking out from behind your legs. She looks at him like he’s a wonder to behold—like he’s someone worth adoring.

It’s different. It’s not the fondly fearful gaze of a devout follower, nor is it the clinical stare of a mournful creator or a deranged doctor. It’s something else.

It’s…

What is it? What is that emotion—the one that has evaded him for the entirety of his existence?

“Good afternoon, sleepyhead. We were beginning to wonder when you’d wake up.”

He turns to look at you. A smile softens your features. Coupled with the glorious sunlight filtering in from the window, you are the most seraphic creature he’s ever seen. Horrified at the development of his thoughts, he hardens his face into a vicious glare and tamps down the weakness that rises to the surface.

“You were expecting me?” he asks, but it sounds like a demand. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“Why don’t you take a seat? I can fetch you a cup of tea,” you offer, your voice gentle and coaxing. He glances at the little girl. Her gaze is worn down with worry.

“I will do no such thing,” he snaps, folding his arms across his chest. “You have no authority over me. I’ll sit if I so please, and I do not please. So I will not sit, nor will I indulge in tea.”

His other self barks out a laugh. “To think I was like that… I was intolerable.”

“Still are,” you reply with a cheeky grin.

“You’re just as bad,” he snipes back, but there isn’t any heat to the remark. There’s that emotion again, reflected so clearly when he’s looking at you. His other self smiles—genuinely smiles—and then addresses him next. The smile tightens into something serious. “Relax. We’re not going to bite.”

“No, but I can and I will. Don’t think for a minute that just because you’re me I won’t—” He stops himself when the little girl tugs on his shorts, peering up at him with more wide-eyed concern. Rather awkwardly, he does his best to bring his attitude to a child-friendly level. “I… I’m fine.” He searches the silence for her name.

“Aaliya! Nice to meet you, Papa Number Two!”

Scaramouche nods mechanically, moves to bend down to her height, and then straightens again, thinking better of it. “What is all of this?” His hand sweeps across the room. “Just who are you?”

Like clockwork finely tuned, you and his other self exchange a furtive glance before nodding. It’s some unspoken language Scaramouche can’t decode. He frowns as he watches this interaction, even more suspicious than before.

“Aaliya, could you draw something for me?” you ask, guiding her from the kitchen towards the neighboring sitting room. Aaliya grabs a notebook and pencil from the countertop as she goes, humming her compliance. “We need another masterpiece to hang up, and you’re the best artist we’ve got.”

She giggles. “You can count on me!”

The sound calms him. He almost allows his shoulders to drop. Almost.

Scaramouche watches from the doorway, observing the way you interact with the girl. It’s parental and adoring. You care for this child, and she cares for you.

Just what is that elusive emotion? Why can’t he place it?

Once Aaliya has been successfully distracted with the allure of art, you return to take your seat beside his other self. Scaramouche stares between the both of you, utterly lost.

“You don’t have to sit—not like I could get you to after you’ve made up your mind—but, at the very least, let’s talk.”

Scaramouche’s eyes narrow. “Speak.”

“So entitled…” His other self sighs. “I shouldn’t expect anything less. I am you, after all.”

“Was,” he corrects astutely. “This isn’t the present day, and it can’t possibly be a dream.” He scrutinizes his surroundings, slowly fitting the pieces together. “It’s gone on for much too long.”

His other self tilts his head, playful. “Are you sure you’re not just stuck under Buer’s thumb?”

Right. Dreams. Lesser Lord Kusanali can poke her nose in and out of dreams as she pleases.

“Plausible, yes. But this is too detailed. And you—” he gestures to Blue Scaramouche— “are different. I wouldn’t dream of something so inane. Something like…this.”

Something so carefree and content, he almost tacks on as an afterthought, but he refrains. Weakness.

“Oh, but of course. You’re too good for good things,” his other self jeers, sardonic in a way that incites violence. He pushes that urge away. There’s a child nearby. “For what it’s worth, we’re still the same person.”

“Do not compare me to a weakling like you.”

“Hah? You think I’m the weak one? I’ll show you—”

“Wawan, relax,” you say, moving your body to obstruct his view.

Both look on, horrified.

“Wawan?” Scaramouche ventures, brows furrowed.

“You…” He turns away with a huff.

“What? It’s cute! You like it!” You smile and nudge him.

Scaramouche is in awe, nearly slack-jawed from witnessing such a bold display. If anyone were to do that to him—to the fearsome Lord Harbinger Scaramouche—they would not get away unscathed. In fact, he’d subject them to a death so brutal they’d beg for release even in the afterlife. No one lays a finger on him unless they’re actively seeking a bloody finale. More importantly, no one reduces his being to such flowery nicknames.

Disgusting.

His other self—this Wawan fool—recovers from his flustered state and clears his throat. “Wanderer,” he says, hurrying the syllables before you can make any more comments. “The name I go by. You should know it because you’ll use it one day.”

“I will do no such thing.”

Wanderer’s expression softens at that—out of sympathy, he realizes. Uncharacteristic, Scaramouche thinks. I do not soften, nor do I sympathize.

“You lost, Balladeer. There is no future for the god you hoped to become because he doesn’t exist. Not anymore.”

He bristles, suddenly defensive. “And who’s to say I haven’t already achieved godhood? Your claims are as useful as a corpse. You have no valid proof.”

“But I do. I’m you.”

“Even so, you’re woefully uninformed if you can so carelessly prattle on about—”

Wanderer sighs again, and this time you offer your hand. He hesitates, looking between Scaramouche and you, before his hand slips into yours, holding tight. Scaramouche’s face twists.

Foul.

“You failed, and this is the result of that—the future neither of us could have foreseen.”

“Failure is a strong word,” you chime in, running your thumb over the top of his hand. You look at Scaramouche next. “You didn’t succeed, yes, but you can learn from your mistakes and grow.”

“And grow I so apparently did,” he mutters, bitter and resentful. “Into a weakling who…” He pauses, his tongue heavy in his mouth, eloquence escaping him. “A weakling who… Who shackles himself to idyllic nonsense with nothing but…” His fingers curl into tight fists. “Nothing but filthy weaknesses to show for it.”

Nonplussed, Wanderer submits to temporary silence, to the comforts you provide. There’s a feeling sprouting between the both of you. Neither of you says anything, but you understand regardless. It’s a silent sort of communication, an undeniable connection. An understanding fostered from that despicable emotion.

With an offended scoff, Scaramouche turns swiftly on his heel and freezes when he finds Aaliya standing there. She peers up at him, studies his poker face, and presents him with her drawing.

“Papa tells me love is hard, but it comes easy when you’re with the right people. You need to be willing and accepting. When you are, love will find you and you’ll find love.”

She presses the parchment into his hands. Shakily, he beholds it. It’s a poorly drawn family portrait, but Aaliya’s artistic talents mean nothing to him. It’s the first time he’s ever been willingly included in a portrait. A family portrait. The only time someone has bothered to document a side of him that isn’t the vindictive, villainous, ever-raging tempest he’s known for. The one time he’s ever known what it means to be loved.

Ah. There’s that emotion. That temperamental, difficult, stormy emotion. It’s love.

In this future, he is treasured and cherished. He has a family. He has love, and he feels it and it’s reciprocated. Or Wanderer feels it, that is. But Scaramouche can see it: the quiet intricacies of your relationship—it’s all the result of love. You love him. Him—a being who was never created for the sake of loving. A being who has always been undeserving, unfit for the burden of divine admiration and reverence. You love him, and he loves you. Godhood and power and control—none of these things matter when compared to love itself.

Scaramouche stares at Aaliya next. He folds the drawing into a neat square, clutches it in a trembling fist, and—

And he cries.

Silently. His shoulders do not shudder. He does not gasp and wail like a newborn. It is entirely soundless, a reaction delayed by years. Tear trails streak down his porcelain cheeks in steady streams. His lip wobbles.

And he cries.

He cries as he brushes past Aaliya, ignoring her protests and your mumble of, “Let him go. He needs space,” while he flees, beelining for the bedroom. He cries when he unfurls his fingers to cradle the folded square in his palm. He cries when he thinks of the life he’s lived—the suffering and the lies and the tragedy and the backstabbing and the manipulation. He cries because he can’t hold back anymore. Because he failed. Because he will never be a god. Because he is inadequate in the eyes of the divine—as unsubstantial as a common pest.

He cries because he’s loved. Because someone has found something within his fractured being that’s worth loving.

He cries into the night, curled in on himself to protect what’s left of his exposed weakness.

It’s dark when he closes his eyes, and unlike before they remain shut. Because if he opens them—if he doesn’t patch up the damaged floodgates—he will cry.

And it hurts to cry.

And Scaramouche, for all of the pain he’s dealt, has never enjoyed being on the receiving end of agony, self-inflicted or otherwise.

It is a long, sleepless night punctuated with the soft pitter-patter of rainfall.

He’s lying sprawled like a defeated starfish when the first few rays of sunshine poke through the window. Groaning, he slides his arm over his eyes. He knows himself, even if Wanderer is a version of himself he has not yet experienced, and so he doesn’t expect to be checked on. The silence is both a comfort and a curse, smoothing his nerves and chewing through to the core of his being.

He thinks I’ll come to him first. How utterly foolish.

Scaramouche turns his back towards the sun and presses his face further into the sheets, drained of energy even though he’s just woken up. His ears prick at the sound of a girlish giggle and he lifts his head slightly, his eyes sliding towards the window. Aaliya skips down the pathway, carrying a basket in one hand and holding another girl’s hand with her other.

A friend, Scaramouche observes, watching the girls until they’re out of sight. He hears you call out to them even though they’re already long gone: “Be back before dinner and don’t get into any trouble!”

He peers at his own hand and flexes his fingers experimentally. Is everyone this feeble in the future, or am I just too strong?

There’s a knock on his door next. He intends to lie back down and block the world out, but instead he sits up and stares.

“Balladeer, I’ve put a pot of tea on. You’re more than welcome to have some if you’d like.”

He won’t dignify you with a reply. Or that’s what he initially thinks, but then he’s covering the distance to the door before he can stop himself. He yanks it open, much to your surprise.

“I—” he starts, his scowl mellowing into a reflection of the cold and cruel Fatuus he’s known to be. “I…will have a cup,” he finishes, oddly subdued.

“You don’t have to force yourself to talk. You can glare at us if it makes you feel better. Just make sure to take care of yourself, okay? We’re here for you if you need anything.”

He scoffs, straightens his posture into something regal, and pushes past you. “I was feeling much better until you opened your mouth and spat that irritating dross.”

You exhale through your nose, tentatively stepping into his path. For a minute he considers sweeping past you, but deep down he knows that he—the one he supposedly becomes in the future—would regret it. He would hate to push you away when you’re making an effort to be close—an emotional proximity he’s so clearly avoiding.

“You’re always welcome here.”

“Considering the circumstances, you have no choice but to be hospitable. It’s pointless to feign sincerity just because I’m here. I’m not fragile. Do not treat me as such.”

“You’re right. You’re far from fragile.”

He opens his mouth to argue that point and then pauses, absorbing your words with a dubious frown.

“You may not believe me, but you’re very resilient and so strong. I should know because I wake next to him every morning, and his existence is enough to remind me that he’s come a very long way.”

Smiling, you continue onwards. Scaramouche stalls, wondering what that could possibly mean. A very long way from what?

He’s not sure he wants the answer to that.

As if it matters.

“Without spoiling too much, I’ll say you’re in for a world of development,” Wanderer says once Scaramouche has graced the kitchen with his arrival. He’s sitting at the table, which is set for three people and adorned with the usual Sumerian snacks. The scent of tea hangs in the air, fragrant like perfume. “Lots of fun things.”

“Fun,” Scaramouche parrots, his nose scrunching. “What an unconventional way to refer to countless days and nights of agony.”

“I never said it’d be easy.”

“You never said it’d be difficult either.”

“Both of you,” you cut in—vocally and physically, you’re standing between the two of them— “no fighting at the table.”

Wanderer takes your hands in his when you lower into the seat beside him, his thumbs tracing delicate patterns into your skin. “Do you see how troublesome he is? Did you really have to put up with him all those years ago?”

“He’s part of you, Wawan.”

He scoffs. “No part I particularly care for anymore.”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes and folds his arms over his chest so the couple in front of him won’t pick up on his discomfort. “I’m not asking to be cared for or coddled. Hate me all you want. I don’t intend to like either of you.”

“Well?” Wanderer raises a brow, a smirk lazily tugging at his lips. “Insufferable.”

“Bitter like your tea,” you agree, to which Wanderer and Scaramouche huff in unison.

They glance at one another, searching the other for an indication of mutual tolerance, before turning away.

“I suppose,” Scaramouche says after a beat of silence, “I shall indulge. Be grateful.” He steps closer towards the table, lifts his cup from its saucer, and brings it to his lips. It’s lukewarm and just as bitter as the tea he’s enjoyed in the past. “It would be a shame to let tea go to waste after your efforts to prepare it.”

He nods in your direction and you beam under his approval.

“Thank you, Balladeer.”

His brow raises, but he doesn’t ask. You fill in the blanks yourself.

“This is the current you. Right now, Wanderer and I, this entire home, the life we share, and even our dear Aaliya—none of it exists in your present. If anything, we’re just a dream to you. So who else are you if not The Balladeer?”

Who else…

“Obviously I’m no one in this…reality.” He frowns. “If I’ve become that, there’s no need for any of my current aliases.”

“Perhaps not, but you’ll see for yourself when you get there.”

“I’d rather not. I’ll simply shut my eyes.”

“Avoidance is a common symptom of unresolved trauma,” Wanderer oh-so-helpfully adds.

“Oh, you’re a comedian now, are you?” But he isn’t laughing.

“Just passing on a fact I learned. You’ll hear it for yourself one day. Why not share it in advance? Soften the blow a little.”

“And you’re so perfect?”

“I have no intention to be.”

“Sure.” Scaramouche sips his tea, swallowing the torrent of insults weighing heavy in his mind and on his tongue. “I suppose all of this just fell into your imperfect lap then?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Before they can continue their petulant bickering, you gaze sharply at Wanderer and then at Scaramouche. He’s never felt compelled to obey anyone; he’s never needed to heed those who have always sat below him on the hierarchical pyramid. But for some reason he shuts his mouth and lowers his gaze to the floor.

This is pointless. I must find my way out of here at the earliest convenience before he drives me into the ground with his irritating sentiments.

“Arguing isn’t going to solve anything. He’s our guest, first and foremost. We should treat him like one.”

“I guess it can’t be helped. If this truly is our reality for the next few days, there’s no point in living in denial and self-loathing,” Wanderer concedes with a huff.

“Which is precisely why we should welcome this opportunity. It might not come around again.”

“Let’s hope it never does,” Wanderer and Scaramouche admit at the same time.

That elicits a giggle from you, and they turn on you with disapproving glares. “Sorry, sorry. It’s not funny—I know. I just couldn’t help it. You’re the same person, yet so different. Even your stares hold different feelings.”

Scaramouche won’t acknowledge your observations with a response. Instead, he watches his reflection as it warps and wavers in the tea. And then he drinks.

This is by far the most excruciating dream I’ve ever had the displeasure of experiencing.

There is no pain or death in this dream. No power tantamount to that of a god. He may as well be an apparition without an apparent place in this world. But there is domestic bliss and that is by far the most torturous aspect of this dream.

To think anyone could look upon my visage with such tenderness… You must be out of your mind.

“It’s not like I particularly care, but you seem to lead a quaint life.” Scaramouche sets his empty cup down and leans against the wall, his arms folding impetuously. “Why?”

Wanderer, troublesome menace that he is, bats his eyes and pulls you against him in a possessive half-hug. “Difficult to believe, isn’t it?”

Scaramouche wants to scowl, but he refrains. “I wasn’t asking you.”

“It’s mostly quaint,” you cut in, smooth as alabaster. “Life is always busier when you’re with your loved ones and there’s plenty to do—never a dull moment, as they say—but I don’t mind it. I like busy days.”

The delivery sounds rehearsed, but Scaramouche suspects it’s the truth. Your eyes soften and your smile mellows into something adoring when you nudge Wanderer. He almost retches outright when his other self nudges you back, discreetly reaching for your hand beneath the table. He won’t comment, but it prickles his skin with disgust when he watches this display. His other self fancies you so openly… The current Scaramouche would never.

Could never.

“Also, busy days prevent useless idling.”

“And keep boredom at bay,” Wanderer finishes. He assesses Scaramouche with a fleeting once-over. “You’ve always been a sad, lonesome existence. Your busy days were but minor distractions meant to fill a bottomless void that could never truly be filled.”

“What of it? I prefer solitude.”

He exhales a humorless breath. “Centuries of solitude and all it took was a single vase of flowers… Neither of us could have guessed.”

A vase of flowers? he wonders, bewildered, but too prideful to ask for an explanation. When will I ever receive flowers?

“You don’t need to worry about that right now,” you say, sipping at your tea with a cryptic smile. “Good things come to those who wait.”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes. “I’ve had enough ‘good things’ for the rest of my life.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. Even if you don’t think so, you’re deserving of good things. Everyone is, even if they’ve done something bad.”

He waits for the gutting punchline. It never comes.

He watches the world beyond the window: fluffy clouds, grass rustling in a breeze, a bird hopping about on the ground. His reflection frowns back at him. “I don’t agree.”

Wanderer shrugs. “If you say so.”

“That’s okay. If that’s what you think, who are we to judge your opinion?”

Briefly, Scaramouche wonders how you can have the patience to put up with him. With Wanderer, he thinks, even though he knows he’s just as troublesome, if not more.

He finishes the rest of his tea and then rises from his seat.

It’s not as if it matters. He doesn’t fit in this family portrait. He never will.

But he does in some distant future.

How peculiar…

Scaramouche wakes on his third day in a rather pleasant purgatory. As it happens, he’s still stuck in this unusual cottage with a bizarre doppelgänger.

So be it, he thinks, sitting up in bed. It occurs to him that he hasn’t been very resistant since he was plucked from his timeline and dropped here. But what is there to resist? You and his other self? This comfortable home? Family? Happiness? Love?

I should get back to my world as soon as possible. That’s my priority. Do not get distracted.

Ideally, he’d like to imagine that’s where he belongs, but he knows there’s no place in this world—or any other world and timeline—where he’s wanted and accepted. At the very least, there’s some semblance of home in his timeline. Even if it isn’t the most welcoming.

When he wanders into the kitchen, he finds you standing over the stovetop. Strips of meat sizzle in a pan. Sitting at the table, doodling on a blank page, is Aaliya. He hasn’t spoken much to her since his first day, and she hasn’t come to his room to pester him.

“Let him settle in,” you and Wanderer tell her whenever she stalks past the closed door.

Still, he feels the beginning of a smile pull at his lips as he watches her kick her legs to and fro to an imaginary tempo.

I’m looking after a child in this timeline. Me. A parent…

He struggles to fathom it.

“Oh, Papa’s back!”

“Already?” You whirl around, a greeting on your tongue. “Ah, no, honey, that’s our visitor. The Balladeer is his name. He does look like Papa, though, doesn’t he?”

“B-Balla… Ballaba… Babadeer?” She scrunches her face up, perplexed.

Scaramouche offers her a gentle, understanding smile. “You may call me ‘Baba’ if it’s easier to pronounce.”

She lights up immediately. “Okay! You’re Baba and Papa’s Papa!”

He finds that the term is more endearing than any alias he’s taken on in the span of his lengthy existence.

“Speaking of, where is he? I would assume he’d be smart enough not to leave me by my lonesome.”

“He’s out for the day. Won’t be back until later.” You lift the pan from the stove and proceed to distribute breakfast between two plates. He shakes his head at you when you attempt to fix him a plate. With a shrug, you add, “You slept in. How was it?”

“Acceptable,” he admits, lowering into the chair beside Aaliya. “I suppose it’s better than most places.”

“I’m happy to hear that.” You place a cup of tea in front of him. “Bitter. Just how you like it.”

Scaramouche eyes it like it’s poison. “Your hospitality is…appreciated.”

“What do you think?” Aaliya lifts her drawing, proudly showcasing the portrait she’s sketched of you.

Scaramouche is a critic of many things. Art is not one of them. Still, he takes the page in his hands and spends a moment admiring the shaky linework.

“Very wonderful,” he praises, and he means it. “You should become an artist.”

“I want to, but I also wanna be like Papa. He’s really smart.”

“Is he now?”

“Mhm! He’s studying at the Akademiya. My friends told me only really smart people go there.”

I’m a scholar? Truly? He looks to you for confirmation. The proud smile on your face is answer enough. To think this is what becomes of me in a distant reality…

“A commendable occupation. You should always do your best in your studies. They’re very important. But most of all…” He hesitates. Thankfully, his other self isn’t here to listen to his encouraging words and ridicule him. He’s certain he’d never hear the end of it. “You should pursue what you enjoy.” He reaches out to pat her on the head. “Always dream, Aaliya.”

“I will! I promise.”

Scaramouche doesn’t do promises, but somehow he’s convinced by this one.

You sit across from him. “Time to eat, my dear. You can finish your pretty drawing later.”

She nods and pushes her pencils and crayons away in favor of focusing on her plate. Scaramouche watches, stiff and awkward. Family meals are not an unusual occurrence, but it’s been so long since he’s spent quality time with another living creature. With humans.

Am I really so foolish that I’d willingly indulge in a life with humans? Don’t I know better?

“Wawan told me your arrival might be linked to a faulty Ley Line. We’re not sure when you’ll return to your world—if that’s even a possibility—but until we know more you can stay here with us.”

“If I must. Although I assumed that was already established.”

You chuckle. “Is that right? Then it looks like you’ve gotten comfortable in the three days you’ve been here.”

He rolls his eyes. “Your singular deeds are not enough to earn my veneration.”

“I’m not trying to.”

With a huff, he averts his eyes. An uncanny feeling crawls up his throat and settles on his cheeks. You hide your playful grin behind your utensils and eat alongside Aaliya in peaceful silence.

If only everyone could see him: a puppet now named Wanderer, who attends the Akademiya and has a family of his own. A puppet who seems complete when he surrounds himself with his loved ones. It’s impossible to live in denial when all of it is unfolding before his eyes like a fantastical tale in a storybook. He really can’t believe it.

“Tell me—am I fulfilled in this reality?”

You blink back at him, and suddenly he regrets asking. There’s vulnerability in a question like that. An open wound waiting to be exploited.

“Will knowing put you at ease?” Before he can snap back with a defensive reply, you add, “I suspect you’re already aware of the answer.”

He stares at the amber-colored tea in his cup. “I am,” he confesses quietly.

“And do you feel any better?”

“Am I supposed to feel that way?”

“I can’t tell you because there’s no right or wrong way when it comes to emotions. You just…feel them.”

Just feel them?

“I’m more conflicted than anything else. That Wanderer fool… He can’t truly be me. I would never allow myself to grow so weak. To surround myself with weaknesses… How utterly thoughtless.”

“What you see as weakness is his strength.”

Scaramouche’s gaze slides from the tea to you. “And he… And I… I’m happy here? This isn’t a grand farce?”

“As absurd as it seems, this is to be your reality. You’re not always going to be happy. Sometimes you’ll dwell on the past. Sometimes you’ll feel angry and upset. It’s all part of existing.”

“That sounds horrendous.”

“What does?”

“Existing. Isn’t it tiring? I’ve never understood how humans do it.”

“It’s tiring, yes. But it’s also very rewarding. To exist is to cherish happiness and weather hardship. It’s not perfect, but it’s enough. Sometimes all you need is enough.”

What if I’ve never had enough? What if I’ve never had anything?

He shuts his mouth. So many questions flit around in his head, but he already knows the answers to most of them. He just doesn’t want to hear it from himself.

To have enough when you’ve never had anything—when you’ve never felt like anything substantial—he surmises Wanderer can sympathize.

The first few drops of rain patter dry earth. Like dolls moved with wire, you and Scaramouche turn towards the window to watch water beads pearl on verdant fronds.

“Oh, it’s raining!” Aaliya exclaims with a delighted giggle.

Scaramouche reaches to touch his cheek. A single tear wets his fingertip.

“Huh,” he mumbles. “So it is.”

Sitting on the stoop, watching worms wriggle in wet soil, Scaramouche sighs.

“Did you know the worms sometimes lose their way when it rains?”

“Is that right?” he murmurs, glancing at Aaliya who scoops one up from the stone path and places it in the grass. He smiles at her kind impartiality. “It’s very admirable of you to help them.”

“Mhm! Papa tells me even worms need homes, so it’s important to help them when the rain washes them away.”

He breathes a laugh that sounds more like a scoff. “I really said that? That’s difficult to imagine.”

Ironic, too.

“If no one helps, how will they find their homes?”

“They’ll find their way. Everyone does eventually.”

“Even you?” She blinks at him from where she stands in the grass, worms held in her palms.

He exhales slowly and gazes skyward. The clouds have opened to let in the tiniest peek of sun. “If worms can find their way, then so, too, can I.”

He’s not sure he trusts it. Not now, at least. But it’s just as inevitable as the shifting seasons—an undeniable, irrefutable fact. He’s changing, if only slightly, and soon he’ll be in Wanderer’s shoes—a puppet with a home and a family. With all of life’s greatest joys and sorrows at his fingertips.

Aaliya sets the worms down in the grass before meandering over. She lowers to sit beside him, resting her head against his arm. “I believe in you, Baba.”

“Thank you.”

Soft as rain, subdued like a snuffed candle, his voice doesn’t waver. For the first time in a while, Scaramouche is defenseless. He’s not so sure he believes in himself. Wrapped in waning sun, listening to the hushed sway of grass, he tries on a smile. Albeit awkward, it fits.

He knows why his future self has become the wind, free and flowing, gentle and tumultuous all at once. Liberated from the past.

Even though he has his doubts, he knows he’ll get there soon.

The sky clears up just as Wanderer’s form comes into view. At first, he’s an insignificant pinprick against a blue sky. Aaliya jumps up from her spot on the stoop to run the rest of the way, calling out to him in an eager voice.

“Feeling any better?”

He keeps his eyes pinned stubbornly ahead. “It’s nothing to concern yourself with.”

“You’re our guest, silly. Of course I’m going to be concerned if you’re not comfortable during your stay. Ah, but I expect you’re coming up on the end of that, aren’t you?”

He blinks at his hands and realizes they’re transparent. “So it appears.”

“Does it?” you tease, patting him on the shoulder. Or you try to, at least. Your hand goes through him. “Guess it wasn’t very funny.”

“Not in the slightest,” he snaps with a scoff. He checks to make sure Wanderer isn’t within earshot. He’s kept occupied with Aaliya, who jumps around him like an energetic bunny. “But… Thank you…for everything. I’m aware I wasn’t the most grateful guest, nor the kindest.”

“You don’t have to be. As long as you felt safe and secure during your time here, despite everything that’s happened in your timeline, that’s all that matters.”

Scaramouche stares at you. I suppose it was a worthwhile escape. Unnecessary, but worthwhile.

“It wasn’t as hellish as I thought it’d be.”

“I’m glad. It was nice having you.”

Just then, Wanderer approaches. Aaliya sits proudly on his shoulders, her fists in his hair. “Glad to see everything’s still in one piece. No atrocities today?”

Suddenly, any sort of security Scaramouche might have been feeling evaporates. He’s reminded that it’s impossible to endure his other self for more than a few minutes. It’s actually impressive you’ve put up with him for this long.

Love is weird like that.

“Go back to the Akademiya and maybe you’ll learn a better sense of humor.”

“Aren’t you a bundle of joy?” Wanderer chuckles and levels him with a playful smile. His next words are tender and truthful. “Good luck on your journey. Have lots of fun.”

What sort of fun could possibly be found in pain? I don’t want or need your sardonic optimism.

“Oh? Baba’s leaving already?”

Scaramouche and Wanderer share a look. You smile behind your hand.

“Baba?”

“P-Pay it no mind!” He reaches for his hat in hopes of relieving everyone of his flustered expression and stops short. He’s not wearing his hat. He hasn’t had it this entire time. Refusing to admit he forgot such a crucial detail, he turns away and folds his arms over his chest. “It matters not.”

“Sure,” Wanderer concedes, but Scaramouche can tell he’s thinking something snarky. “We’ll go with that.”

“Thank you for visiting us,” you interject before the two of them can argue semantics. “Even though our time together was short, it wasn’t any less enjoyable.”

“I’ll miss you, Baba!” Aaliya extends her arm for a high-five.

“Careful now,” Wanderer warns, steadying her on his shoulders. “I suppose, though you’re more trouble than anything, it wasn’t so bad seeing my past self again.”

“You’re a welcoming lot,” he says with a curt nod. “It made this entire debacle slightly tolerable.”

“Only slightly?”

“Your presence didn’t add anything of substance. Don’t get it twisted.”

“Hmm. Perhaps not. At least I get to say I saw you once more.”

At that, he rolls his eyes. Am I supposed to feel flattered?

Wanderer smiles, but Scaramouche can’t place the authenticity. Maybe it’s there and he just doesn’t want to confront it.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. I know the feeling well enough.”

“And live every day one at a time. There’s no rush,” you advise, sweet like a real parent.

“I believe in you, Baba! You’ll find your way just like the worms.”

Wanderer raises a curious brow, but instead of ridiculing him he takes your hand in his and squeezes. Aaliya giggles and pats Wanderer’s head. The three of you make a family. Togetherness. Love. It’s everything he’s never had.

Now he understands. When Wanderer is with you and Aaliya, he’s whole. He’s happy. Free. He’s turned a new leaf. There are still so many apertures and questions—so much he’s missing from a puzzle not yet pictured to completion—but he isn’t worried. Equipped with this new information, he finds himself at peace with the present situation.

“I don’t know if we’ll ever have the chance to meet again in this timeline, but if we do let’s not dwell on the past.”

Scaramouche can feel his consciousness slipping from this realm, every sense pouring in like light through the gaps in trees. Just before he can make sense of it all, he notices the pendant glowing just above Wanderer’s chest.

Impossible… Is that what I think it is?

“You have a lot to look forward to, so next time let’s talk about the future.”

Suddenly, he’s not so sure he wants to leave. Scaramouche steps towards his other self, hand splayed, and wants to say something. Anything. A million words and phrases stick to the roof of his mouth.

I’d like that, he thinks just as the rest of his corporeal form vanishes in a blip.

Scaramouche comes to in the infirmary. He lifts his arm towards the ceiling, observing shattered fingers and broken joints. Thin cracks run along his arm—surface injuries as far as he’s concerned. They’ll be gone within the day, a testament to his self-sufficiency.

You’re very resilient and so strong. Someone once told him that. But who? And why does it warm him so?

“Oh, you’re up!”

He gazes sidelong at Lesser Lord Kusanali, the God of Wisdom, past the wellness bouquet on the bedside desk, and his features harden with antipathy. “Buer.”

“Did you have a nice dream?”

“Dream?” He scoffs. “I don’t dream. Not anymore.”

But it feels like I’ve been asleep for ages… Just what have I been doing all this time?

“Everyone dreams—even when they’re awake. Dreams are what give us hope.”

“Not me.” He turns on his side and shuts his eyes to block her out. “I have no need for childish dreams and misguided hope.”

What does it matter? I have nothing. I am nothing. There’s nothing for me in this rotten world.

Her hum of acknowledgment reaches his ears. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Scaramouche scowls. Stop poking around in my head. You have no authority over my thoughts, Buer. Get lost.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I’m here to give you a second chance.”

“I don’t want it. It’s pointless to put me on the path to redemption. Inane, even.”

“Redemption starts with recognition. If you realize that what you’ve done is wrong and are willing to change, redemption will find its way to you.”

He inhales a long, weary breath. “What more is left for me?”

Scaramouche, despite his grandiose title, feels small lying here and contemplating the worth of his existence.

“Plenty of things—good and bad—that you’ve yet to experience.”

He tries to envision what these things could be and turns up blank.

Strange. I was so certain… He sits up in bed, clutching the space where his heart would be if he was human. I could have sworn there was something…

He gazes at his palms next. What happened while I was unconscious?

Surely he witnessed a joyous scene. Otherwise why would he wake feeling so…hopeful?

Inhaling a resolute breath, Scaramouche decides it doesn’t matter.

“Why don’t you take some time to think about it? I may not know the full extent of the turbulence in your mind, but I do know it’s not something to treat lightly.”

The void is both loud and quiet when she departs, and now he’s forced to come to terms with his reality. He lost. Even as a manufactured deity, he was still unfit for godhood. It was a moment so short-lived it was practically a blink—insignificant in the colossal tapestry of time.

“What a joke,” he spits, glaring at the wall ahead. “All of that for nothing…”

He sits back against the cushions and drowns in the silence. It doesn’t comfort him.

Don’t be so hard on yourself. Where has he heard that line before?

Perhaps it was just another delusion.

Scaramouche’s gaze is drawn to the bouquet next. The flowers are fresh and vibrant, each blossom a representation of good health and happiness. Someone placed these here. Someone went out of their way to assemble a bouquet in his honor and then send it over. He wonders if this is the work of Lesser Lord Kusanali.

Who else could muster the empathy for a sorry creature like him?

Will knowing put you at ease?

He thinks it might. At the very least, it would soothe a restless part of his being—the part that craves a connection and yearns to be wanted despite everything he’s done. He wants a heart and a home. He wants to feel the rays of the sun stinging his skin and bathe in the exhilaration of being alive and in the moment. He wants to finally know all of the sweetness he was deprived of in life. The sweetness that comes from love in all its many shapes and forms.

Scaramouche reaches for the bouquet and pauses. He could swipe it off the table and watch rumpled petals scatter amidst shattered glass in a puddle. He could ignore it and pretend it’s not worth his time or attention.

He wants to act like it doesn’t matter, but something’s nagging at him.

For once, the feeling isn’t terrible. For once, he has something to look forward to—an anchor to cling to in this vast, wild sea.

And he isn’t going to let go.

#genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader

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