#I barely think about space but when I do *I Do*
Note
touch starved reader with an oral fixation x kidnapper!Simon who’s all punishment and no physical affection? Please Simon just a little kiss? with tongues? :( (i just wanna make out with this man while my heart aches for him)
by Allah, you people are dogs. i will write the filth as usual.
DEAD DOVE, 18+ | dubcon. kidnapping. mean!Simon. dom!Simon. masking corporal punishment as affection. kissing. size kink, size difference. some thigh riding. degradation + humiliation (verbal). non-con pet play. marking (heavyyyyyy mentions of Simon biting you like a chew toy). choking. daddy kink (but in the awful, demeaning way). manipulation. forced affection. coersion. forced/manufactured dependency. brief mention of Simon stepping on your back to hold you down so he can whip you w a cat o nine tails. yanno. the usual Friday night.
idk. there's something so hot about you, completely naked, riding Simon's clothed thigh as he holds you up by your neck. tongue out, desperate for a kiss while he just mocks you the whole time.
It's survival.
At first.
A means of masking the innate horror of being stripped of your agency, your autonomy, by a man you barely even know. One you met once before (fate sealed), and now—outside of your apartment complex where he was idling by the foothold, smoking a cigarette as he leaned against the brick wall, head turned. Gaze narrowed as you approached.
Waiting for someone, you assumed, thinking nothing else about the matter.
Nothing else, except—
He looked familiar. You think you saw him before. He was staring at you. Hadn't stopped. Hasn't said a word, either. The silence was oppressive. Heavy. Your hands fumbled with the keys. Shaking. Trembling.
He's pretty, you thought, suddenly. In the way car wrecks can sometimes be. Jarring and awful and hideous, but—
Mesmerising.
Macabre. And that's what he is. Everything from the mask on his face (skulls, go figure), to the absurdity in his size, his width. The way space itself seemed to move around him, bending and distorting just to let him pass. His own gravitational pull. Magnetic. You feel it tugging on you as he pulls another lungful of smoke. Another. Another.
(like an hourglass, a timebomb, almost. you wonder what will happen when it runs out—)
He gives you the creeps. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. A visceral sense of unease curdling in the pit of your belly as he keeps staring, staring. Eyes—crystalline under the broken headlamp, washout into crushed topaz—drilling into your back, sharp enough to flay skin. Everything inside of you says to run, but your key won't fit inside the lock. Won't—
Ever.
And hindsight has always been a bitter thing, hasn't it? Cruel in her mockery. Had you known, then, that he wasn't a workman loitering by the complex, waiting for a friend; or a low-level drug dealer casting webs into the plum hewn aether, it might have saved you. Might have.
Maybe. Because he was there, waiting for you, all along.
Life has a funny way of paying back good deeds. All it took for your life to crumble down around you, rubble falling off of a shaking mountain, was kindness. Was seeing a large man in the pouring rain, already drenched. Black clothing sticking to the granite contours of his body, and offering sanctum in the shape of a rusting umbrella you found at a thrift store for three dollars.
(“here,” you said, chipper. All smiles. “i live just down the street, and you look like you need it more than i do. do you want it?”
and he—
he simply stared. stared. his eyes liquid, molten, as they carelessly dropped, roaming down the length of your body at his own leisure. leering. assessing. it was odd. weird, but—
he huffed, then. seemingly satisfied by whatever you measured up to in his head. his neck lulled back, and he gazed at you from down the crooked length of his nose, tucked neatly away under the thick band of a facial mask. skulls. how could you be so stupid?
slowly, like he was trying not to startle a mare, his gloved hand reached out, curling thick fingers around the hilt of it. he tugged once. in your stupor, you forgot to let go. embarrassment flooded in. he huffed again, quietly amused, as you untangled your numbed fingers from the umbrella.
in your distraction, he moved closer. smelled of ash, of mildew. sweat and stale cigarettes. there was something predatory in the way he slipped through space. a preternatural quiet. an eerie stillness.
you hadn't realised he was there, looming, until he rasped out, “more ‘n you could ever realise, pet.”
and you're sure why you do it. did it. but your hand slips into your shopping bag, eyes widen. heart thundering in your chest.
“are you hungry? i, uh, i just bought some apples, um—”
his eyes are lavascapes. shackles. chains. “i could eat.”)
And now—
Forced to play this strange cat and mouse of his where he treats you like soot on the bottom of his shoe, and you pretend that it's affection. Love. How godless.
Protection, he calls it.
("mine," he whispers, orison soft, into your ear. "ain't go' nowhere else to go, do you, pet? world's big. would eat a small thing like you up. safer here. wit' me. only me.")
You wonder what he'd do if you told him the biggest danger here was the madness nestled inside your head, the one that sometimes made you look at him like he was your salvation instead of the warden holding the end of your leash in a firm hand. Unyielding—like everything he does. Is.
Withholding, too. Everything must be earned. Nothing given. Nothing handed out. And you know that this is a ploy, a tactic. Subterfuge meant to chisel into your sense of self, dehumanise you. Turn you into a simpering, obedient little doll for him to play with as he wishes. You know this, and yet—
It's survival, you promise yourself as he tugs on the hook latched to your collar, testing it for weakness. Survival, when his hands—bare, bare; warmed skin against skin, you could just weep—brush over your throat, nails skimming goosebumped flesh as he wedges one, then two inside, hirsute knuckles tickling your pulse. It tightens the collar to near choking. Intentional, you know. He likes it when you beg—for air, for food, water, him.
Vile man. Awful.
(You want to roll on your belly at his feet.)
This cold, cruel touch lights a fire under your skin. It's been months since he's last done so. Always wearing gloves when he has to. Using paddles, belts, when you misbehave. Never his bare hand. Not anymore.
(“m’hand is for good girls,” he slurred, words merging, meshing together, painted with exertion. He wedged his boot against the small of your back, holding you down, and cracked the end of a cat over your bare ass, thighs. Unbothered by your howls, your screams, as the whip bit into your skin. You've never so much as been hit as a child for misbehaving, and now, as an adult, you have a madman standing over you, introducing you to something called a cat o’nine tails—a favourite in the army, lovie. “bad girls,” his boot pressed down harder, heel digging into your spine. “Bad girls get the whip—”)
Bad. Bad. Because you tried to run, to leave him. He dressed you up, called you Mrs Riley, and you—
Ducked out the back door when he turned away for a second.
Stupid. It was poor timing. A test. He set you up, measuring your loyalty to him, your commitment, and you failed. Failed.
(“this is what ‘appens when spoiled little cunts get their way too much. they act out, don't they? bitin’ the ‘and that feeds. you'll learn soon enough, though—”)
Ghost—sir, sir (master, maker, god; you'll call him anything he wants if he touches you again)—pulls his fingers away, depriving you of his touch once more. And it's all so stupid. So fundamentally wrong, deplorable, but you follow. Needy. Whining for it in the back of your throat.
It's been months. Months without touch. Without sensation outside of leather lashing across your thighs, your ass; harsh, gloved fingers digging into your jaw, braced against the back of your head, as you swallow down his cock in an effort to prove to him you've been good. So good. Can be good. His good girl.
You need to touch him. Need his touch. Ache for it, for something outside of this nook he placed you inside of, denied the privilege of living upstairs with him after you tried to escape.
You want to. Badly. Your fingers twitch. Ghost sees it. Hums.
“Need somethin', pet?”
Your mouth is dry. You swallow. It burns. It hurts. “Yes—”
“Yes, what?”
“Sir—”
Behind the mask he's yet to take off for you fully, only ever hitching it under his chin to devour your cunt whenever you've been good, his jaw tightens, the fabric bunching up.
You reel back from the look of sheer displeasure etching harsh lines into the hollow gaps of his eyes. Heart thundering. Stomach churning.
“Mas—” he cuts you off with a soft sigh. Marked with his irritation. “D—dad—”
Dad. A new one. Daddy. He didn't seem like the sort to be into this type of play, not with his sardonic, deadpan eyes. His mockery. His dessicated humour, awful and biting. You'd have sooner expected him to laugh at you—in that slow, deep hum he gives; a little chuff, full of condescension and jeer—than to get off on it. On you, kneeling between his legs with your chin braced against his palm, mouth open, tongue out, as he fucks into the tight clench of his fist, groaning as you beg daddy to give you a taste.
It's gross. Disgusting.
It's not done for anything else other than to humiliate you. To crush you under the heel of his boot—little bug—so that you will always know where your place is in this scenario. His little wife. Mother, mum—
He pulls on the leash, jerking you forward. Purrs, “good girl,” and then steps back, moving away from you. Cruel. Dismissive. You hate him, hate him—
(Need him so deeply. With every fibre of your being—)
You watch him as he goes, mourning the loss of his presence already, as he paces around your space, your cage. Broad shoulders barely fitting inside. Head ducking to avoid hitting his crown on the popcorn ceiling. It's strange seeing him here like this. Prowling. He usually comes when he wants you, when he needs to enact more merciless punishment on you for whatever perceived evils you committed (not greeting him with a kiss when he walked in, not letting him suffocate himself in your cunt when he had you sit on his face, not making him cum all over your face quick enough when you knew he had other engagements to get to—), or when he ruts, heavily, between your thighs, cold and detached. Seeking pleasure from your icy flesh, and giving nothing in return but white hot agony.
Him here, idling in your presence, is revolutionary.
“S–sir—?”
He hums, quiet. Sits in the chair as you gather the fragments of yourself littered on the ground. His mood is malleable, it seems.
You push, fingertips sinking into the putty of his agreeable temperament. “Can I—”
You waver when his sharp eyes raze over your bare body—clothes are for good girls, after all—pupils sloshing over the edges, bleeding into midnight blue.
Your body is a battlefield. Every inch of skin branded with his mark—pretty, thrawn rings of teeth tattooed in silver, haloed in black and red, desecrate your flesh: neck, collarbones, breasts, belly, thighs (a particular favourite of his), ass, mons; all bitten through, chewed up. It weeps when you move, has blood trickling down your skin. The cracking scabs make him coo, poor thing, all bloody fer me? and he licks at them, sucks, until only a pinkish wound in the mimesis of canines remains.
Uprooted, turned into something new—
His chest expands when he settles his gaze on the sliver of space between your spread thighs. Concealed in tenebrous, hidden from his leering, lecherous view. He cocks his head, considers something unknown to you. His thoughts, his mind, worlds away. Untouchable.
(only to bad girls, he’d snarled out when you asked why—)
“Testin’ my patience still?” He doesn't rip his gaze away from your cunt, speaks to it sometimes more than he speaks to you. “Thought this alone time might’a cleared your ‘ead.”
You flush. Embarrassment roiling through you. His displeasure is a palpable thing. Heavy. You hate the weight of it.
“I need—I need you.”
Another toneless hum. “‘Course you do. Ain't got anyone else.”
He's awful. Hideous. You want to rip his tongue out of his mouth. “I—I want you. Please.”
Ghost doesn't answer. You stopped expecting him to a long time ago, his moods odd measures of ebbs and flows; passive and mild, cracking terrible, awful jokes as he strokes your back, hands riveted to your skin, and then biting and caustic the next. Pushing and pushing until you lash out, snap, so he has a reason to push you down, punished and smothered under his bulk, as he ruts into you like a beast, a man starved. Tells you it's for your own good. That you need him. Would be lost without him.
Bludgeoning a hole into you wide enough for him to crawl inside of. Poisoning you from the inside out with the same nocuous rot that flows in his veins.
Maybe that's been his agenda all along. Maybe. To make you want him as badly as he wanted you. Desperate, obsessive. Going so far as to follow you home, lost little mutt waiting in the shadows outside of your door until you threw him another bone. And when that didn't work, when the food stopped being enough—
He took you. Held you captive in his house deep in the wilderness. A place so endlessly green that you sometimes stare out at it—unfathomable sea of phalthos and jasper—and feel dizzy. You'll get lost out there—
just like he says.
As he turns your obsecration over in his head, you wait, supplicant to this man as you rest on your knees. Pretty pet with a golden collar adorned in gems.
Fitting, you find. With his head cradled against his thick knuckles, you can't help but shiver at the way he looks shrouded in the gloaming embers of a fading twilight. Leonine. A king perfectly at ease in this thick, caliginous atmosphere.
His eyes burn, magmatic, in the low light. Vats of endless ink. Black holes that will swallow you whole if you get too close. But he's poised. Contemplative. Assessing.
And then grips the end of the leash tight in his other hand. Tugs.
You obey the wordless command, crawling on your hands and knees to where he's spread out on the recliner. Laxed, dripping with a careless indifference as you wander to him, resting your chin on the spread of his knee.
Looking up, up, at him, waiting. Wanting.
There's so much of him—a fact that has been the catalyst to your downfall the moment you saw him standing under the awning; this massive creature. Thighs wider than the width of your body. Burly forearms. Broad shoulders. He's big. Indomitable. Thick, endlessly so. But there's a give to his body. Valleys of softness hiding corded muscle. Firm, but—
Your fingers sink into the soft give of his belly when you reach out, bracing against stomach. Pulling yourself further into the bracket of his spread thighs, inching closer to him.
He meets your reverent stare, eyes liquid along his lower lash line.
“Thought you were gonna keep me waitin’ all night,” he muses, giving another pull on the leash. It destabilises you. Your nose bumps into his sternum, and you moan at the sting.
There's a dissonance in the back of your head. A hairline fracture in the line that keeps a degree of separation between pleasure and pain. They meet against the crack in the divide, merging into a abysmal polyphony conducted by his hand.
He watches, amused, as you whimper, sniffing harshly against the burn. It's not bleeding, and not broken—small mercies, you suppose—and you let it simmer into a dull ache as you slowly clamber into his lap.
Ghost leans back as you settle, greedily taking in the sight of your thighs stretched wide over his leg, cunt pressed, tight, against the rough scrape of his jeans. The touch burns. He hasn't touched your pussy in weeks—
“C’mon,” he urges, hand spanning the width of your lower back. Coaxing. “Show me ‘ow good you can be.”
It's all the permission you need. Slowly, slowly, your hips start to gyrate, dragging your slit over the coarse material. The friction is agony. You need more—
He draws his other hand up, curls it around your neck, forcing your head back, back. You gasp, staring at him, dizzy, from down the slope of your nose. The clasp of the collar digs into your skin. It hurts. It's too much.
you don't want him to stop.
His hand is huge. It spans the entire length of your neck, thumb to your pulse, pinky grazing the hollow of your throat. It forces you to lift your chin higher just to let him fit.
He likes it, too, you know. His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of his bare hand, scarred and thick; dusted with a cropping of fine hairs along his scabbed knuckles, sitting against the whole of your throat. Swallowing you up. Can feel how much he enjoys the sheer depth between your sizes when his cock twitches, stiffening more
The look on his face is appraising, anatomising. There's a cold measure of distance in his gaze. A barren polynya. You want to cross it. Chart these untamed lands until they're deeply ingrained within your being. Cimmerian effigy burning to keep you warm.
It's survival, you think, and arch into the palm of his hand.
He holds you like a doll. One hand on your lower back, pressing your cunt to thigh. The other tightening around your throat. Bare skin against bare skin, and oh, you could just cry—
But this is not what you need. What you want. And he knows. He always does. Knows the inside of you like it's written down—inked on paper. Thumbs through the makeup of you, chapter by chapter, until no mystery remains.
“Tell me what you need, pet. Beg for it.”
“Let me—” his hands tighten, choking the air from your throat. Crushing your collar against your neck. “Lemme—kiss you, please, please—”
Tighter. Tighter. The world around you swims under a thin ocean. Phosphenes swim, untethered, in your periphery, ghosting along the curve of his shoulders. He might kill you yet. Keeping going, going, until those brittle, bird-like bones in your neck snap—
You'd let him, you think, muscles falling lax. Submissive. Just the way he says he likes even though you know he fucks you harder, touches you more, more, when you act out. Misbehave.
“Kiss me?” He taunts, words abrasive. Strident. Scrubbing hard against your skin. “Ain't that jus’ the sweetest thing I ever ‘eard.”
You burn, blister. “Please—”
“Reckon I ought to. Kissed your pretty cunt ‘fore I even kissed your lips, huh, pet?”
Your chest folds over itself. Stomach knotting. Balling tight. Unease is a razor blade scraping your nerves.
“Simon—”
“Ah, ah—” his hand tightens. Vicious. Chiding. “You ‘aven’t earned the privilege of sayin’ my name, ‘ave you? Cheeky thing. Might ‘ave to take a cane to you next.”
“No, no, no—! I'm—”
“Sorry?” He mocks, cocking his head. Condescension drips from the corners of his eyes.
“Please, sir—”
“Dad is gettin’ tired of this attitude of yours, pet—” his fingers dig into your skin, hard. Biting. A warning, you know. The blunt press of a blade to your jugular. But it thrums along the suture line to your desire, a wellspool of murk coiling low in your guts. You throb, cunt clenching down around nothing. Achingly empty. “Thought we got rid of it this time ‘round. Learned our lesson.”
The words are frank, prosaic. Had you any sense of self still malingering in the back of your head, you might have struck him for the blatant disrespect. But as you struggle to reach for it, pawing around in the vacuous abyss for any fragment of who you were before this, before him, you know—without any doubt—that none exists. Nothing. He’s too ingrained in your marrow, hewn into your skin. Copper sutures holding his filament within you. Cradled between your thighs, nestled in the rotting vacancy of your heart.
He knows you. Every part—
“We did—we did, da—daddy, please—”
It’s shallow. Muffled, like he’s trying to swallow it down, but you feel it rumble through his broad chest. A guttural sound. A groan. Drenched in pleasure, in want. So thick, you could almost taste it.
He hides his need under a layer of derision.
“Such a needy thing, ain't you? Desperate little slag like you wouldn't last out there, would you?”
His hand digs into your hip, pushing you off of his thigh. Eyes skewering into the wet stain on his trousers. A huff spills out—the sound a near perfect mimicry of crushing charcoal in your hand.
“No. You'd be eaten alive. Torn to pieces. World's too big for somethin' like you.”
Mindless, dazed, you nod. Arching into him. The leather leash snaps against your chest. “Yes, yes—”
His cock presses into your thigh, hard, fat. Your mouth waters. Drool dribbles down your chin.
He smells of tinder when he leans in close, blood drenched words biting into your skin. “messy today, aren't you? Be lost without me. Tha’s why you wear a collar, isn't it?”
Pitifully, you nod. Eyes full of tears. Each word is a bludgeon into your resolve. Into your sense of self.
But it earns you his affection, and his thumb presses into the corner of your mouth, unhinging your jaw until it falls open, lax. He holds you like that, mouth lax with his hand still around your neck. The other lifts away from your lips, goes to the thick band around the bridge of his nose, slips inside.
There's no buildup to it. No lingering sense of anticipation. Practical, detached, he merely tugs it down, and lets it snap under his chin.
Your breath is punched out of your lungs at the sight of him. Barefaced. Scarred. His nose is crooked; a jagged hook with scar tissue delineating the spots where it's been broken too many times. His lips are—
Full.
Mangled.
Scars run in thick slashes over them, denting the flesh in places. Burn marks line his pale flesh. Charcoal rubs into his eyes, highlighting the whites of his lashes against smeared soot.
He's—
Pretty.
Like a car crash. Calamity. The broken remains of a town after a hurricane, a tornado, ripped it apart. Ugly, brutal. His face looks like it's been mauled by a bear, a tiger. Scarred and hideous, and—
You shiver. His eyes drop, landing on your own lips. The soot on his brow flutters down, lands on his eyelashes when he lifts his brow up mockingly. Derision curdling an awful smirk on the corner of his mouth. Crooked. Like him. Like his teeth. His nose. His boxy jaw. His lips—
You kiss him.
Can't help yourself, really. There's a pull. Gravitational. Magnetic. You need, need, to taste him. To quench this ache in your jaw that makes you want to wrap your tongue around something, play with it between your teeth. Soft and sweet—
Ghost's lips are plump beneath yours. The thick scar tissue is almost velveteen when it glides over your bottom lip. You moan into it, into the feeling; victory—however pyrrhic—swims like mercury in your veins. Finally.
And he doesn't kiss you back. Doesn't make any effort to reciprocate at all, but he's not tense beneath you. Not stunned. Or reluctant. He’s pliant. Malleable. Agreeable, willing to let you devour his mouth, his taste, as much as you want. Doting. Letting you spoil yourself on him. With him.
Because you need him, don't you?
Like the air you breathe. The food he gives you—apples, always, on rainy days; salmon and rice in a pretty bowl with your name etched into the porcelain—and the attention, the affection—
(suck my cock, pretty girl. don't make me put a gag on you—deeper, you can take it, can't you? take my fat cock all the way up inside your sweet little cunt—my pretty girl—)
—it’s all so divine.
His hands on your body, your throat, spasm. Once. Just once. Against your leg, his cock twitches. Leaks prespend into the demin. You rut against his thigh, aching for it. Whimpering—
And then he's groaning into the kiss, snarling out your name until it wedges between your lungs, syphoned in from his scorching breath. Another brand in the shape of him.
Ghost kisses the same way he eats—messy, sloppy; all teeth and tongue, and full pretty lips. Clumsy, like no one taught him how to properly hold his silverware and he's trying to mock what he saw on television. Brumish. A broken, contemptuous pastiche of sumptuosity. A starving dog, snarling around its plundered morsel. Protective. Possessive.
It coils around you. Thick, smothering.
He sucks your tongue into his mouth, catching it between his teeth. The sting brings tears to the corner of your eyes, and when you pry them open, you find him already staring at you (always, always, always—), lidded. Heavy pools of desire shaded in the brume of a winter dawn. A bonfire flickering in the distance of a whiteout. Sanctuary from the cold—
He seems to catch himself. Expression flickering. Warbling around the edges. It closes off in a blink. He pulls back. Locks into the ashlar veneer of this indifference he wears like a suit of armour.
But you saw it. It was there. Within reach—
“Need me, don't you?” He drawls, timber a needlepoint between cruelty and desire. Sultry, low. Husky. He knows what it does to you. How he can unravel you at the seams with just his voice alone. “Need me so fuckin’ much, pet. Would be lost without me—”
“Please, Simon,” you whisper, feather-soft. Cunt throbbing, pulsing. Needy. “Please—”
The strident reprimand for using his name doesn't come. His hand tightens around your throat, unconscious. A paroxysm that has pleasure carving itself down your spine, electric.
“Come get it, then,” he rasps, voice wrecked. Raw. Curling at the edges, thickening his accent until the words elide.
Hand to your throat, he drags you close. Closer still. Keeps you sat pretty on his lap as he pulls you in for a bruising, hungry kiss. Tongue shoving between your teeth when you gasp.
His kisses are always hungry, but this is different. Greedy. He devours you whole. Eats you alive. His hand falls to your lower back, holding you tight to his chest.
You moan into it, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. Squeezing until your knuckles blanche, joints twinging in discomfort.
After months of nothing, this alone is bliss. His taste soaking onto your tongue, drenching it in the bitter tang of sage, wheatgrass, and stale cigarettes. Intoxicating. It leaks into you, nocuous. Infects from the inside out.
His plan coming to fruition, you think. What he sought out to do all along, ever since you wandered close to this untameable Tartarean guard, and offered yourself up to the jowls of a starving beast.
He pulls away with a heavy breath, eyes charing around the edges; brittle briquette.
“Gonna be a good girl from now on? Come upstairs, be a good mum for dad? Or am I gonna ‘ave to cane this—” his hand drops, grabbing a fistful of your ass in his hand, fingers digging into the skin between your cheeks. Possessive. It cracks like a whip down your nerves. “—tight lit’le arse?”
You shake your head instantly. Quickly. “I'll be good,” you whisper into his chin, tongue flicking out to lick across his scars. The dried sweat on his skin tastes briny. Reminds you of the ocean on a brumous November evening. The incipient yawn of a ravenous hurricane gathering its lot on the shore.
Sirens blare in the distance. Fear curdles in your guts, sits heavy like a stone. An anchor.
“So sweet f’me,” he mutters, words deepening as his head falls back, letting you pepper kisses across the underside of his jaw. Mouthing along the constellation of scars. His voice is rumble. It shivers across your lips, tongue. Shakes the marrow in your bones. “Better stay this way, pet.”
Into his pulse, you murmur, “I think you like it better when I’m bad.”
You can feel the snarl brimming in the back of his throat. Your ass stings with the phantom burn of when he lashed out with the whip. It drags a whimper out from deep within your chest.
His hand tightens around your neck. A warning. “Got some guests over f’dinner tonight. Would love to finally introduce them to my sweet little wife—” deft fingers slip across the dewy skin of your folds, knuckles grazing over your drenched hole. The touch makes you squirm. “But if you’re gonna be bad, then I’ll leave you locked up down ‘ere.”
“I’ll be good,” you swear, words a hushed breath over his jugular. His finger flattens, drawls soft, slow circles around your clit. “Ah, I’ll—I’ll be so, so good, Simon—”
“Good girls deserve rewards, don’t they?” His palm flexes possessively around your throat when you nip at old scar tissue. “Maybe I’ll let you sleep in our bed tonight instead of in your dog house. We can ‘ouse together. I’ll fuck you proper—” he roughly shoves two fingers into your hole, leering when you gasp, back arching in a bow. “Know this pretty pussy has been achin’ for me, ‘asn’t it? Gonna breed it full—”
There’s static in your head, ringing in your ear. The noise distorted, pulled underwater. You think you say something, plead—no, no, no, anything but that—but his hand tightens around your throat, fingers pushing up, up into you, notching against that spot inside that makes your head swim, your vision flicker. The abyssal chasm inside of you aches, rages; its waters swell, currents frothing, slamming against the ceiling of its iron prison, and—
Simon pulls away. Fingers stilling inside of you. No friction, no relief. Hypoxia renders the world silent. Muted. Held in stasis, stagnating at the edge of a gaping precipice he holds you over, secured by the fragile curve of your neck, fine bone china.
Phosphenes swim by. The chossy wobbles.
This distance is agony. You need to be closer, closer, to crawl inside of him, to live in the brackets of his ribs, safe and protected from the world he warns you about. Stone cold. You mewl, whine—
“Gonna be my good little wife?”
Gasping with broken lungs, you nod. Nod, nod until you’re nauseous. Dizzy. Sick—
His spit cools on your lip. Your hackles raise, body shuddering in revulsion—some primal part rears, hisses it’s infectious. Wrong. Get rid of it—
“Not gonna run?”
Slowly, you lick your lips, catching his sickness on your tongue. Swallowing it down until it sinks like a stone to the bottom of your belly. Heavy, for such a small, damning thing.
How absurd, you think. How absolutely mad.
Then you whisper, paperthin, “kiss me again, please, Simon—”
And he moves. Liquid in the gloam. Made more for shadows, midnight, than for golden apricity, where the light is harsh on his face, unveiling ruins and ravines; monoliths meant to be paid tribute to in the dark. Your hands lift to his jaw when he moves in, catching your lips in a bruising, biting kiss.
His touch is searing. Owning. He isn't laying claim: no, you're already his.
It's possessive and angry. No finesse. All slate teeth and tender tongue. They slide together in a strange game; little fawn stupidly nipping at the tiger's heel. He lets you, groaning into your mouth when you arch back, hips pushing into his fingers, taking him deeper. A pale pantomime of what's to come when he lays you on his soft bed, sweet and divine, and buries himself deep.
It should scare you. Ought to. And maybe it does. Survival, you think, but you still pull him closer. Deeper. Because it’s bliss, you find. The world around you falling dead. Silent. Pulled into a vacuum. Teetering on the edge of a black hole, event horizon. He drags you in.
Simon hums, pulling you closer. Touching you—soft, sweet. Palms a gyve. Shackles, chains. His fingers lift from your neck, trailing down the slope of your throat until he reaches the golden loop of your collar's hook. His gaze glides, magmatic, down to where your leash dangles between your heaving breasts.
It's almost tender when he grabs it into his fist. When he pulls, pulls—
Your back arching. His fingers slipping deeper inside your cunt. Obedient little doll.
When he lifts his eyes, the look you find is hot enough to char bone. You taste blood in the back of your throat—
Into the seam of your mouth, he purrs, “good girl.”
—and you swallow it down with a moan.
(after all, you know better than to run from starving dogs—)
#when your kidnapper is mean and rude as hell but you've been dtf since day one: the manifesto#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#i forget where i put peoples hands sometimes and then have to go back and remind myself where everyone's at lmao#hope you enjoyedddddddddddd#i'm gonna go pour myself a glass of bleach bye#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#cod#ghost#simon ghost riley#simon riley x you#ghost x you
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Pink + White ❀
lewis hamilton x fem!reader
wc: 1.2k+
warnings: none just fluff!
authors note: oneshot!! this is literally just fluff!!! inspired by pink + white by frank ocean!! don’t know how i feel about this one either 😭 any feedback is appreciated and please like, comment, and reblog!! hope you enjoy!!
f1 masterlist
"It's always something with you, isn't it? It's always an emergency," you say cheekily, a playful smile spreading across your face as you stand at the doorway of Lewis’s driver room. The paddock is a hive of activity, the anticipation for the race buzzing in the air, but here, in this moment, it feels like just the two of you.
Lewis grins, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he sits on the edge of the small sofa. "What can I say? I needed to see you. Forgot my headphones, can you believe that?" He pats his thighs, inviting you over.
You roll your eyes, knowing full well that the 'emergency' was just an excuse to steal a moment with you. “I knew it! You didn’t forget your headphones. You just wanted to see me.”
He laughs, a warm, rich sound that makes your heart flutter. "Guilty as charged. Come here," he says, his hands reaching out for you.
You step closer, and he gently pulls you between his legs, his hands settling comfortably on your waist. The familiar warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine. You lean into him, your foreheads touching, sharing a quiet moment amid the pre-race chaos.
"I missed you," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. "I’ve been so busy today with meetings and interviews, I barely had a second to myself."
You smile, your hands resting on his shoulders. "I missed you too. It’s been a hectic day."
He pulls back slightly, looking into your eyes. "I couldn’t wait until after the race to see you. I needed a little bit of you to get through the day."
You feel a warmth spread through you, your heart swelling with affection. "Well, here I am," you say softly. "Consider this your pre-race good luck charm."
Lewis’s grin widens, and he leans in to kiss you. It’s a gentle, lingering kiss that makes your heart race. When he pulls back, he starts peppering kisses all over your face—your cheeks, your nose, your forehead—making you giggle.
“Lewis!” you laugh, trying to squirm away from his playful assault. “You’re going to smudge my makeup!”
He chuckles, his hands firm on your waist. "I don’t care. I want my kisses!"
You melt into him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You’re so clingy and cute, it’s adorable.”
For a few minutes, you just stay like that, wrapped up in each other, sharing soft kisses and whispered words. It’s a precious respite from the frenzy of the race day, a moment to recharge and reconnect.
As the minutes tick by, you continue to chat, the conversation flowing easily between you. You talk about everything and nothing—his meetings, your plans for the rest of the day, little inside jokes that only the two of you share. It’s these moments, the simple, everyday interactions, that make your relationship so special.
Lewis’s fingers trace idle patterns on your back as he talks, his touch sending pleasant shivers down your spine. "You know," he says, a thoughtful look crossing his face, "I’ve been thinking about taking some time off after the season ends. Just you and me, somewhere quiet. What do you think?"
Your eyes light up at the idea. "I think that sounds perfect. Where were you thinking?"
"Maybe a beach somewhere. Just us, the ocean, and no distractions."
You smile, imagining the two of you lounging on a sunny beach, the sound of the waves in the background. "That sounds amazing. I’d love that."
He leans in, his lips brushing against yours. "Then it’s a plan."
You kiss him softly, your heart swelling with love. "I can’t wait."
The sound of a knock on the door breaks the spell, and you both look up, slightly startled. Lewis sighs, his hands slipping from your waist. “Time to go.” he says reluctantly.
You nod, stepping back to give him space. "I know. Go do what you do best. I’ll be cheering for you."
He stands, pulling you into a final, tight hug. "Thank you for coming baby, even if it was just for a few minutes. I needed this."
You squeeze him back, your head resting against his chest. "Anytime, baby. I’m always here for you."
He kisses the top of your head, then reluctantly lets you go. "I’ll see you after the race."
You smile, giving him one last kiss on the lips before heading for the door. "Good luck. I love you."
"I love you too," he replies, watching you leave, a soft smile on his face.
⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱
A few days later, you’re at home, the quiet peace a stark contrast to the wild energy of the race track. You’re in the kitchen, baking some of Lewis’s favorite cookies, when you hear the door open.
“Baby, I’m home!” Lewis calls out, his voice filling you with warmth.
“In the kitchen!” you reply, smiling as you wipe your hands on a towel.
Lewis walks in, his face lighting up when he sees you. “Something smells amazing,” he says, coming over to wrap his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.
“Just a little treat for my hardworking husband,” you say, turning your head to kiss his cheek.
He smiles, a contented sigh escaping him. “You always know how to make everything better.”
You lean back into him, savoring the warmth of his embrace. “I try.”
The two of you spend the rest of the evening together, enjoying the simple pleasures of home. After dinner, you settle on the couch, Lewis’s head resting in your lap as you run your fingers through his hair.
“I’ve been thinking about that beach trip we talked about,” he says, looking up at you with a soft smile.
“Oh? Have you made any plans?” you ask, intrigued.
He nods, a twinkle in his eye. “I’ve booked us a place in the Maldives. Just you, me, and the ocean.”
Your eyes widen in surprise and delight. “Lew, that sounds amazing honey! When do we leave?”
“Next week,” he replies, grinning at your reaction.
You lean down to kiss him, your heart overflowing with love. “I can’t wait.”
⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱ ✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱⋰✾ ❁ ✿ ∴⋱
The moment you step off the plane, you’re enveloped by the warm, salty breeze and the sound of waves gently crashing against the shore. It’s paradise, and you can’t wait to explore it with Lewis.
Your villa is a stunning overwater bungalow, complete with a private deck and direct access to the crystal-clear ocean. As you step inside, you’re greeted by the sight of a beautifully decorated space, the perfect blend of luxury and comfort.
“This place is beautiful,” you say, turning to Lewis with a wide smile.
He pulls you into his arms, his eyes sparkling with happiness. “I wanted this to be special. Just for us.”
“It’s perfect. I love you.,” you reply smiling, feeling a surge of gratitude and love.
“I love you” he says as his lips meet yours.
Bonus:
y/n_ig
liked by lewishamilton, charlesleclerc, beyoncè, oscarpiastri and 5,968,987 others
life with you ❤️
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lewishamilton
liked by y/n_ig, charlesleclerc, almave, gerogerussell, oscarpiastri and 5,998,937 others
is perfect ❤️
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© 23victoria 2024 I all rights reserved. do not republish, steal repost, modify, translate, or claim my work as your own.
#ꨄ࿎victoria’s writings!࿎ꨄ#lewis hamilton#f1 lewis#lewis hamilton x reader#lewis hamilton x you#lewis hamilton x fem!reader#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 imagines#f1 one shot#f1 x reader#f1#formula one#formula 1 smau#lh44#fluff#lewis hamilton fluff
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Request: The reader and ellie are friends, but the reader doesn't know if she likes girls or not, so ellie offers to let her experiment on her. Friends to lovers and mutual pining. 💓 a happy ending, preferably. Up to you whether or not to include smut!
FALLING INTO ME
CW - hair pulling, mentions of past experiences with men, oral (R receiving), thigh grinding
WC - about 2k - no outbreak AU
Leave me Ellie or Abby requests x
This was wrong right? Infront of you your childhood best friend Ellie sits crossed legged on her bed. The faded plaid sheets that have replaced dinosaurs from her youth clutched in your unforgiving grasp.
"We don't have to do anything" she says barely above a whisper. Like she's afraid to even suggest it. The air is tight, hot, like someone lit a fire and let the smoke invade the room. But there's Ellie. Her hand sitting on your thigh as her thumb swipes across bare skin, the floral sleep shorts you had opteded for letting her trace over it with no barrier. Her back pressed to the headboard like it's the only thing keeping her sitting upright. "I shouldn't have said anything I'm sorry". Her hand retreats with a slight tremble.
Just ten minutes ago you were sharing a bottle of some cheap wine Ellie had got from the corner store. Giggling and reminiscing on your intertwined lives, awkward teen phases that melted into adulthood when you let it slip.
You think you might like girls.
Of course you weren't sure, you'd never done anything with a girl, but all your experiences with boys just felt empty. Felt like a chore more than fun. And who better to tell than Ellie? She had been out for years, having had her fair share of girlfriends despite her slightly awkward attitude at times. When the word 'experiment' left your lips you saw a glint in her eyes.
It made her pause, wipe her mouth with the back of her hand and place the bottle onto the nightstand. Making space for it amongst the clutter. The way she looked at you made you tilt your head in confusion, until she opened her mouth.
"You could experiment with me"
"Ellie" you finally speak up, grasping her wrist gently to halt her movement. Fingers grazing over her tattoo and making her gaze snap from the floor to your eyes. God she did really have the prettiest eyes. You'd always thought so, oftentimes comparing the hues to the fresh grass during summer or the moss growing deep in your parents garden. "I want to"
"Yeah?" She looks like she doesn't believe you, eyebrows slightly knitted together. You swallow hard before nodding, Ellie beckons you over with her hand. "Cm'here" when you inch closer you can't help but watch how Ellie flicks her tounge over her slightly chapped lips. Feeling her slowly move to hold onto your waist as you start to straddle her lap while your hands rest on her shoulders. "If you want to stop just tell me okay?"
"Promise" you feel your heart speed up as Ellie leans in. Far enough where you could kiss her but she let's you make the choice. So you do. Pressing your lips to hers and letting your eyes flutter shut.
And it makes it feel like a firework has went off in your chest.
The two of you mesh together like puzzle pieces, soft and slow while your mind races with a million thoughts. You can feel how Ellie is holding back, her hands not moving from their position on your waist. But after a few minutes when you rock your hips forward slightly you could almost swear she groans into your mouth. So you do it again, making her pull back from the kiss.
"Can I touch you?" She was always like this, always asking a million question. Things like if you wanted the last slice of pizza or what movie to put on. She always let you take the lead, like she was afraid of making the wrong choice. You nod but she just chuckles softly. "Words darling" it makes you want to clentch your thighs together, the way her her accent slips into that semi texan drawl that she picked up from Joel.
Your hands come over the top of hers, guding her up and under your tank top "Please Els"
Her fingers are calloused from the years of guitar, running up your skin slowly. Too slowly. But you don't want to complain, not with the way she's looking at you. Eyes following her hands as she pushes the fabric further up your body. You decide to speed it up a little. Taking the fabric in your own hands and pulling it over your head, throwing it somewhere in the room.
Normally this is when you'd start to feel weird. Your body would almost stiffen and your brain would be flooded with thoughts of leaving. A deep guilt or twisted knot in your throat.
But not now.
Not with Ellie.
Instead your stomach feel tighten at how her eyes take you in. Slowly scanning over you like you're the most breath taking thing she's even seen. Her hands pause just before reaching your breasts, her pupils so blown her green eyes as almost black as she looks up at you.
"Take it off?" She whispers. Her finger coming up to ghost over the band of your bra. You nod, reaching around with shaky hands to undo the clasp. Letting the bra fall onto Ellie's lap in the sliver of space between you two. She picks it up and moves it to the side, carefully. Like it was priceless even though it was the cheapest one you owned. Some target bralette that was on sale. It was nothing like how your previous partners treated your belongings. With them it was always thrown across the room like trash, nothing more than an obstacle to their pleasure. "You're so- you're just so- fuck" Ellie mumbles before chewing on her bottom lip. Her cheeks flushed the sweetest shade of pink as her hands slowly creep up your sides, inching towards your breasts.
"Ellie" you whine softly, the ache between your legs become worse with every passing second. Like you were dying for her to just touch you. It makes her lock eyes with you, as her thumb runs over your nipple. Making them stiffen and forcing a soft gasp from your lips.
"Just tell me what you want baby" her lips trail down your neck slowly as she mumbles into your skin. "I'll give you everything just tell me"
Your voice cracks slightly as you finally manage to say "Touch me"
You can feel as a slight smirk creeps onto her lips. Her fingers continuing to toy with your nipples. Just enough to make you needy but not enough to scratch the itch in your core. "I am". The faux innocence in her voice makes you roll your eyes.
"Ellie" you huff, feeling your face heat up at what you're about to say. "Fuck me please? Wanna know what it's like" with that Ellie leans into your neck fully while her hands keep on your chest, starting to place kisses down your skin as your head tips back. You can feel her smile as she moves further down, nipping slightly at your pulse point. Your hand moves to her hair, gripping softly while your hips uncontrollably start to rock against her. Desperate for any friction. Ellie pulls back but before you can complain she taps your hip.
"Straddle my thigh" you tilt you head confused but she gives you a smile before brushing a lose strand of hair out your face. "Trust me". So you do what she's asks, shifting until your legs are either side of her thigh. Ellie brings her hands to your hips, starting to steadily rock you against her. You gasp then moan softly. Almost teary eyed at finally getting some real touch from her. Even if it's clad by several layers of fabric. "See? How's that feel?"
"Good" you say with a shaky voice as Ellie sets your pace. Guiding you with a tight grip. "Feels good Ellie fuck"
"Mm" she coos softly, kissing over your collarbones before nipping at the sensitive spot where your neck and shoulder meet. "Just gotta get you ready yeah? Get you all wet for when I fuck you so good you'll forget about all the guys that couldn't make you cum". Her lips move down to your hardened nipples, wrapping around one of them as you throw you head back in pleasure.
Now this Ellie?
This was a whole new person. Like her awkward shell broke away and left someone who you were going to be thinking about forever. Suddenly all the girls she managed to get with make sense, because she's hardly touched you and you're soaking through your panties.
"Fuck" your hands tighten on her shoulders as her tounge rolls over your nipple. You still your hips, almost afraid that she'll make you cum just from this and that makes her pause. Detaching from you with a confused look.
Her eyebrows knit together and her hand comes up to cup your hot cheek. "You okay?"
Maybe it's the wine, maybe it's the years of subtle crushing. Or maybe it's the way your almost certain there's a wet patch on Ellie's pyjama bottoms but you can't help stumbling out. "Fuck me Ellie"
Her hand snakes back down to your hip and she flips you over, making you squeal as your back hits the sheets. A slight giggle leaving your lips before Ellie crashes hers with yours. Her hand moving down your stomach to the band of your shorts. She pulls back but you don't give her a a chance to ask, already pulling off your shorts and panties. Kicking them onto the floor as Ellie moves down to between your legs.
"What you doing?" You ask with a slight tilt to your head, propping yourself onto your elbows to look down at her.
"What's it looks like?" She asks with a slight chuckle, starting to pepper kisses up your inner thighs but pausing before reaching your dripping pussy. "What? No one eat you out before?". Her smile fades when you shake your head, eyes darting between you and the sight before her. "That's just criminal dude"
Before you can comment on the fact she's just called you dude her tounge licks a fat strip through your folds. Making you gasp and grip the sheets. Skilled tounge circling your clit while her eyes stay focused on you. With a certain flick your hand flies to grab onto her auburn locks, tugging from the root as Ellie moans into you.eyes fluttering shut as your hips start to rutt against her face, changing a high you've never even come close to with others.
"Ellie" you whine as your back arches, soft pants filling the room as her hands creep up your hips and pull you closer. Making you moan so loudly you're almost certain anyone walking by outside would've heard. "Fuck, fuck, Els- gonna-!". Ellie doesn't falter, doesn't give you a second to breath as your orgasm rushes through you. Hips desperately trying to escape Ellie's unforgiving grasp as she works you through it, no sign of caring about the way your thighs clamp around her head unforgivingly.
By the time she pulls away to lick your slick from her lips your brain is fuzzy. Staring up at the same ceiling you helped pull glow in the dark stickers off as Ellie taps your shin.
"You...you okay?" Her voice sounds so small. You finally manage to hold yourself up to look at her. Lips swollen from your teeth sinking into them and face hot to the touch.
"That...Els that-" your words get caught in your throat so instead you reach for the collar of her shirt. Pulling her up until your lips crash together, the taste of yourself filling your mouth as Ellie places a hand on the back of your neck.
When you two part she gives you a cocky smile. Gliding hee finfers cross your cheek before moving the loose babyhairs out of your face. "I'm gonna take that as a five star review then?"
You giggle before fake thinking. "Hmm I don't know Els think I need to try it again, yknow get all the data".
She nods with pursed lips, a serious expression taking over her face. "For science".
"For science".
#lesbian#wlw#fanfic#smut#writer#writing#tlou#fanfiction#ellie williams smut#ellie x reader#ellie the last of us#ellie williams#ellie tlou#the last of us#request#leave me request please
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ii. "think about my offer" - t.w.
pairing: female driver! x toto wolff
word count: 2.8k
warnings: cursing, eventual smut, drug & alcohol usage, power imbalances, age gap relationships, flirting, banter, yearning, use of fic tropes, yadayadayada the works
prev. | next.
sypnosis: with the second grand prix of the season well on its way, there is a lot at stake. not only with the race, but other matters as well.
darkness creeps into the motorhome, the lights of the team motorhomes and paddocks illuminating the space. all around you, everything was brushed with a soft white glow.
his fingers remain under your chin, forcing you to maintain eye contact. in the dim light, you can barely make out the glint swimming in his depths. what was it? desperation? anticipation? you weren’t sure.
toto was a complex man. you were well aware of that.
˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧˖⁺‧₊˚♡
there were days where you would see him glowering around the mercedes paddock, engaged in heated exchanges with engineers. there were moments where you would watch a glimpse of his radiant grin, dimples and all, as mercedes would successfully place or land a podium. of course you had heard the stories about him and his outbursts. his mood seemed to change in a matter of seconds, especially these days.
well, could you really blame him?
mercedes had dominated the world of formula one for so long. with lewis hamilton earning eight world championships, breaking barriers and records along the way, mercedes was the top team. it was a team many drivers dreamed of racing for. when you entered the world of formula one, you could barely get one foot in without hearing the word mercedes or the name lewis hamilton.
that was until redbull had entered the picture in 2022.
now, they were struggling to even maintain second place. hell, there were some races where the team would barely make finish without crashing a car. or suffering from a malfunction.
mercedes was no longer the team. they were on the same level to ferrari and mclaren, fighting tooth and nail for those second and third spots on the podiums.
additionally, you couldn’t help but face the glaring facts. lewis hamilton was leaving mercedes once the 2024 season was complete. their integral driver, the one who had earned them their reputation, their titles, was making an exit.
was there something behind that? something more than the speculations and gossip?
however, you squeeze your eyes shut, sucking in a shaky breath.
“why do you want me on mercedes? these days i feel more like a liability to my team than an asset. i’m sure you just saw the spectacle in the press room.”
“because you’re an inspiration,” the notes in his tone are gentle, “you have inspired so many women to pursue their passions in the world of formula one. not just in terms of racing, but for mechanics, engineers, journalists. you have encouraged so many people to do what they love. you are confident. you know your talents and you utilize them. you have so much fucking potential and it makes me so irrationally angry that james does not see that.”
brows furrowing, your hand grasps toto’s wrist, pulling it away from your face, “does this have something to do with james? it’s common knowledge that you like to hold grudges, toto.”
the principal coughs slightly, “that may have something to do with it.”
“then my answer is no,” venom oozes out of your words, “i’m not some pawn to be used as a ‘fuck you’ to james for leaving mercedes. i’m not taking any part in that. i’m going to need you to leave.”
“that’s fine,” toto nods, responding coolly, “i figured you’d react this way. you are extremely close with james.”
“well no shit,” you mutter, pointing towards the door, “mr. wolff, i am going to ask you kindly once again. please leave.”
“i will,” placing a hand on your shoulder, toto locks eyes with you once more, “think about my deal, little dove. in the meantime, i’ll be waiting.”
“waiting for what?”
“if you’ll accept my deal,” his thumb massages along your collarbone, “you didn’t say yes, but you didn’t say no. i can tell you’re considering it.”
“you’re stubborn,” you retaliate, yet the pressure along your collarbone is relieving, the sore muscles relaxing, “they weren’t wrong about that.”
“i am quite the stubborn man, schatz,” toto can sense your exterior crumbling as his hand glides towards your shoulder blade, massaging gently.
“i know you’re manipulating me with your extremely good looks and nice hands.”
“and yet,” toto’s voice is low and he leans in, mouth hovering by your ear, “you’re falling for it.”
“are you flirting with me, toto wolff?”
“maybe i am,” his breath fans against your ear as his hand delves lower, fingertips brushing along your ribcage, “it seems to be working. look at you, nearly crumpling to your knees at my touch. how long has it been since a man has touched you like this, schatz?”
it takes everything in you not to let out a groan as his hand rests on the small of your back, “y-you need to leave.”
“i will this time,” he murmurs, “but consider my offer, little dove.”
a vibration on the countertop interrupts the principal. snapping out of your trance, you pluck your phone, the illuminated screen notifying you that you had a couple of missed calls, and numerous text messages.
one particularly caught your eye.
it was daniel.
i’m going to be on my way in five. i hope you’re okay. i know you probably don’t want to talk about the press conference very much, but we can just cuddle or something.
“oh fuck.”
toto towers over you, eyes scanning over your phone, “i take it that is my cue to leave.”
“your cue to leave was fifteen minutes ago,” your tone is dry, yet he cracks a smile.
“i hope you know i’m going to keep pestering you until you give me an answer. have a good night, little dove. i’ll see you around, yeah?”
“sure,” you respond. placing two hands on his back, you give him a small push, “you need to go before daniel thinks something weird is going on.”
“is he your boyfriend or something?” toto obliges to your action, the austrian beginning to stroll towards the door of the motorhome.
for him, the exit was merely a few strides. but fuck, was he sticking around. daniel was going to be there in a matter of seconds. who knew what would happen if they happened to cross paths.
similar to toto, daniel was not one to let things go.
“no!” you snap, “leaaaavveee!”
“fine, fine,” toto huffs, “think about my offer, schatz. i will see you around.”
as the principal slides out of the door, you bring a hand to your temple, massaging it.
what the actual fuck just happened?
seconds later, a series of knocks breaks the silence.
“come in!”
daniel peeks his head in, concern painting his features as he notices your state, “why are you still in your suit?”
shrugging you point to your phone, “i was in the middle of an intense phone call when you texted.”
“ah,” he opens the door, a bottle of wine in one hand, a bag in the other, “i brought food, if that’s all right? i figured you would need some after that prick grilled you in the press room.”
“can we talk about something else?” you groan, crossing over to the couch. you flop on it dramatically, earning a laugh from daniel.
“we could talk about how max adores you. i think kelly has some competition.”
“i wouldn’t say that,” you lift your head up, fighting a smile as daniel pulls a series of parcels from the bag, “what did you get?”
“something i knew the american would like,” he teases, ripping open a few wrappers, “a classic cheeseburger with fries. i hope they’re not soggy. i ordered it plain since i know how you are about condiments.”
“no shake with that?” you giggle, sitting up. wrapping your arms around daniel, you bury your head into his shoulder, “it’s a been a fucking day, let me tell you.”
“yeah?” he stuffs a fry in his mouth, “tell me about it.”
“well,” you’re tempted to spill every single detail about what just occurred merely minutes ago. however, as daniel’s gaze meets yours, you hesitate, “i’m concerned about my future with williams.”
“why do you say that?” his eyes narrow, brow furrowing, “you’ve never said anything like that till now. did something happen on the way back from the press conference?”
“no, no, no,” you respond a little too quickly, “i just – i don’t know. you of all people know how quickly things change in this environment and–”
“hey,” daniel lays a hand on your thigh, “i think you need some rest. you’ve had a real fucking busy day. we can talk about your future plans in the morning.”
“but what if i want to talk about them now?”
“you of all people know that i am not one to tell people what to do or how to live their lives,” daniel’s eyes harden, the words stern, “but you need to decompress. take your mind off racing for a minute. your life is not all about racing. you need to take care of yourself too.”
“i know,” you allow him to wrap an arm around your shoulders, bringing you in close, “it’s too much to think about sometimes.”
“tell me about it,” daniel places a peck on your temple as you nestle your head into his collarbone, “how about we eat, and maybe we can talk about it later?”
“sounds like a plan to me,” you nod, “hey, i have a question for you.”
“and that is?”
reaching for a box of fries, you fiddle with it, “are there speculations that we’re dating?”
˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧˖⁺‧₊˚♡
“how do you think that went?”
james is to your right, tablet in hand. absentmindedly, you fiddle with the visor on your helmet, “all right.”
“just all right?” james queries, “you have pole position for tomorrow and you think that went just all right?”
“well,” you shrug, “we all know that max is going to overtake me, so i can’t be too hopeful.”
“such a pessimist,” james chuckles, placing a tender hand on your shoulder, “you don’t seem like you’re quite here today. i don’t want to press, but is something on your mind? you know you can tell me, right?”
there was quite a lot on your mind, actually.
in the days following the bahrain grand prix, it was almost as if your mind was a torrent of anxiety, fear, and numerous emotions. there were too many to decipher, constantly overwhelming you, distracting you from the matter at hand.
although you felt like you weren’t quite on this planet, you somehow managed to breeze past max in qualifying. it was only by hundredths of seconds, but it was a victory nonetheless. charles leclerc was behind max in the third position on the grid. alex was twelfth, which was not great but not terrible.
the encounter with toto was ever-present, consuming your thoughts whole. part of you wanted to confess the entire situation to james, but you knew that you had to keep it to yourself. this was no time to stir up any drama or rivalry between the two principals.
you couldn’t stop thinking about the way his hand drifted, how his voice shifted when he spoke to you. it was a far contrast from the way he spoke in interviews or to his drivers. it was rich yet husky, brimming with lust. there were gentle notes inflected in it as well, almost if he was admiring you. it was reminiscent of how one would speak of their favorite piece of artwork, or their most prized possession.
from his point of view, were you really a prize to be won? were you really that important? or were you the latter?
were you simply a pawn in his game?
the way he looked at you told you a different story.
there was no calculation. no coldness. there was no trace of the hardened, steely gaze he usually presented to his peers, to journalists, and to the general public.
there was simply a softness. as if you were one of his weak spots. you could remember him looking at you hungrily, as if he was taking in every single detail of the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
since the encounter in your motorhome, you had only bumped into the principal twice. once was on your entrance to the paddocks with james, where you exchanged formal greetings. the other was after the last practice session, where he congratulated you for your time, wishing you luck in qualifying.
the most odd aspect of it all was that you could count the number of exchanges you had with the principal on your fingers. most of it was formalities, either with the press lurking around, or when you attended events. there were no personal meetings before. it was all business or related to racing.
so he truly meant it when he had mentioned he had his eye on you for a while.
the only thing you could remember was an afterparty after the monaco grand prix in 2023. although max had won the race, both lewis and george had placed fourth and fifth. those were significant placements, especially on a track like monaco. you had placed eleventh, which was pretty monumental at the time.
around four a.m. at the afterparty, toto approached you. his face was flushed, cheeks tinged nearly crimson from the alcohol. the scent lingered on his breath, his hair was tousled, and a sheen of sweat clung to his skin. yet he was still utterly gorgeous, offering you a brilliant smile.
“i didn’t think the golden girl of formula one would make an appearance!”
“golden girl?”
“well of course,” he nodded fervently, the words slurred ever so slightly, “you shine like the sun. so that means you’re a golden girl!”
“mr. wolff,” your laughter was like bells, ringing so beautifully in the principals’ ears, “i think you’re pretty drunk.”
“let’s get a drink or two together. then you can really see that i’m not the big bad wolf.”
you ended up declining his offer, but he didn’t persist, leaving you to join daniel, lando, and oscar on the dancefloor. your heart was racing, and you were sure it had nothing to do with the pounding bass or alcohol consumption.
it was due to the fact that you had a tiny crush on the principal.
ever since you had sat behind the wheel of a race car, you were attracted to the principal. in your teenage years, you had dreamed of racing for mercedes, under the wing of toto. you swooned whenever you logged onto tumblr and read fanfics. you were nearly breathless every time you saw him pop up on your youtube feed.
fuck, even when you watched drive to survive on netflix, you couldn’t help but catch yourself rewinding back to the interviews with toto.
so when he offered to buy you a drink or two in monaco, you had to bite your tongue to say yes. when he entered your motorhome and had you pinned against the counter, you were a little weak in the knees. when he used little dove or schatz, it did leave your heart skipping a beat.
since that moment in monaco, things had been strictly professional. now, that line was starting to blur thanks to the motorhome incident. every time you noticed the principal, you could sense the tension in the air. it clouded nearly everything, thick and electric, sending a shiver down your spine every time the two of you locked eyes.
there was no doubt that the team principal was breathtaking. yet, he was almost thirty years older than you. additionally, you couldn’t help but think about the way the entire formula one world would react the moment they caught wind of mr. wolff and the american girl. the horrible treatment from the media would only skyrocket.
there was also the other elephant in the room.
after you asked daniel whether or not there were speculations the two of you were dating, he distanced himself. although he had said no, you couldn’t help but wonder if he wanted the world to think the two of you were together.
before, the two of you were almost inseparable. after alex, he was the first driver to welcome you to the world of formula one with open arms, often encouraging you, offering advice, and defending your name tirelessly. he was constantly reposting videos of you all over his social media, captioning them along the lines of, “look at my american girl go!” or “go best friend, that’s my best friend!”
of course, there were little rumors swirling around on social media that the two of you were an item. fans often made edits of the two of you, saying things like, “they’ll never tell us they’re dating but in my head they’re together” or “that aussie boy loves his american girl <3”
now, you found yourself distracted. too distracted. between the whole toto debacle, questioning your loyalty to williams, the benefits of joining mercedes, and daniel leaving you out high and dry, you were a mess.
a hot mess, at the very least.
to make matters worse, tomorrow was the biggest race of your season. if not, the biggest race of your life.
and god only knew what tomorrow was going to bring.
˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧˖⁺‧₊˚♡
thank you so much for reading! let me know if you would like to be tagged! <3 this is going to be a multi-chapter series so buckle up y'all. it's about to get juicy!
#f1#formula 1#toto wolff#toto wolff x reader#toto wolff x you#toto wolff x y/n#daniel ricciardo#formula one x reader#formula one x you#formula one x y/n#formula one imagine#formula one fanfiction#charles leclerc#max verstappen#lewis hamilton#george russell
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the girl next door 30
Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.
Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.
Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.
This lewk but silverfox
Steve says your name again. You open your eyes, your ears ringing, your scalp on fire. Your world is over, if it ever really was. You reach up to touch your searing tears and smear them aside with your knuckles.
"Sweetie, we haven't done anything yet. You can stay here with mom, I can get an annulment tonight. Then we can just see how far you make it."
"Stop, please," you beg.
"It's your choice. Are you going to take care of your mom or let her down... again?"
"You're mean," you quiver.
"I'm honest, sweetie, and I'm doing you a favor. How many others have tried to help? Not even family, huh?"
"Please, I can't think," you touch your temples and sob.
He sucks his teeth and taps the table. He stands and sighs as his hands go to his hips. He looms before he speaks again.
"Fine, think about it. When you've made up your mind, put your bathing suit on and come enjoy the pool."
He stares at you before he finally goes. You feel stuck and it's more than the pudding. The front door opens and closes and you languish as you are.
His last words say it all. You both know your only choice. He knows you have to go along with him. That inevitability cannot make you move. Not right then.
But you will. You have to. Not just for mom, but for you. To survive.
You stand without thinking, entirely hollow. Your body moves without conscious effort. You go through the motions of existing. Breath in, breath out.
You go to the bathroom and undress, vision a blur, the air thick and strangling. You pull on the still damp swimsuit, the bottoms twist and chafe as you shimmy them on, and the top seems even smaller as you knot up the front tightly. You turn without hesitation, head down, feet heavy, watching each step as if they are not your own.
The sun beams down but you’re frigid. Goosebumps rise across your skin and shade ripples above as you walk around the fence and into Steve’s yard. As you get to the back gate, you’re dizzy. You have to keep going. Just like you always have.
You can tell yourself it’s for your mom. It’s as much out of your own cowardice. And even if it is helping her, it can only hurt her too. He married her and yet he wants you. None of it makes any sense.
You come into the backyard, blinking through dry, salty eyes. You waver on your feet as you stop and peer around the empty space. The pool trickles soft as the filter hum and birds cheep as if all is well. You glance at the deck; your mother isn’t there.
Maybe you imagined it. Maybe you’re delusional. Just like in the hospital when you thought Steve said all that. Or had he?
You walk stiffly to the edge of the pool and look down at your reflection in the crystalline surface. You inhale the pollen-laced air and for a moment see yourself falling into the water and sinking to the bottom. It would be so easy to never come back up.
“Sweetie,” Steve’s voice startles you and you turn to face him as he crosses the lawn. “There you are.”
He smiles and swoops his shirt over his head, “I was just putting your mom to bed. She’s not feeling well.”
You bend your arm across your middle, rubbing your other self-consciously. He’s shameless as he looks you up and down. He steps out of his sandals and purrs as he comes closer.
“That suit looks so good on you, baby,” he touches your bare shoulders and you shiver. Baby? “And off.”
He winks as his eyes fall to your cleavage. You gulp and he traces the movement with his thumb before drawing away. He bites his lip and shifts on his feet, tugging at the top of his shorts. You notice how the fabric twitches.
You’re disgusted. Not only by him but with yourself. You turn back to the pool and exhale, “can I get in?”
“Sure, sweetie, do whatever you like,” he purrs as he lowers himself to sit on the edge, “water’s nice.”
He pushes himself off into the depths and you peer down. You ease down and slip into the water, gasping at the temperature. You hug yourself. Steve moves towards you and you flinch.
“Sweetie,” he warns as he reaches for you, “isn’t this nice?” He puts his hands around your hips as he wades closer, pulling you to face him, “mmm, you are so beautiful, you know that?”
You squirm and look away. You should be flattered, you should feel good, he’s calling you beautiful, but you just feel dirty. Your lashes flutter and you make yourself look at him as his fingertips press into your flesh.
“Thank you,” you breathe.
“It doesn’t have to be... it can be nice,” he coaxes, “can I kiss you?”
Your eyes widen and your cheeks turn hot, “I... never...”
“It’s okay, I’ll be gentle,” he grits.
You can’t talk. Your chest is all knotted up. You just nod.
He trails his hand up your hip and along your stomach, brushing the curve of your chest as you tremble. He strokes your throat and grips your chin. He tilts your head up and you close your eyes. Your nose tingles, as if you might cry again.
He shifts even closer and leans in. His hot breath grazes over you and he presses his lips to yours. His other arm hooks around you and he holds you flush to him. Your chest is crushed to his firm muscles as he curls his fingers into your side. He clings to you, his tongue tracing the crease between your lips.
He hums and urges his way past your resistance. His tongue invades and you nearly choke. It feels weird; cool within the warmth of your mouth. He squeezes you tighter and turns you. You let him. You’re whatever he wants you to be.
He pushes you against the pool wall. His hand drifts down your side and over your bottom. He feels along your thigh and urges your leg up, bending it around him. You take his intent and wrap your other one around his waist as he lifts you higher.
He stays stuck to your mouth, suffocating you against the tile as his hand retreats and tickles along your side. It sends another chill through you as he drinks you in greedily. His touch crawls up between your bodies and he gropes your chest through the suit. You feel your nipple bud against his palm and squeak.
He circles your rigid nipple with his thumb and purrs into you. His mouth slips across your cheek, smearing saliva along your flesh as the smell of chlorine wafts into your nose. You turn your head, breathless and he tugs at the knot in the bikini. It comes undone and you gasp.
“Please,” you beg, “slow...”
“I’m being slow, sweetie, promise,” he mutters against your cheekbone, stretching his hand over your naked tit. You whine as he squeezes, kneading as you begin to wiggle. You feel him prodding you between your legs. You let out another pathetic noise and push on his arm. “You feel so good.”
“Steve,” you quaver, “please...”
He hums as he continues to toy with you. You can’t stop him. You brace yourself against the pool wall and hide behind your eyelids. He slides down as your legs fall away from him, your body draining of any strength. He holds your waist as he comes eye level with your chest and buries his face between your tits.
You whimper as he turns to nib and suck at your flesh, letting out snarls as he makes a path to your nipple. As he puts his mouth around the hard bud, it sends a frightening zing through you. The pluck in your core confuses you. You’re not supposed to like it.
“Mmmm,” he sucks on you as his hand cups the other side of your chest, squeezing as he rolls your nipple between his teeth.
His tongue swirls around and another tide courses inside of you. You open your eyes and look down at him. The sight stuns you. It’s intoxicating. Your body doesn’t feel like your own and yet it’s all very intense.
He pops his mouth off and looks up at you, his face flushed and his eyes cloudy, “you taste so good, sweetie.”
#steve rogers#this chapter actually made me sick#dark steve rogers#dark!steve rogers#steve rogers x reader#drabble#series#au#silverfox au#captain america#the girl next door#avengers#mcu#marvel
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wrong;
pairing: könig x f!reader
wordcount: 2.5k+
warnings: fluff?
note: ngl i had fun making this and i hope yall get a laugh from this or something (also on AO3)
summary:
of all the kortac members you’ve worked and hung out with, you try to avoid könig the most. the austrian man comes off as normal and even endearing at first, masking his anxiety with comedy, always being thoughtful of people's needs and personal space. but the more you hung out with him the more you realise he might actually have a woman held hostage in his house. he likes to talk about her, mostly innocuous comments about her new hobbies, but from time to time könig lets out insane comments in such a casual tone that rendered you and other kortac operators speechless.
bunny doesn't like men so when my kitchen was renovated i had to put her in the basement..
—sometimes she misbehaves so much i want to hit her but i can't so i had to leash her.
no one dares to talk about his bunny, you notice everyone skirting around the subject and never asking him directly about her even though he’s actively bringing her up in conversations. you don’t mind being around him during assignments, since he’s usually too busy saving people’s lives and covering his teammates backs to think about his ‘bunny’. but outside of combat? at the base? at karaoke or bars? you avoid him as much as possible.
until you slipped up, of course.
you were tired; unwashed, thinking only of the food in front of you and the long luxurious cold shower you’re going to have right after.
hearing the word ‘sick’ somewhere in your vincinity you immediately went into worry mode and asked follow up questions before your brain could determine who was talking.
horangi lets out a cough next to you, and only then you realise who said the word ‘sick’ and about whom.
the usually boisterous man looked so downtrodden, barely eating his dinner, moving his food around his metal tray.
“it’s bunny..” he whined, his hood blowing forwards for a moment before settling back in place.
“i’m sorry to hear that.” you offered, curtly. you thought of the least offensive thing you could muster that wouldn’t evoke any other bunny related tidbits. “how long until your assignment’s over?”
“two months.”
“i’m sure she’ll be fine.” you assured him, “hope she feels better soon, könig.”
he rested his chin on his open palm, “she can’t take care of herself, i had a friend stay at my house to take care of her.”
you glance at horangi, hoping he’d steer the conversation away. he halfheartedly shrugged as he dug into his food, unwilling to help. you dug your own grave, the shrug seems to imply.
“your friend is probably doing their best, you just have to trust them.”
horangi raised his brows and smirked at you. you poked him with one of the corners of your metal tray playfully when you two were done eating. laughing as he bumps your hip with his, saying something in korean before answering, “you have to learn to evade the bunny topic yourself. you did good.”
perhaps this is the nicest, or the only thing anyone has ever dared to say about his captive, because he turned up at your shared bunk that night. stiletto immediately fiddled with her butterfly knife when she saw who was at the door.
“may i talk to you?” his gaze jumped from your eyes to something behind you before looking at you again quickly and looking away again.
stiletto snarked at him from her bed, “you can talk over there with the door open.”
thankful for her caution, you see könig doesn’t seem too bothered by it.
“i’m worried about bunny.” he lowered his voice, bending a little so his head was closer to yours.
“oi! three feet apart!” you hear her yell alongside the soft clitter-clatter of her butterfly knife.
könig straightened up immediately, it’s so funny seeing him obey stiletto without question even though he’s her senior in age and rank.
“your friend is with bunny, no?” you tried reassuring him.
“ja.” he squares up to his full height, making you step back to even be able to look at his face. “she is taking care of bunny but she is no doctor.”
“neither am i.” you shrugged, turning to look at stiletto for reassurance.
to your relief she grumbled at the colonel, “get to the point, könig.”
the austrian threw a look at your bunkmate before looking back down at you.“i want you to go see her.”
your heart gave a little jolt, and you’re sure your whole body did too.
what.
blinking slowly, you turn your head to give stiletto a wide-eyed stare before looking back at him. “you want me to go see… your girl?”
his expression shifted, you could see the twinkle in his eyes hearing you’re not outright rejecting his proposal. “ja, ja, i want you to see bunny. you seem like a nice person. i want you to check up on bunny, and maybe stay with her until i come back.”
“stay?” you repeated. “at your house? where bunny is?”
nodding excitedly, he stepped forwards, “ja, exactly. i’ll pay your tickets.”
you want to look back and make faces at your roommate but out of respect you just look as confused as you could and tell him you would give him an answer tomorrow.
as soon as the door closed and könig’s footsteps can no longer be heard, stiletto hissed from her bed, “ma che cazzo, he is crazy.”
plopping down next to her, “i feel sorry, though.”
she slapped your upper arm, “his crazy is catching. what the fuck?”
“i mean, if he wants me to visit then how bad could the situation be, right?” you try to make sense of his actions. “if bad comes to worse i can always call the police.”
stiletto groaned, “the police could be in on it, idiota.”
she’s right.
but,
he’s your co-worker. if you go missing during your planned trip to austria on könig’s dime, there would definitely be an investigation, right? there’s paper trail and receipts and everything.
you voice your thoughts to your roommate and she sighs in defeat.
“your funeral, bunny number two.”
—
you arrived at könig’s little countryside (remote) house, with its dilapidated (creepy) looking roof and peeling windowsill. a gigantic rabbit greeted you in his lush front garden, happily chewing on a celery stalk and hopping away from the iron gate as you approached.
hop? that thing looks like it could gallop. there must be something in the water here that makes everything grow so large. how far is chernobyl from this place, again?
staring at his front door an embarrassingly long time, you took a quick and deep breath before knocking. his front door felt so foreboding you instinctively step back right after.
the woman greeting you with a smile looks a little bit older than you, with a charming smile that would definitely make you feel safe if you’ve never heard of the way könig talks about his girlfriend.
“hi, im here to see……” your eyes dart around your peripherals to make sure there’s no one that could ambush you, “..bunny?”
she gestured at the rabbit in the patch of sunlight behind you.
the world as you know it crumbled before your eyes. the sun shone brighter, the dilapidated windows look fine, and did you call his cabin creepy earlier? you meant cosy.
you blinked slowly. “that’s.. bunny?” you reiterated, turning halfway back at the rabbit while pointing at it.
“ja, bunny is rabbit in english? yes?” she sounded a little impatient, “are you a vet? she is all better now.” its clear from her tone and the hard stare she gave you that she’s offended of könig’s distrust in her ability to take care of his pet rabbit.
putting your hand up, “no, i’m his friend.” you stared back at the rabbit again for a little longer, making sure its actually a rabbit and not a woman in a realistic rabbit suit. you’ve seen the $15000 collie suit that went viral a few years back, “so…. könig’s girlfriend doesn't live here?”
crossing her arms, it was her turn to blink slowly. “girlfriend? i’ve only seen him bring men home.”
as much as you wanted to laugh out loud at the second big misunderstanding this poor man has in his life, it makes complete sense why she would think that way. “i see.” was all you could muster.
“come in, then.” she offered.
taking note of where the basement is as she points at things while giving you a tour, you opened the door to be immediately greeted by a well lit space, with a little rabbit enclosure at the back, a waist high fence separating the space from the rest of the basement. it had one of those hamster wheels although a much larger size, a pet bed, and neat stack of hay just outside the fence gate. you took careful steps further down in the basement, and you do see a little clasp and a leash hanging off the wall by the pet bed.
the first thing you after your brain process the whole information is run back outside and update the group chat.
stiletto had to personally call you fifteen minutes later because you weren’t active in the group chat.
könig came home to bunny sitting on what looked like a little trampoline with an umbrella on top of it, munching on some hay with pieces of flowers and fruits strewn about. seeing him, bunny hopped off her little perch. his little fluff of happiness is coming with her ears all perked up to flop on her side by his feet. here are little bows on both her ears and as he crouched down könig could feel all his stress melt away from the sight. picking bunny up, he walked in to find your bags packed and ready by the front door, your socks neatly placed inside each of your shoes.
bunny wiggled as könig roamed his house to look for you, presumably wanting to go back to her feast of hay and flowers and fruits that you set up for her. but when he opened the front door and set her down, she instead hopped further into the home, towards the basement door.
“there’s no man around for you to fear, häschen.” he coos, before looking at the direction bunny is heading.
first thing he saw was you had gathered more hay; könig notes its the expensive one he only gets when he receives his yearly bonus, the old pet bed looks cleaned, and there’s a new even bigger one by the wheel. he spots you in the corner fastening the leash hook.
“you want beer?” he offered in lieu of a greeting. you could hear the smile in his voice.
bunny punched the gate, signalling that she wants to go in the enclosure to possibly use the wheel or be with you. he unlatched the gate and watched with fascination as she hopped over to you, standing on her hind legs to see what you’re doing.
“oh hey könig, i’m just about done.” you pointed at the little sand pit next to the stairs, “careful of the sand pit.”
you heard him shuffle around behind you. the man is lazy and drags his feet when he’s not in combat. “you built this for bunny?” he sounded surprised, the sound of sand being played with grabbed your attention so you opted to stop fiddling with the hook and come see what he’s doing.
bunny followed you as you walked towards him, “yeah, we pitched in for a lot of the stuff. there’s a card upstairs.”
the tall man was grabbing some sand visibly stiffened at your reply. könig turned his head slowly towards you, “we?” the casualness dropped off his posture at that moment. “card?”
hearing the scepticism in his voice, you nodded and pointed at the door to usher him upstairs.
he stayed, looks down at the sand as if it was the most interesting thing in the world for him. bunny filled the long pause with her little clucks and chatters as you absentmindedly pet her. “i thought you guys didn’t like bunny..” he said weakly, returning to playing with the sand, slower this time.
oh no.
looking at it from his perspective, you saw how shitty you all must’ve looked. he had mentioned how sick his pet was and no one asked a single question nor seemed to care.
at this point bunny has sensed his distress and made her way towards him to cuddle. she’s really good at that, sensing peoples moods and coming over to offer comfort.
you think you will just rip the bandage off, or maybe at this point it’s more like giving him a surprise brazilian wax. “könig we thought bunny was your girlfriend. and you chain her up in the basement and everything.”
“WAS? WAS MEINST DU???” he turned your head to you so fast you could see little beads of sweat coming off his hair.
you think he’s yelling WHAT DO YOU MEAN??? so you continued on, swallowing thickly. “none of us were ever sure if you were talking about an animal or a person and we just…. yeah…” the look of horror in könig’s eyes was reflected in his overall disposition which prompted bunny to snuggle into his chest deeper. “i’m sorry könig…”
as you can see his world unravelling before him, you decided this would be the perfect time to leave him and his little rabbit alone.
a text in the big group chat popped up later that night.
#könig x reader#konig x reader#könig x you#konig x you#call of duty imagines#call of duty#scuffed writing
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Couched In Metaphor
"You want a beer man?"
Eddie tilts a look over his shoulder, already halfway through the doorway to his kitchen, and Tommy shoots a glance at his watch. "Mmm, no can do. I'm meeting Evan in a bit."
"Is this my cue to act a fool for your attention?"
There's a moment where Tommy wants to double down on defense for Evan, but it's a joke, it's just a joke and if Evan were right next to him he'd definitely enjoy the gentle ribbing. He tries not to examine the immediate desire to defend him too closely. Too much, too soon, it's barely been a few months.
"And he's got jokes, ladies and gentlemen."
Eddie grins: wide, amused. It's what he came for - the chance to get Eddie out of his own head for a few hours. "You guys doing anything special?"
"We're on a mission to pick out a new couch, apparently."
When Eddie stills, Tommy swears it's like he's just been frozen in place; the beer in his hand raised halfway to his mouth, lips pursed, brows raised, a cartoon character stuck in time. He plays it off a moment later, hastily lowering the bottle, nodding. "Don't let him bring a clipboard."
It's Tommy's turn to wrinkle his brow.
"No good can come when that man's got a prioritized list, Tommy, I'm serious."
"So we're ignoring the fact that there's apparently something about tagging along for furniture shopping that just made you freeze frame?"
Eddie tilts his head, squints his eyes, takes a drag off his beer. "That's a Buck and Tommy conversation, not an Eddie and Tommy conversation. You wanna know more about the clipboard, though, I've got about thirty horror stories."
---
"I feel like maybe I've been bamboozled," Tommy says, three furniture stores in. The couch Evan is currently testing is -- just like every other couch they've looked at so far.
"None of them have been right."
He's got that look in his eyes like he's been knocking on doors in a structure fire for too long.
"Are we worried about aesthetics, here, or comfort, or whether or not they fit the space? Eddie warned me about Clipboard Buck but maybe you should pull up your notes app and make a pro con list."
Evan flushes. Darts a glance down at his feet, and his thumbs dig into the seams of his hoodie pocket. "I just thought I'd walk in and find what I was looking for. Sort of thought it'd just - call to me, or something."
"It's a couch Evan, not a lifetime commitment."
And Evan flushes deeper, cheeks pinking, lips twisting. Tommy, who's been hovering nearby while Evan tests out what feels like half a million identical couches, feels himself sigh, bending and twisting to settle next to him, one hand reaching out to squeeze at Evan's knee.
"So it seems like maybe there's a story here I'm not aware of."
It sort of tumbles out of Evan, then, a rush of half apologies and stumbling explanations, and Tommy thinks of the snatches of conversations they've had about their past partners, their admittedly not great parents.
"And - you know, I just thought. I mean. I figured." He gestures, vaguely, and then more pointedly, a glance from beneath his lashes to catch Tommy's gaze as he waggles a finger between the two of them.
Oh.
Tommy waits a beat. Sometimes it's better to let Evan work it out in his own head for a second.
Also, he's - sort of reeling, a bit. Too much, too soon, he'd thought, but here he was, unaware of the significance of being asked on this little errand until he suddenly wasn't, and -
"Sorry. That's - it's not like - anyway, I've clearly put way too much weight into the couch thing, you're right, it's just a couch."
He's been ignoring the urge to curl his fingers around Evan's for the better part of two hours, now. He doesn't question it, usually, but in this specific scenario it's felt too couple-y, too forward, too much like begging a sales associate to make some assumptions Evan wasn't prepared to deal with.
Evan's still twisting his hands together inside the pocket of his jacket, and Tommy makes the snap decision before he can talk himself out of it - two fingers tucking into the pocket, pressing into the meat of Evan's palm, pressing up and pulling without any real force, and it's like Evan deflates, a bit, hand immediately following the soft drag out of the fabric to curl four fingers around Tommy's palm.
"It doesn't have to be just a couch."
---
They have their first fight, navigating the stairwell up to Evan's floor, and situate it in the room in stony silence. Tommy considers leaving, once it's exactly as Evan wants it. He's good at that - jumping ship at the first sign of trouble, and he has to swallow the urge down while Evan glares a hole into the armrest.
He's just opening his mouth to speak when Evan's voice drifts over to him, quieter than he'd expected. "I really don't want it to just be a couch."
And Tommy's never -
He's dated plenty of people - cared for less, and loved very few, but he's never steeped shit in metaphor and he's also never gone from "attracted to the straight guy again" to "this inanimate object is a symbol of our relationship" in -- ever.
"Evan."
There's a flatness to his voice that only ever comes out when he's truly upset, and he hates it, hates that he can just shut it all off. He makes a conscious effort, unfurls the fists shoved into his pants pockets. Tries again.
"We're hiring someone if you ever wanna move that damn thing again."
Evan's smile splits across his face like the sun breaking over the horizon.
---
Christopher eyes the couch with suspicion.
"It's a lot bigger than your old ones," he finally manages, with a shifty glance between the two of them, and Tommy has to remind himself that Evan had gone down a rabbit hole of research trying to find the best way to clean leather once they'd finally gotten over themselves and proceeded with the making up part of their argument.
Eddie clocks the look running across his face, and makes a face at Evan. Evan tucks his tongue into his cheek, but he can't quite hide his grin, and Tommy tries not to imagine the next time they'll need to go furniture shopping.
---
"Can I admit something?" Evan asks, fingers shifting across the expanse of Tommy's chest, head tucked neatly beneath his chin.
Tommy hums, still half asleep, trying to ignore the crick in his neck and the wide expanse of his lower back that keeps sinking into the crack between the cushions.
Evan presses his lips lazily into the side of Tommy's neck. "I actually hate this couch. It's the worst."
Tommy laughs, and laughs, and laughs some more when Evan presses up on his elbow to pout straight into his face.
Tommy can't help but curl a palm around his jaw, ring and middle finger sliding up to cup his cheek, reaching for the marks at his brow. "Can we skip the torture of another horrendous shopping trip and just toss this one to the curb when I ask you to move in with me?"
He only stills for half a moment, eyes already bright and wide and happy before he nods. "When?" he repeats, all puppy enthusiasm as he buries his face back in Tommy's neck.
"Keep it to yourself, though, I haven't decided how I'm gonna ask. Wouldn't want to ruin the surprise."
Evan hums, fingers drifting down his arm, now - it's a familiar, teasing path that always drives Tommy a little wild, and - yep, they skate over his wrist, dancing right along the length of his fingers and down across his hip, little finger spreading wide towards his inseam.
---
Evan breaks his couch the first night all his things have been unpacked.
He makes a little pleased hum, low in his throat, when Tommy pulls up the same site he'd used to buy it, adds three to his cart, and passes the laptop off to Evan for opinions. Curls a warm hand around the back of Tommy's neck, presses his lips to the crown of Tommy's head. Tommy takes a moment to enjoy the feel of it.
"Pick one," he manages through gritted teeth when Evan nips at his earlobe.
"It's just a couch, babe, whichever one you want."
#buck x tommy#bucktommy#bucktommy fic#listen i'm not to the couch part in my binge yet i just caught it in an edit and this came out#911 fic
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the absolute INSANITY of the pushing your s/o away thing with the crazy ass boy gang… it’s like triggering a dog’s prey drive but for serial killers w abandonment issues
CRAZY ASS BOYS GANG + PUSHING THEIR HAND AWAY/REJECTING AFFECTION
❥ who gets pissed the fuck off ❥
Billy Loomis - Is irritated off rip. Billy plays it cool but he needs physical affection from you. He’s casual about it so he flies under the radar, but this is a stage five clinger. He’s always doing something small. Touching your fingers. A hand on your back. Neck. Sitting behind you instead of putting you directly in his lap. It’s little stuff. Hovering. Smack his hand away one of these times and his jaw clenches right away. “What the hell is your problem?” Please snuggle up to him and don’t start world war 3. It’s not worth the joke.
Kevin Khatchadourian - Quick question, why do this to yourself? Kevin does not need, nor does he particularly enjoy, physical contact. Period. He is gracious enough to give you physical contact because he knows you’re built different (pathetic). For you to then turn around and spit in the face of him being kind enough to meet your needs? …. Quite crazy of you. The look he gives you is pure confusion because he’s honest to God baffled. What do you want to accomplish here? Go ahead and start begging now, because he’s not touching you for a long while.
Sparrow!Ben Hargreeves - Swings wildly between damn near dodging any physical affection you attempt to give him to hanging off you like a squid on a ship. No in-between. For you to have the audacity to reject him when he’s feeling clingy? How dare you. He doesn’t have to beg anyone for attention! Did you forget who you’re dating? Doesn’t even care if you did it with obvious playfulness. He’s sensitive. He’s tender. He’s a bitch. He goes to get up and leave entirely and you have to grab him and beg him to cuddle so this doesn’t become a week long cold war. Happy ego stroking!
Stu Macher - What you’re not about to do is ruin his mood. Baby, he’s about to ruin yours. How about that? If you push his hands off you once he enjoys a little playful bitchiness. Playing hard to get. He likes to chase, it’s cool. Twice? Okay…. We’re irritating him. Three times? He’s gonna grab your hand, stop smiling, and stare at you. When he places his hand back where it belongs, on your thigh, don’t act up again. He could make your whole week go to shit. Don’t start wars you won’t win. He’s the king of playing stupid games and winning stupid prizes.
Nathan Prescott - Has to bluster and get visibly pissed off because he is rejection sensitive to a degree that is astounding, frankly. Let you see him upset after he tried to be affectionate and you said no? Hah! Not fucking likely. Being physically affectionate in the first place doesn’t come easy to him. Quality time is more his speed. Even worse if it wasn’t a sexual advance he was making. He tried to wrap an arm around you and you shrug him off? You’ll be lucky to get a hello out of him for the next week. Good luck soldier.
David Mccall - Outwardly, he pretends to be despondent and sheepish when you bat his hand away. He’s using sadness as a shield. If he’s sad then you might feel bad and give in. He’ll use any tool in his arsenal to get his way. One of his greatest skills is speaking in a soft voice, just shy of how you’d speak to a toddler, and telling you: “I didn’t mean to upset you, sweetheart. I’m sorry.” This is all to hide the fact that you rejecting him in any way, shape, or form makes him so angry he can barely think. You might be able to catch the rage hidden behind the veil. If you’re quick enough. David puts on a convincing show, but his gentle smile is twitching at the edges.
❥ who gets sad and mopey ❥
Jordan Li - Oh you pushed them away? No, that’s cool, it’s totally fine. You can want space. Everyone’s entitled to their own space bubble. Of course. Are you having a bad day? Are you mad at them? Did they do something wrong? Did they piss you off? These are the types of questions Jordan is going to “casually” ask for the next ten minutes while they sit really close to you. They’re not touching you! They always sit with their legs spread so wide. Their arm isn’t around you, it’s on the back of the couch. You’re nitpicking here, babe. They’re staring at you with their big brown eyes. No, they didn’t get any closer while you weren’t looking.
Josh Washington - Why would you do this to him? Don’t push his hand off you unless you mean it or you’re being obviously playful about it. If you pretend to be mad at him while you do it, no matter how unconvincing of an actor you are, he will believe you. Sensitive king. He also won’t go to touch you again until you initiate the contact. Physical touch is reassuring and comforting to him but even he (category five clinger) gets touch aversion at times. As observant as he is, he knows some people are uncomfortable asserting their boundaries, so they’ll try to soften the blow of saying no by being “playful”. He cannot take the risk! You could mean it but don’t want to hurt his feelings. Josh interprets many playful no’s as real ones. Better safe than sorry.
❥ secret third worse thing ❥
Sebastian Valmont - Doesn’t take it for anything more than what it is. If you’re being playful he recognizes it. If you’re seriously not wanting to be touched at any given moment he understands that as well. However, in the case of being playful, you’ve started a war you can’t win. Because, as much as Sebastian enjoys chasing you… Sebastian also likes to be chased. Ten minutes from now you’ll go to give Sebastian’s cheek a kiss and he’s going to dodge you. Hard. To such an extent it’s bordering on insult. He’ll be wearing a cat that got the canary grin all the while.
Jason Dean/JD - Doesn’t take you seriously even if you are dead serious. I’m sorry, you’ve discovered his worst character trait by far. Most boundaries are a joke to him. He always wants to touch you. He loves you! He craves you like a drug. You should feel the same for him, in equal measure and desperation. So why wouldn’t you want him touching you? Holding you close. He’s so gentle with you (usually). His arms should feel like home. No matter how long a day you’ve had. No matter how overwhelmed you might be with sound, sight, touch. In JD’s eyes you’re one soul in two bodies. He always wants you near. He knows you want the same. You’re just a little dramatic sometimes.
#crazy ass boys gang#this was SOOOOO fucking fun to write nonny#i remembered how scary some of these fucking attack dogs are midway through writing#billy loomis x reader#stu macher x reader#jordan li x reader#josh washington x reader#kevin khatchadourian x reader#black!reader#jd x reader#sebastian valmont x reader#nathan prescott x reader#david mccall x reader#ben hargreeves x reader#umbrella academy imagine#jordan li imagine#gender neutral reader
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Do you think you could do a NSFW on kazutora please, I just saw this picture and couldn't help but think about how perverted he is and how lonely he is, so what if we found him like this.
the moment i clicked on that picture i got kazu brain rot give me a minute 😖
MINORS DNI || NSFW BELOW THE CUT
this is never where you thought you’d end up.
you’d always imagined what it would be like to start college when you were younger. you wondered where you’d go, what you would do, what people you would meet, you even planned out exactly what your dormitory room would look like when you finished decorating.
the moment you finally stepped into your new life, walking into your new bedroom for the next year, you could feel your imagination coming to fruition. despite all the daydreams and extensive planning you went through to prepare, you never really thought past your first year of freedom.
now, four years in and almost a college graduate, you’ve found yourself in a spacious apartment with your now best friend, kazutora hanemiya. you’d both met during your sophomore year, your roommate at the time, emma, introducing you to him at a house party you were attending. you two hit it off pretty quickly, immediately becoming glued to each others side for the rest of the night, and pretty much every day after that. you spent the next two years getting close to each other until one day, kazutora offered to be your roommate after you expressed your distaste for the prices of the off campus apartments. knowing him and recognizing that it would make your life a lot easier, you agreed rather easily.
living with kazutora was rather simple, thankfully. he was somewhat tidy, always cleaning up the living spaces but constantly leaving his bedroom a hot mess. you didn’t care though, being content with the fact that he at least cleaned the main areas whenever you couldn’t. he was also quiet, you barely ever noticed when he was walking around the house until you were being startled by a hand reaching above you to grab a snack from the cabinet. you even made a ritual out of your sunday nights, always making a huge bowl of popcorn and watching every movie that you could think of until someone passed out from sleep deprivation.
the only downside that came with being so close to your roommate was that you never really got the chance to hang out with him when finals came around. you would both get so wrapped up in studying and finishing your assignments that you would barely see him in a week, let alone every day. along with this being your graduation year, that meant that you had a thesis that needed to be completed before the end of the semester, which left you with no choice but to hole yourself up in your room while you tried to perfect your work.
on this particular day you decided to work in the campus library rather than your home, growing stir crazy and weary of the four walls suffocating you. it was late, the sun long gone and being replaced by the reflection of the moon and stars. your eyes were straining from staring at your computer screen for so long, and after a 10-second too long blink, you knew that it was time to wrap up for the night. yawns and fatigued sighs constantly left your lips as you drove back to your apartment, mind racing with thoughts of your pajamas and duvet that were anxiously awaiting you.
the moment you stepped into your apartment, you could feel your shoulders slack in relief. “kazu, i’m back!” you called out, making sure to say it just loud enough for him to hear, but not too loud in case he’d fallen asleep. you knew that kazutora was also busy with his own final exams coming up, seeing him every so often with his nose in a textbook around the house, or even being told about his study sessions right before he walked out of the house.
when you were only met with silence, you silently maneuvered around the house, making sure not to be too noisy in your wake. you dragged your feet to the stairs, feeling your sleepiness kicking in with every footstep.
well at least someone went to sleep at a decent time, it’s almost 3am.
your thoughts plagued you as you tried to keep your eyes open, not paying any mind to the slight crack in the bedroom door across from yours. when you finally made it to the top of the staircase, a small whimper reverberating through the hallway caught your attention. you peeled your drooping eyes open, eyebrows furrowing as the sound filled your ears again. your gaze was diverted to kazutora’s bedroom, where the ajar door exposed the blue hue of kazutora’s room. with a slight pause, you tried to listen for another noise, wondering if you’d just started hallucinating for a second from exhaustion.
“no,” a whiney voice muttered quietly, and you knew immediately that you were in fact not hallucinating.
taking a step towards the door, you contemplated on what you should do.
is he having a nightmare?
another heavy sigh leaves the room, and you finally decided to check on him for fear of him being in trouble.
“kazu…?” you asked, standing behind the door where you couldn’t be seen or see inside. when you heard kazutora whine again, you got a bit closer. “kazu are you okay?”
you decided to peek inside just for a moment, your eyes clearing the edge of the door until you caught a glimpse of your best friend, causing any and all fatigue to be wiped away from your stature without a trace. your eyes widened as you took in his figure; eyes locked shut and brows furrowed, skin tainted red as his hand shuffled in the confines of his sweatpants. there were a box of tissues laying next to his body that was propped up against his headboard, random pieces of the cloth crumpled along his sheets as his hips lunged off the bed. there was another whine, this one unintentionally going straight between your legs.
the wire of his headphones laid against his chest, sliding along the toned pecs with every heavy breath that escaped him. you were frozen in place, eyes wide and mouth watering as you shamelessly watched your best friend jerk off. a small part of you felt bad for playing the role of peeping tom, but when he was making such pretty noises, you weren’t exactly sure how you were supposed to react.
kazutora’s head jerked to the side, more than likely a reaction from whatever was playing into his ears right now, before a more guttural sound penetrated your own, the deep groan sounding like it came from the deepest parts of his chest. another whine slipped from him immediately after, his face contorting into something that looked almost like he was in pain.
he sounds so pitiful, fucking hell.
it looked like he was struggling, a small pout taking over his lips as his hand started to move spastically in his sweats, urgently trying to force himself into a release.
you found yourself taking a small step forward, your body moving instinctively without taking your eyes off of your best friend.
what am i doing? i really should get some help.
your intrusive thoughts didn’t stop you from quietly approaching him though, the dampness of your panties taking over your brain. you knew that this was a line that shouldn’t be crossed, you knew that this could potentially ruin everything that the two of you built for the past 3 years. but you also knew that kazutora was quite an intriguing person.
you knew he was attractive from the moment you laid eyes on him, and after having your first conversation, you were pretty much whipped for the man regardless. it was only when you’d become closer to him that you’d buried your lust in the deepest parts of your mind, hopefully to never be seen again, until today.
you didn’t want to jeopardize your friendship, not now, but when he was being so shameless, how were you supposed to control yourself?
you stopped your approach when you were hovering over the male, a close up look of the desperation painting his face leaving your cunt clenching around nothing. you watched him for another moment, taking in the sight before a manicured finger brushed the material of his sweatpants against his thigh.
with a sharp gasp kazutora nearly launched himself off of the bed, eyes looking like they were about to pop out of his head from fright as he ripped the headphones from his ears. you didn’t move as he scrambled to take his hands out of his pants, breathing labored and face even more red than it was before you made yourself known.
“sorry,” you couldn’t stop the small grin that plastered itself onto your face as you spoke. “i called your name but… i guess you couldn’t hear me.”
“y/n what are you doing??? you scared the shit out of me,” he chastised, not even acknowledging the position he found himself stuck in.
you put on a nonchalant visage before shrugging your shoulders, placing one of your knees against the cushion of his bed. kazutora pushed himself further against his headboard, mentally questioning what you were doing right now without ever taking his eyes off of you. “i was coming to check on you because i heard rather…. questionable noises coming from your room.”
“and now that you know what they were, you can leave now, right?” he asked, his eyes pleading with you to just forget everything you just saw and pretend like it never happened. he fidgeted in his spot, legs moving every so often and gaze constantly averting yours. you’d never seen the man like this before, but it lit something inside of you that you didn’t even know existed. wondering just how far you could take this, you decided to press your luck just a little bit.
“and what would be the fun in that?” you chuckled, placing one hand on the thigh closest to you before digging the pads of your fingers into the material covering his skin. “besides, weren’t you having a bit of trouble finishing the job?”
your question made his ears turn bright red, silence taking over him as you slowly climbed your way into his lap. you didn’t miss the way his breath hitched when you made yourself comfortable, seating yourself right on the throbbing bulge between his legs. kazutora watched your every move, but never made a motion to stop you. you decided to test the limits when you placed a hand on his chest, applying a bit of pressure as you carefully rolled your hips against his.
the moan that came out if the man under you was something deadly, the sharp sound piercing your ears in a way that you could only describe as delightful. the longer you played with kazu the more you found yourself losing your cool, listening to his sounds of pleasure and shock and knowing that it was you who made him lose it this way.
“w-wait, y/n…” he said, hands trying to keep themselves at bay.
“c’mon kazu,” you smiled, biting at your lower lip. kazutora’s eyes were glued to where your crotch slid against his, the friction of your hips doing so much more for him than the audios he was listening to previously. he watched as you rocked against him, his legs twitching and hips bucking up for more with every movement. you leaned in slowly, closing the distance between your faces before you lifted his gaze to yours. his pupils were blown wide, a lustful gaze clouding his face. “won’t you let me help you out a little bit?”
you could feel his breath fan against your lips with every heave, and you wondered in that moment just how good his lips would feel against yours. you stalled right before your lips could touch, your eyes locking with his one last time for a final confirmation.
kazutora paused for a millisecond before eyeballing your semi-parted lips. “you know there’s no going back after this?”
you could tell he was having the same reservations as you, but you held your resolve and nodded your head. the moment you saw that flicker in his eye, you knew you had him hook, line, and sinker. “fuck it.”
his lips smashed against yours the moment the words left his mouth, a soft grunt slipping past your mouth and into his at the pressure. the kiss felt even better than you had imagined it to be, the softness of his bottom lip between yours left your brain fuzzy and body warm. you grabbed at his dark locks as you rocked your body against his once more, huffing out a weak moan as the slick lining your panties rubbed against your clit just right.
your tongue swiped at his lower lip, humming when he parted his lips to allow you in. he tasted like mint mixed with a hint of beer, probably a result of the last study session he had with his classmates in a nearby cafe a few of hours earlier. you relished the smooth glide of his tongue against yours, swallowing every needy sound that escaped his mouth.
his fingers twitched against the sheets as he watched you use him for your own pleasure, his eyes darkening as he tried to resist digging them into your waist. your parted your lips from his with a sloppy smack, peering into his eyes as you glide your hands along his shoulders, down to the dips on the inside of his elbow, before wrapping your own fingers around his hands and placing them onto the soft skin of your waist.
“don’t be scared, kazu,” you spoke softly, keeping your faces only an inch apart as you continued to guide him. you listened to the way his breath caught in his throat as you dragged his hands up your body, pausing when the palms of his hands were wrapped around your breast, the thin layer of the tank top you were wearing leaving little to the imagination. with a soft squeeze you rolled your eyes back, relishing in the feeling of his hands on you. with a soft exhale you leaned into the man’s grip, bringing your lips as close to his ear as possible. “you can use me however you want to get off.”
turns out, phrasing it as “however” he wanted wasn’t the best idea. the moment the words slipped past your lips you were immediately flipped onto your back, the feeling of sharp teeth digging into the flesh of your neck. he bit and sucked on every area that he could find, hands covering every expanse of you. the ghost of his touch made your back arch, aching deeply for the feeling of his cock filling you.
you were so overstimulated that you didn’t even register the feeling of his fingers slipping down your naked lower half, not even sparing your swollen clit a passing touch before he shoved two fingers into your sopping cunt. your eyes immediately touched the back of your head, hands crumpling the fabric of the pillow under your head. violent curses rang out from you as he wasted no time in curling them upwards, ramming the pads of the digits into that spongy area that left you seeing stars.
“sorry princess,” he huffed through labored breaths. you weren’t sure whether he was fucking you or if you were fucking him at this point. he arched his wrist once more, relishing in the feeling of your walls squeezing around his fingers. “i’m in a rush too, but i gotta get you ready. don’t wanna hurt you.”
kazutora placed another few kisses against your neck, lips traveling across your body until he was hovering between your legs, eyes glancing up as you followed his movements. with another curl of his fingers, you rolled your hips.
your best friend lowered his head, pressing a light kiss against the hood covering your clit. your hips jerked at the action, barely even having time to register the initial touch before your clit was enveloped into his mouth, sucking and flicking his tongue along the sensitive bundle of nerves. you gasped, hands weaving into his hair as his ministrations shot straight to your lower belly. his fingers continued to poke and prod at your g spot, your moans taking over the sounds of your essence leaking over his hand. he pulled away for a moment, a discontent whine leaving you at the loss of pleasure. “can’t let my baby get hurt trying to take me, now can i?”
your heart sank at the statement, your eyes peeling open to glance down at the bulge pressing against his sweats. you knew from sitting on it that it was at least a bit girthy, but you also knew that the man wouldn’t say anything that he knew wasn’t true. especially in a situation like this.
and pleasantly surprised you were when kazutora had pulled his lips away from your clit, leaving your breathless form laying haphazardly against the bed while he finally slipped of his sweats and underwear. you’d only noticed it when the man himself had brought you back down to earth, hand gripping your jaw before pressing his lips against yours roughly. you could taste your essence on his tongue as he dragged the tip of his cock against your folds, your body jerking when it brushed against your clit.
at the first ounce of pressure as he slid inside of you, you knew that this man was much bigger than whatever you’d imagined. peeling your heavy eyes open to glance down at where you two were connected, your gaze was something akin to horror as you watched the fat tip bully it’s way into your pussy. the first couple of inches left your cunt clenching down at the pressure, the burn making your face contort.
“i know baby, i know,” kazutora muttered softly, face tucking itself into the crook of your neck as he tried to pace himself. he placed light kisses over what are soon-to-be bruises, waiting until your rapid breathing had calmed down before pressing in some more. “that’s why i had to prep you.”
no amount of prep could have saved you from this, but there was no stopping as kazutora filled you to the brim, hips flush against each other. the man’s cock reached places in your body that you didn’t even know existed, the pressure of him filling you to the brim being enough leave your head spinning and body twitching. your hips instinctively rolled in search of more friction, feeling the man’s cock throb as he reached impossibly further into you.
the first thrust of his hips forced a guttural sound from your throat, the next one getting caught behind the phantom sensation of his tip breaching your throat.
“f-fuck!!” your voice was higher than you were used to hearing, your mouth growing dry from having it open for so long. the sounds of moans and squeaks from the bed were quickly heard resonating around the room, your skin felt like it was on fire every time his hips connected with yours. his thrusts were brutal, every muscle in your body tightening and loosening while the sounds of his moans penetrated your ears.
“so. fucking. good.” he almost growled, each word being punctuated by a harsh thrust behind it. “so much better than a stupid hand…”
“yeah?” the word nearly went unheard with your softened tone, legs wrapped around the man’s waist to pull him closer. you locked eyes with him, a tired hand reaching up to cup his cheek. kazutora moaned at the contact, the whimper coming out strained as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. you loved how easy it was to make him crack, just a smidge of attention and the man before you was putty in your hand. “maybe we should do this more often then.”
you couldn’t remember a day when he wasn’t yearning for your attention, honestly. anytime you came around he was stuck to you like glue, you could barely even move around the house without him making himself known to you in some way. he may have been relatively quiet, but you always saw him at least a few times a day, and both of you being distracted with school really took a toll on you both. he was always right by your side, but you had the tendency to be just as needy, so you never had a problem with it. the more you thought back on all the tell tale signs, the more you realized that this outcome probably would have been the end result to your friendship anyway.
“how about everyday?” he asked, head perching up at the suggestion. his eyes were big and hopeful, and you had to clench around him to make his expression change before your heart tried to explode. “is that a yes?”
with a small hum you placed your lips right next to his ear. “why don’t you make me come first, then we’ll talk.”
and come you did.
it took all of 10 seconds before kazutora was picking you apart; legs raised and placed against his shoulders, body folded in half, while his fingers placed themselves in the crooks between yours.
you were barely conscious by that point, eyes blurry and your body shaking from the intensity of his thrusts. you could barely breath, short hics resonating from your throat before being masked by kazu’s lips. you felt like you would die at any moment, yet you were convinced that this was the closest to heaven you’d ever get.
you could feel the heat rising in your stomach, eyes locking with his as you squeezed the hand that was occupying your own.
“m’gonna come…” you slurred, short breaths taking over your body as your brain short circuited. “gonna come, gonna come!!”
your back arched off the bed the best it could as every nerve in your body was set on fire, tingles shooting through your spine and running down to the tips of your toes. you clenched around him, nearly suffocating his cock as he worked you through your high. his pace never slowed as his own orgasm took him by surprise, a quick grunt slipping through as he pulled away.
you didn’t hesitate to wrap your free hand against his shaft, jerking the tip until his body was trembling in your grip. his eyes immediately crossed, breathy moans becoming more frantic before stopping instantaneously. “wait…wait, wait–”
“fucking– shit! ohmygod…” his body froze as his release stained your stomach, his body jerking with every inch of the thick, white stream. you stroked him through it until his hips were running away from your touch, the long anticipated orgasm he was searching for finally flooding through him. he tucked his head into your neck once more, his words being muffled by the surface of your skin as he searched for your warmth. “oh my- ughhh fuck me.”
your eyes slipped shut as your body sank into the sheets, your legs slipping from kazutora’s shoulders and onto the sides of his hips. your best friend slumped beside you, body plopping onto the space beside you while his hand never left yours, even for a moment. you could only hear the sounds of both your heavy breathing, attempting to catch your breaths as the heat of the moment started to wear off.
the silence was broken when kazutora let out a soft hum, body leaning into yours too seek your warmth. when you nuzzled into his touch, you laughed to yourself when you heard him mutter into your ear. “so, what was that about doing this more often?”
don’t plagiarize! it’s not nice <3
©️ theanimeroom
#blues asks 💎#tokyo revengers smut#tokyo rev smut#tr kazutora smut#kazutora smut#kazutora hanemiya smut#kazutora hanemiya#tr smut
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losing myself
memories of how you lost yourself trying to keep your best friend afloat.
content. angst, depression and suicidal thoughts. this is post-suguru's death, except the first memory.
a/n. i just can't seem to bring myself out of the angst for jjk, i apologise in advance!
Helping Satoru was a way of losing yourself. When Haibara died and Suguru abandoned them, Shoko dealt with it in her loneliness and the only thing Satoru could lean on was you. Your shoulder was his support, the only thing that kept him sane to reality as you both tried to graduate and made the decision to teach school, you for a much more selfish reason than Satoru's human reasons.
Helping Satoru cost you a lifetime of loneliness. You loved your friend and after what happened you were so desperate not to lose anyone else that you were willing to do anything, even if it meant losing everything that once made you who you were and all motivation. You thought your identity didn't compare to the pain and helplessness of not being able to do anything while everyone walked away, but your decision led to a lonelier life than you had thought.
“Hey, everything okay?” Shoko approached through the hallway, the darkness relenting once she was standing next to you. “You look pale.”
“I'm fine. Just a little tired.”
The clouds around you enveloped them on either side, a somber feeling settling in between the space Shoko kept her distance with.
“Well, we've graduated. From now on the pains can't be so great.”
“Yeah, right. We're past the worst of it, aren't we?”
“I'd like to think so.”
Her cocked smile thawed a little of the chill settling in your chest, but her eyes told you everything her lips didn't. She knew, everyone knew, that you hadn't been the same since Suguru left. Satoru was staying afloat because of his goofy personality, but trying your best to keep it that way, the sparkle in your eyes disappeared. The person who used to be told that she brought the sun in her eyes had completely clouded over. Shoko saw the storms in your eyes, the impenetrable and unceasing tempest. She couldn't cross it without dying trying.
“You can talk to me if you need to.”
That was what she said every time, even though you never took her at her word. Shoko always proved she could survive on her own, however she had done it, whatever process she had to go through, the smile she gave you in those moments at least was more genuine than yours.
Satoru was too wrapped up in his own world, his own head and his own pain to stop for a moment to notice yours, which Shoko and the others could. You never placed that guilt on Satoru's shoulders, nor did you need to, but it was something you were sadly aware of. Satoru didn't push you aside because he was selfish, it was simply his way of processing things, so internally and individually inside his head. Just as you had made it your way of processing grief to help Satoru tirelessly, to the point of almost becoming his shadow.
“I don't know what to do anymore, y/n,” Satoru cried, hands holding his head and knees against his chest.
Utahime had called out to you, barely passing you out of eagerness and blurting out a couple of words that you could deduce were about Satoru. It was painful as you knew you had to prepare in advance to see him, because it was heartbreaking to have to help him process your pain while you had to keep your own at bay.
“I'm tired of dreaming about it. I'm tired of… seeing him.”
Your hands moved over his hair, his cursed technique disappearing every time you were near. You tried to contain the trembling of his body by holding his shoulders, but having you closer only made him more vulnerable.
“Not sleeping is not the solution, Satoru.”
“That's the only way,” raising his head, his puffy blue eyes returned your gaze. At times like those, you didn't know how he hadn't noticed your sunken eyes or the black bags that even years later still wouldn't go away.
But it was about him. Satoru was in bad modd. You had to help him. You had to hold him.
“No, it's not. I'm here,” your knees touched his feet, his face contracting as a fresh tide of tears lashed his chest. Cold hands wrapped around you and your numb hands wrapped around his neck. “I know you miss him. I know you regret it.”
His sobs against your shoulder grew louder and louder, but Satoru kept his grip with hostility. He held close to you as his lifeline, the float that carried him across the ocean, shipwrecked in his own pain, lost in his own mind.
“But you know you don't have to carry that pain alone, Satoru.”
“I don't know what I did, y/n…”
“You did what you had to do.”
“No…”
“If you hadn't done it, I would have.”
His head jerked up, his blue eyes crystallizing and pain written all over his face with the trail of tears that wouldn't stop flowing.
“It wasn't anything either of us would've had to have done,” you shook your head, trying to contain the memories in the back of your head, trying to focus on pain your friend in that moment, on what really mattered. “It wasn't anything either of us had to endure.”
“But you're fine…”
You almost snorted, controlling yourself enough to let out a sigh. His naive eyes wouldn't leave yours, almost as if he was constantly wondering what you were doing to deal with all that he wasn't. As if there was something wrong that he was doing or something he wasn't doing that you were, because in his eyes, up until that moment, you were fine.
“I'm fine when you're fine.”
“I'm not fine right now.”
“I know.”
You seemed to think a glimmer of understanding crossed his eyes. You didn't know, you couldn't be sure, but his face returned to your neck and the tears stopped falling. Minutes passed in silence.
“I'm sorry,” was the last thing he said that night.
Helping Satoru was something you would never regret, even when you had lost your spark and the students loved him more than you.
“I thought you were going out tonight.”
You ran into Nanami on your way to your dorm. It was getting close to the time of the outing Satoru had proposed for that night and you knew that if you didn't go no one else would show up there. You hated to think of dashing your friend's hopes, but he had already developed enough strength to go through such a disappointment. It had been months since he had becone strong enough to deal with such situations on his own.
“I'm tired.”
“For something specific?”
It was common for your friends to dance around the elephant in the room, and sometimes you allowed yourself to think how different things would be if they had at some point been more daring with their approaches, as you were with Satoru. What would've changed, then or in the past, if Nanami or Shoko had been more insistent? Where would you be now? Where would you be later?
“Nothing specific. I'd just like to get more rest tonight,” you sent Nanami a smile, the kind you had mastered to avoid such conversations.
“Very well. You know I'm just a phone call away if you need anything.”
“Thank you, Nanami.”
Were you really that selfish? In all their remoteness, your friends were still concerned about your well-being. Had enough time passed for you to not care? If you didn't want to be unwell, why was it so hard for you to accept their help?
“You've lost weight,” Satoru was right beside you from the moment you left Yaga's office.
“The mission went well, Satoru, thank you for caring.”
You tried to dodge him to go back to your room, but of course the white-haired man wouldn't just walk away just because. Lately he was closer, more attentive, more condescending…
“Are you eating well?”
Satoru was trying hard to ignore the way his words brought back dark memories. From the moment he realized what had been happening, his mind was scheming every second of the day in trying to find a way to bring you back to your original state. He couldn't even fully concentrate on the missions, but that was no obstacle for him.
“I'm tired, Satoru. It was three days. I need to sleep.”
“I told Yaga many times to let me go with you…”
“I handled it just fine on my own, Satoru.”
“I know! I'd just like to be of some use-”
“You want to be of some use? Leave me alone.”
The bed was freezing cold as it was every night. You changed the sheets that morning and organized the entire bedroom in a strange spike of energy. You felt a little better afterwards, but not enough. It had never stopped looking and feeling so empty, no matter what you did.
Satoru called you a couple of times that night, but as usual, he'd give up after a couple of tries.
You wondered again, drowsily, what would be different if only he had insisted a little more…
#satoru x reader#satoru x you#gojo saturo#gojou satoru x reader#gojo x reader#gojo x you#satoru x y/n#jjk x reader#jjk angst#satoru angst#gojo angst
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' missed you '
(HEY GUYSS BTW THIS IS INSPIRED BY THIS OTHER THING I MADE !! (( izuku midoriya dating headcanons !! when you told him you liked him, he felt as if his world stopped spinning. he actually just... – @faithfulren on Tumblr )) IF U HAVEN'T SEEN IT YET, U CAN GO AHEAD AND READ THAT FIRST BEFORE THIS IF U WANT TO :3)
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you were on izuku's balcony, it was probably like 1 am.. judging of how quiet the whole dorm was which was kind of rare. you peaked through the curtains and saw your handsome boyfriend on his desk, writing in his notebook, his other hand using a gripper underneath as it rested against his thigh. everything he did you found attractive, as long as it was him doing it. you would scream inside every time. you could barely resist to not stare at him, i mean.. come on.. his muscles are to DIE for. you would compliment that part about him to izuku every now and then but he'd just laugh it off nervously, thinking you were just teasing him or something.
you knocked lightly, hoping he'd notice and luckily he did. unlike the other times he'd kind of space out and focus on his thoughts, mumbling sometimes. he turned to see what it was, knowing he didn't even have to look since it's always been you on his balcony. he never understood why you kept sneaking in. but he did think it was cute.
he slid the door open to let you in and once you stepped into his room you hugged him, smiling brightly. you enjoyed being close to izuku, he feels warm. i mean, everyone's warm but he was like that comfy type of warm. you felt at home with him. you see him have that familiar smile he always has, you weren't sure how he always kept smiling even though all the shit that happens around here always seems to be dumped on him. i guess he really takes after all might.
he smiled warmly and held you close, looking at you. "hey, y/n.. couldn't sleep.?" you smiled and nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck, playing with dark green fluffy.. sorta messy hair. it was one of the things you liked about him. other than his kind, caring, selfless personality and many other aspects about your boyfriend. "i missed you, izu.." you spoke in a soft gentle tone, admiring his dreamy green eyes you could stare at for hours.
he chuckled and answered you, tugging a strand of hair behind your ear. "you saw me earlier, love.." he spoke as he gave you that one look, that one look that made you feel special to him more than anyone or anything. that one look that made you feel like you were his whole world. "i know.. but still." you responded to him, looking at him and never looking away. he just smiled even more before intertwining your fingers with his and pulled you onto the bed, sitting down right next to him. he sighed and spoke up, "alright, what do you wanna do? talk or do you have something else in mind?" he brightly smiled at you, waiting for you to respond.
"mh.. i wanna talk." you rested against him, feeling yourself get a bit sleepy. he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to him. he nodded in response, "izu.. i really love you.." you spoke out, he stroked your hair gently and carefully. "i really love you too." he placed a kiss on top of your head. he tried to keep it cool, knowing he was blushing like crazy. probably thinking like "I CAN'T BELIEVE I HAVE A GIRL IN MY ROOM??" but you liked that anyway. "you're not like any other guy i've met.. you're so sweet.. really hot too.."
"izu.? izuku?? you aren't moving.."
"and why is your face so red??"
#anime#my hero academia#boku no hero academia#izuku midoriya#mha izuku#mha x reader#izuku x reader#izuku midoria x reader#deku#deku x reader#fluff#faithfulren
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preliminary thoughts on my stand-in ep.6
i actually have quite a few thoughts on msi ep 6 but because i was/am busy moving out and settling in a new house this week, i completely forgot to join the msi discussion space on twitter 🥲
perhaps if i have time this weekend, i'll have a proper post for my thoughts. but i'm also very scared of accidentally spoiling things for others (although i do think non-novel reader audience are spoiling themselves way more with their 95% accurate theories than my vague novel spoilers here and there)
but in general, i really like the following points:
i like how confused ming looked throughout ep6 because you can feel that there's this conflicting feeling in him about trying to get close with joe 2.0 while still missing joe 1.0
ming getting himself a role into this film to get close with joe 2.0
i was so glad they kept joe breaking into his house again to 'ruin' his crime scene so we got that scene of him wanting to break the kintsugied cat mugs but he just couldn't bare to do so. ಥ‿ಥ
joe trying to make ming drunk was really funny because i feel like ming was fully aware of what joe was trying to do anyway but he just let himself get drunk because joe 2.0 reminded him so much of joe 1.0
joe putting ming to bed pleaseeee that's the fucking joe i know and love. being kind (to the shitty ex that kidnapped and cause you to be blacklisted from the industry) does not make you weak. and joe knows that.
sol describing joe PERFECTLY like how i've been yelling about him the past two weeks. joe is SELFLESS and HUMBLE. he simply cannot trouble others AND will take on the pain himself. -> which also explains joe choosing the worst money lender out of all the financial aid offers thrown at him
joe resisting ming during all the kisses in ep.6 until the very last kiss where ming pulled out after joe gave in •́ ‿ ,•̀
joe refusing to believe ming could actually love joe 1.0 and choosing to think that ming still likes tong even after he saw the kintsugied cat mugs and ming saying he REALLY MISS P'JOEEEEE when he was drunk.
my stand-in ep 6 really captures well the contents of chapters 50-60 of professional body double. one of the most engrossing things about the 188 novels is how the protagonist ends up in a tangled relationship with the scum ml again in the wife chasing arc. more often than not, 188 scum mls tend to threaten to harm or isolate mcs from their friends and family. which is why i really liked how this was handled in pbd/msi because joe got to negotiate his term and deliberately chose to make this devil's deal with ming on his own, meanwhile ming isn't out there ruining sol's life and his money is gonna actually help mom ing.
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a night of new beginnings
Leighton Murray x fem!reader
summary – Leighton and you reconcile at home on a movie night full of hugs and kisses
warnings – fluffy
a/n – heyy! someone sent me an ask if I wrote about Reneé or her characters and I was thinking about it and this came out, I hope you like it
English is not my first language so there may be some errors.
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The night enveloped you both in a cocoon of tranquility as you and Leighton nestled on the plush cushions of the living room couch. Soft lamplight cast gentle shadows across the room, dancing with the flickering glow of the TV screen, which bathed you in a warm, comforting aura as it played the chosen movie for the evening. It was one of those rare moments when the outside world seemed to fade away, leaving only the intimate embrace of your shared space.
After weeks of tension and uncertainty, Leighton had summoned the courage to reveal her true feelings for you, stepping out of the shadows and baring her heart completely. The confession had sparked an intense confrontation, a whirlwind of emotions culminating in tears, harsh words, and shattered expectations. But now, as you sat side by side, there was a palpable sense of reconciliation in the air, a silent agreement to mend what had been broken.
Leighton's arm found its way around your shoulders, pulling you close as you settled into the movie. Despite the softness of her touch, there lingered a tension in the air, a fragile bridge between past hurts and newfound hope.
As the movie unfolded on the screen, Leighton's fingers traced absentminded patterns along your arm, the gentle caress a silent apology for the pain of the past. You turned to meet her gaze, the soft flicker of the TV casting a halo of warmth around her features.
"I'm sorry for everything." Leighton whispered, her voice a fragile echo of regret. "I was scared, and I acted foolishly. But I want to make things right, Y/N. I want us to work."
You smiled, a flicker of understanding dancing in your eyes as you reached for Leighton's hand. "I want that too, Leighton. I love you."
The words hung in the air, a delicate thread weaving between you, binding your hearts together once more. Leighton leaned in, her lips finding yours in a tender, apologetic kiss. It was a moment of vulnerability and forgiveness, a silent promise to leave the past behind and embrace the future together.
When you finally pulled away, Leighton's eyes were filled with a soft, hopeful light. "I have something for you." She said, her voice tinged with excitement.
You arched an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "What is it?"
Leighton rose from the couch, a mischievous smile playing on her lips as she disappeared into the darkness of the room. Moments later, she returned, a DVD clutched in her hands.
"Do you remember the movie we watched on our first night together?" Leighton asked, her eyes sparkling with nostalgia.
You nodded, a fond smile tugging at the corners of your lips. It was a memory etched in your mind, a moment of connection and intimacy that had shaped your relationship.
"I thought we could watch it again." Leighton said softly, her gaze unwavering. "As a way to start anew."
You nodded, a rush of warmth flooding your chest at the thought of reliving that cherished memory. "I'd love that."
And so, you settled back onto the couch, the glow of the TV illuminating your faces as you lost yourselves in the timeless embrace of the movie. As you watched the scenes of love and redemption unfold on the screen, you knew that you were writing your own story, a story of forgiveness, hope, and a love that would withstand the test of time.
By the end of the movie, your hearts were light, your spirits lifted by the promise of a new beginning. You turned to each other, your smiles mirrored in each other's eyes, and you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, hand in hand, hearts entwined.
And as the night stretched on, you savored each moment, each kiss, each whispered promise, grateful for the chance to start anew and to rediscover the depth of your love for each other. The world outside may have been uncertain, but in the warmth of each other's arms, you knew that together, you could weather any storm.
#moonxytcn writes#wlw#renee rapp#leighton murray#leighton murray x reader#leighton x reader#leighton murray x you#lesbian
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Assorted pikmin headcanons that I might end up deleting bc I definitely haven’t already posted enough today
• Most Hocotatians can’t grow facial hair. Those who can are greatly envied (even if it’s just a few scraggly hairs like the president)
• Hocotate is mostly desert. Because of this, hocotatians generally don’t need as much water as others.
• Yonny is. Extremely in love with dingo. But he still tries to be a good wingman when dingo’s trying to talk to shepherd cause even if he’s insane he’s a good friend
• Louie tries to zone out when olimar’s telling him “stories” (which are more just olimar’s train of thought) but ends up subconsciously retaining it all. He remembers more about olimar than olimar himself.
• Collin actually has social anxiety despite being the comms guy, ironically the only way he’s found that he can calm himself is to never stop talking. So he yaps. A lot.
• Yonny’s tried to tell dingo before that his disliking of dogs probably stems from some form of ptsd from the time he thought he was being attacked during a rescue. Dingo just bragged about it because he thought having trauma made him sound more “badass.” It did not. He was very confused when he got sympathy and not admiration.
• Olimar gets frustrated with Louie very easily, but keeps it hidden because Louie gets chastised by the other employees and the president a lot and olimar wants to be the one to help him instead of just yelling at him.
• Hocotate freight, despite being tasked with large shipping jobs, is a rather small company with barely any employees. There’s pretty much no experience needed other than a basic pilot’s license to get a job there because the president is so desperate for workers
• Louie doesn’t even have a pilot license. He only managed to get hired because his nana convinced the president to hire him because of his family’s lineage of renowned pilots.
• His nana didn’t even ask Louie before getting him hired. He was looking to get a fry cook job at a restaurant nearby to save up for culinary school. He just went with it because he didn’t want to disappoint her
• Collin is aroace. He doesn’t know it, he just thinks he’s “too busy” for sex and romance (am I just saying that bc I’m projecting onto him nooooo I would neeever do that)
• Koppaites generally age physically slower than most. Giyans? What’s it called uhh. People from giya tend to physically age faster. They both have roughly the same life expectancy, though
• it’s a common practice on most civilized planets for the people to dye their hair, as they all share the trait of usually greying quickly. Only hocotatians don’t do this, as they over time have developed hair that retains its color longer—although they have less of it
• Louie hates space travel. He gets motion sickness easily. Olimar, on the other hand, loves it, and likes to do tricks with his ship when flying like spinning around. Somehow that’s never been the cause of a crash, the worst that’s happened was just louie feeling sick
• dingo has low iron levels. I have nothing more to add it is just definitely true
• whenever Louie’s on pnf-404 by himself, he survives the creatures by just ignoring them. Turns out a lot of them aren’t inherently violent or have a taste for hocotatian. The ones that do attack can be defeated easily by giving them poisonous plants
• Many of the planets are more of dwarf planets, if even that. Only hocotate, koppai, Giya, and pnf 404 are larger. Most of them are tiny and in the same solar system, making them almost more akin to different countries or continents than entirely different planets
that is all for my yapping goodbye
#I AM SCARED OF DOING NORMAL FANDOM THINGS LIKE HCS I AM UNCOMFY#I don’t wanna tag all this but here goes#pikmin#pikmin headcanons#olimar pikmin#louie pikmin#dingo pikmin#yonny pikmin#Collin pikmin#aight that should be good enough
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Call From a Payphone at the End of the World
Eddie Munson x Reader
18+ONLY, mention of smut, yearning, gender neutral reader but a few pet names are used, alcohol consumption, no Vecna, new crush, star-crossed lovers, strange things happen. Reader and Eddie are over 21.
word count: 1.6k
This a mix of several fic ideas that all blended together somehow. One being a road trip fic where Eddie falls for an older reader that I hope to finish one day, plus something for the Stranger Prompts list. Several of the prompts are used in this, but I wanted to keep them a secret. I wouldn't say this is a hurt/no comfort fic, but there will be a hint of that. It is a hopeful, star-crossed lovers story at its core.
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After Eddie pumped a few bucks worth of gas into the tank, he couldn’t get across the parking lot to the payphone fast enough. He was sure his heart would explode if he couldn’t talk to you again; the few hours of highway already felt like an eternity.
After punching the metal keypad, he secured a hand over his heart, waiting. Just after the second ring, there you were with that voice he’d come to adore with every fiber of his being.
“Hey you,” his smile was so big it made his cheeks hurt. “It’s Eddie. Wanted to check in, you know, make sure you made it home okay.”
At the other end, butterflies exploded in your stomach. “Hey there stranger,” you ached to reach out and hold him. “I was hoping it would be you.”
He played with the metal cord attaching the receiver to the phone box, tucking his chin so that his next words were mumbled. “What would you say if I told you I missed you already?”
He felt as if he no longer existed in this reality, as if time and space and whatever the hell else didn’t matter as long as he was connected to you somehow, as long as you were real. The words kept bubbling up in his chest, and if he didn’t let them out and tell you how he felt, he might suffocate.
You put down the stack of mail you were holding and sat on the nearby chair to calm your buzzing head. “I’d say you got it bad for me, Munson.”
“I think you might be onto something there,” he chuckled, turning his head to make sure no one from the isolated gas station was lurking nearby. “I wish I could kiss you right now.”
“I wish we could do more than that,” you said, grinning.
“Glad I’m not the only one,” he pinched the front of his Megadeth shirt and brought it to his nose. “I’m never gonna wash this shirt ever again, just so you know. It smells like you.”
“I almost kept it,” you started to doodle spirals on the pad in front of you with a red pen.
“I would’ve let you,” he smirked, remembering the way you straddled him in nothing but that shirt in the back of his van for one final quickie before parting ways. The feeling of being inside of you, that sense of completion and connection, would be his main masturbation fodder for the foreseeable future.
Holy shit, he was crazy about you.
Having such intense feelings for someone after barely 24 hours of knowing them was not reasonable, he knew that, but he also didn’t care.
He’d been on his way home from visiting his friend Ronnie when the storm hit, and some of the roads were blocked off due to flooding. The rain crashed down all night, lightning cracked the sky, and all he could think of as your bodies writhed tangled and sweaty, was that he could die a happy man.
He called Gareth that night, told him he wouldn’t make it to practice, and decided to slink into a dark bar for a beer. There you were, looking all sorts of futuristic and out of place. You had a device in your hand that resembled something out of Star Trek, but you said it didn’t work, that it was “dead” and you couldn’t find your “charger”. You fascinated the fuck out of him. He asked if you were an alien, and without missing a beat, you responded, “would that be a problem?”
Not at all, sweetheart. Not. At. All.
“I kinda want to get in my car and race back to you,” you spoke softly.
Eddie tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “Man, that’s all I could think about the whole way was turning around. I feel like I left my heart on the road back there.”
“I’ll keep it safe,” you whispered, making his entire body shiver with longing.
“When can I see you again? I mean, when do you think…should I come to you or—”
The automatic operator’s voice cut him off, asking him to deposit 25 cents.
“Are you calling me from a payphone?” You sounded astonished. “I didn’t even know those things existed anymore.”
“They’re all over the place, sweetheart,” he huffed, distracted with searching his denim pockets for change. “Not all of us have strange little pocket calculator things we speak into.”
“I love an old school man.”
Hearing the word “love” roll off your tongue in relation to him made him want to reach out and take you in his arms so bad he could scream.
“Hey, I left all my change in the van, this is going to cut me off, but I’ll call you when I get home, yeah?”
“Please do, I don’t care how late it is.”
“Okay I will, and also—”
But then the line went dead.
You pulled your iPhone away from your cheek and stared at the screen with a sad frown. You hoped that one day he’d let you bring him up to speed with the age of technology. Until then, you found it charming as fuck that he didn’t own a cellphone, and loved to act oblivious to anything involving computers.
You had your cell charging on the countertop when one of your friends texted you a few minutes later, demanding the details of the mystery man who’d swept you off your feet in some dive bar out in the boonies.
Usually, you avoided one night stands at all costs. You had to care very deeply about someone in order to be intimate with them, and for some reason, you felt bonded to Eddie after the first hour. It was thrilling, but also scary and uncomfortable all at once.
“What happened to the dude you were supposed to meet there?” Your friend Tina asked. “The one from the dating app?”
“Oh, he never showed,” you chuckled, thinking that you’d totally forgotten why you’d driven almost two hours away to another town in the first place. “But it was for the best. If he hadn’t ghosted, I never would have met Eddie.”
“What was the name of the bar again?” She asked after you dished all of the details on your new crush.
“Wait, I think I have one of their matchbooks in my bag—” you dug around, finally holding it out in front of you. “I guess it’s called The Upside Down? Never heard of it before, but the address was correct, I’m sure of it. My GPS was acting weird, so who knows.”
The bar hadn’t been updated since the 70’s, it seemed. Wood paneling, sticky tables, peanut shells on the floor, and one of those vintage jukeboxes that played nothing but oldies. Eddie remarked that it reminded him a lot of one of the bars he did gigs at with his band.
Corroded Coffin, you doodled the name down, reminding yourself to google it later. Eddie said he wasn’t on social media, and pretended not to know what it even was. Just one more quirk of his that charmed you to death and made you smile to yourself.
You fell asleep on the couch that night with the phone on your chest, and woke up the next morning with a kink in your neck and a dry mouth.
Nothing from Eddie, not even a missed call.
Maybe he got in late and didn’t want to wake you. It was almost 9:00 in the morning when you tried the number he’d given you for his uncle’s place.
The number had been disconnected or was no longer in service.
Panic swelling in your throat, you scrolled back to the number of the payphone he’d called you from.
Also not in service.
Glassy eyed, you sat up and stared at the wall for a long time.
Soon after, you wiped away frustrated tears and got on the internet to search.
“That can’t be right,” you whispered at the screen, looking at a photo of Corroded Coffin at a bar called The Hideout in 1985. Eddie Munson, graduate of Hawkins High in 1986.
You swallowed thickly, shaking your head.
Zooming in on the few photos you found, you couldn’t help but notice the insane similarities between your Eddie, and 1980’s Eddie. The one you knew was maybe a few years older, but that was definitely him.
Could it be a relative? No.
All of the odd conversations you’d had that night began to click together. Had his perplexity with the idea of you carrying a phone been legit? You figured he was just being silly.
There wasn’t much you could find about him, but one final news snippet caught your eye:
“....Hawkins native and Corroded Coffin frontman Eddie Munson has not been seen or heard from since the fall of ‘89 after leaving a cryptic note for his uncle, Wayne Munson. “He had a bunch of letters he wanted me to pass out to his friends,” Wayne explained. “He said he hoped that he would be able to come back to Hawkins, but he wasn’t sure how it all “worked”. That he loved me, but he had to go and find someone.”
You gulped, tears rolling hot down your cheeks.
“He went back,” you sniffed, choking on a sob. “He went back to find me, he…”
You trailed off, looking up at the clock, and then over to your car keys on the table.
What if Eddie circled back to find you and you weren’t there? What if that bar you’d met at never even existed?
But Eddie, he was real, and he was coming for you.
You left a note too, texted Tina, and then you were on the road again.
Pedal to the metal into the gathering storm.
—-
Thank you for reading, I love you.
#stranger prompts#stranger things fanfiction#Eddie Munson#eddie munson fanfic#Eddie Munson fluff#Eddie Munson smut#twilight zone inspired
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Chapter Two: Adjusting
(Gotham Rogue Vlad Masters prequel)
Chapter one | The Lab | Masterlist
Vlad liked to think he was good at adjusting.
He’d managed to adjust to his own death after all, but this was making him question that ability of his.
Adjusting to being the primary caretaker of two children was something Vlad was apparently not very good at.
He knew this because Jazz was very vocal about it.
“He doesn’t like his eggs like that!” Jazz complained as he set down food in front of Daniel. The boy stayed silent, poking the egg with a fork. “You need to cut it up smaller! Let me do it!” The redhead tried to jump and snatch a knife from the block, but Vlad wrapped an arm around her middle and deposited her back in her chair.
“I will do it.” He refused to get frustrated. Deep breaths. He couldn’t blame children for being annoying after being orphaned. Even when they were really, really annoying.
He cut up the egg until Jazz stopped glaring at him, effectively pulverizing it. Daniel was happy with the end result, eagerly shoveling it down. Jazz barely touched her food after she’d stabbed or repeatedly, it felt like a threat.
They’d warned him that Jasmine would likely be difficult to handle. They’d tried to place her in a foster home while Daniel was still in the hospital and she’d had a rather violent reaction. Her case worker said that she felt like she had to be the one to take care of Danny and that she would likely fight him on every aspect of his care. They’d stressed to him not to let her, that she had to be a kid and not her brothers parent. Fighting her was becoming exhausting. Everything he did was wrong.
She refused to talk with the children’s therapist he drove them two hours to see, only speaking to psychoanalyze the therapist and throw everything back in her face.
Daniel’s therapist said he was compartmentalizing the accident because he didn’t understand what had happened. He talked about death calmly, telling every stranger how his parents were dead, but it was okay because they would come back as ghosts.
Unlike his therapist Vlad knew that ghosts did exist and that Daniel had been raised by ghost hunters, it wasn’t a strange deduction to make. Vlad himself wondered if the Fentons, if his beloved Maddie, had become ghosts, but he couldn’t abandon the children to go and look for a possibility. Only some ghosts in the ghost zone were once human, others were manifestations of concepts and ideas.
The children had scars to show from the accident. Jazz had burns on her hands that she screamed and kicked at him for touching when it was time to apply her scar cream. She wanted to do Daniel’s by herself but he’d managed to talk her down to just helping. The fight exhausted him, but Jazz seemed pleased.
Daniel’s scars were worse, with large branching Lichtenberg scars down his chest and arm that were an angry pink. He cried when they applied cream to them, Jazz snapping at him to be more gentle no matter how hard he tried to not hurt the boy.
He picked two rooms on the first floor for the children and moved his stuff to a room down the hall, close enough to where he could reach them easily but far enough that it wasn’t suffocating. He gave them children’s catalogue and a marker and told them to pick whatever they wanted for their rooms.
Daniel circled everything that had to do with space, finally talking more as he told Vlad about stars. They filled his room with space ships and star charts and he purchased a high end telescope for one of the castle towers. Daniel was over the moon about it.
Jazz refused to circle a single thing. She glared at him when he tried to suggest things and focused on helping Danny choose.
Vlad hadn’t gotten this far in life by not being able to read people, so he studied the girl. Her eyes lingered on stuffed animals and she often chose teal and pink when Danny asked her to colour with him, the clothes she’d meticulously put away in her closet were mostly flowery sundresses. Somewhere behind the mask of anger and overprotection there was a little girl who enjoyed things.
He asked for Daniel’s help and they put together a little girls room with stuffed animals and a full wardrobe.
Jazz refused to use it, sneaking in and sleeping on Daniel’s floor until he put a bed in the corner for her. It had an aqua blue comforter the same shade as her eyes and a bedside table with a lamp.
She looked at the bed for a long time before she looked up at him with her piercing gaze.
“Thank you.”
Vlad didn’t hide his surprise well, eyebrows shooting upwards. Jazz just sniffed at him, turning her nose up and walking away to play astronauts with Daniel.
-
Perhaps it was the trauma, but the children lasted a week before the fights started. According to the case worker siblings were supposed to fight, but this was ridiculous.
They fought over everything, mostly because Jazz didn’t trust Daniel to do anything by himself. She threw a fit that she wasn’t allowed to bathe him.
“It’s my job!” She screamed in his face, expression twisted in anger with tears in her eyes. “I’m supposed to take care of Danny! You’re supposed to hunt ghosts, I’m supposed to help Danny!”
“It’s not appropriate, Jasmine.” He sighed as he wrestled with Daniel to get his clothes off. Super strength was nice for some things, like being able to stay looking Jazz in the eye when Daniel’s foot connected with his jaw.
Jazz tried to think of more words and screamed when she couldn’t, storming away and slamming the door to her room. Hey, at least she used the room for something.
Daniel eventually got in the bath once he realized Vlad had bought him a toy spaceship that floated. He only whined a little as Vlad scrubbed his hair.
“You like baths?” He asked as he dunked a tiny space man under the water.
“Depends on the day.” Vlad didn’t dislike baths as long as his face didn’t get wet. He’d discovered that particular trigger by accident while washing his hair. He now washed his hair with his back to the shower head and washed his face with a wet washcloth.
“Oh. Are you supposed to pee in the bath?”
“No, Daniel.”
Daniel smiled at him, looking so much like his father.
“Oops.”
Vlad sighed, glad his drain was an external switch and not submerged, and grabbed the shower head.
Once Daniel was finally clean he wrapped the child in one of his monogrammed towels and carried the child over his shoulder. Daniel shrieking with laughter and kicking his feet.
He ended up having to chase the naked child around for ten minutes before he got him clothed in pajamas. Daniel just laughed the entire time, overjoyed at the game.
Vlad thanked a higher power when Jazz told him she could shower all by herself.
-
It was the beginning of the week when Jazz finally asked for something.
He had been working on his computer in the study, remotely handling his job duties as a CEO. He’d taken a step back from the company in the wake of getting the children, his company still small enough that it wasn’t a big deal.
He saw a flash of aqua and turned his head to see Jazz standing in the doorway. Her arms were folded and her hands were tucked away from sight.
“Jasmine?” He checked his watch, it would be bedtime soon. He’d left the children in front of the tv so he could work, but had told them how to find him if they needed.
“I have a request.” Jazz stared at him, feet shuffling nervously.
“What is it?” Honestly there were few things he wouldn’t give her.
“You helped mom and dad make stuff right?”
“Yes, I suppose I did.” The three of them had made many things in their college days and had created blueprints for many more.
Jazz nodded to herself, taking a deep breath.
“I want an ecto blaster.”
Vlad blinked in surprise at the small girl, caught off guard. Jazz seemed to take his lack of answer badly, rushing to talk more.
“I had one before, dad made it! They took it away when they took me and Danny and didn’t give it back.”
Vlad chewed on that for a long moment. Jazz hadn’t asked for anything yet other than this and he needed to prove to her she could come to him for things, but should he arm a child? He knew the reasonable answer was no, but this wasn’t any child, this was Maddie’s daughter.
“Would that make you feel more safe?” It wasn’t as if Jazz hadn’t been arming herself with whatever she had on hand. She’d thrown a book at the head of someone in the therapists waiting room for asking Daniel a question.
Jazz nodded eagerly.
“Would you promise to use it only when strictly necessary, which means not just when someone makes you mad?” An ecto blaster was made to hurt ghosts, but it didn’t feel particularly nice to humans either. It would hurt him either way, so he really hoped this decision wouldn’t mean Jazz just shot him in the face when they fought.
Jazz nodded again, face hopeful.
“We’ll see. Prove to me you can handle your anger.” He needed time to recreate a smaller scale ecto blaster anyways, it would give him a chance to be sure about his decision.
A cloud of anger crossed over Jazz’s face before she shook her head and nodded, turning on her heel and marching away.
He finished typing his email before getting up and cracking his back, heading to the living room to get the kids ready for bed before Jazz could try and do it by herself.
-
Vlad learned new things about the kids with each day.
Jazz could somehow vault over the table, apparently Maddie taught the children acrobatics as well as weapon handling.
Danny mostly had just been taught how to break out of a hold since he was so small, and Maddie had told him to escape by any means necessary. Unfortunately this meant that Daniel decided biting Vlad hard enough to to draw blood was a good way to solve his problems. Vlad was glad he healed fast and had a high pain tolerance, but prying Daniel off his arm still wasn’t fun.
“He did that to dad a lot.” Jazz walked over and plugged Daniel’s nose until he unclamped to take a breath. “That’s how mom got him off. You’re not allowed to do it though, just me.”
Vlad smiled a tight smile, clamping a hand over the red splotches growing on his white button up and standing to bandage it before it healed over.
After that he started calling Daniel little badger, which delighted the boy.
Jazz, he decided, was more of a tabby cat. He’d always considered Maddie a wild cat, while Jack was more of a bear. Jazz was like a kitten, angry and hissy, but small and needed protecting.
She reminded him of the feral cat that used to live in his parents back shed, a fiery orange tabby that hissed at him. He’d eventually earned her trust only to find out she was protecting kittens. A coyote got them one day while he was at school.
Jazz did not like the name tabby cat, glaring at him and ignoring anything he said. She only responded to Jazz and Jasmine, while Daniel liked only Danny and Badger.
He’d left her stuffed bear on the bed of his room and it had disappeared, but he’d seen a fuzzy ear peeking out from under the comforter when he checked them at night. He took that as a hopeful sign.
#Gotham rogue Vlad Masters#Jazz is a good kid she’s just hurting#Vlad and her will become thick as theme with time (and trauma)#Vlad is Girl dad coded#danny phantom#vlad plasmius#vlad masters#danny fenton#dp x dc#dpxdc#dp#GRVM prequel#jazz fenton#danny masters
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